Sparks Fly

by Kris Calvert

  What she would take was an investor, but as with most people in town, they too were just getting on their feet again. Investing in a business, let alone a wine business, would be a stretch.

  Still, she kept her happy face on. Grace learned from her therapy after she made it out of the hospital that she would have to fake it until she could make it. And that’s exactly what she’d been doing for three long years.

  She had several people lined up to read their poetry or an excerpt from their book, and hoped that the artists would bring their own fans into the shop and stay for a glass of wine, some appetizers, or perhaps even decide to fall in love with a label and need a case from the back room.

  A small quartet from the local university had agreed to come and play for tips and free wine to open the evening and Grace was happy to oblige. If the bank was going to take everything, she was going to enjoy what she had while she had it. As they played Beethoven, Grace blinked back the tears that seemed to hide like a cat in the tall grass of her mind – striking when they felt like it – and tried to focus on what the schedule for the evening would be.

  One of her employees who’d scheduled the authors and poets gave her a slip of paper with those who were to speak. The one name that stood out to her was Dr. Trask.

  He was new, as she’d seen most of the authors and poets come and go over the last few years – before and after the storm.

  Grace hoped she could hang on long enough in the front room to at least greet him. When business looked bleak, she found herself hiding in the office or back room. Grace would do anything not to face the idea that her beautifully rebuilt wine shop was going down the tubes.

  The old bell that hung from the door rang as the front door opened and closed. It was a sound that at one time Grace adored. It meant someone was coming to her store to drink wine, to sip the beauty right out of the glass with friends. They wanted wine and suggestions, and the laughter that would enclose the tables where her patrons huddled close would fill the room with warmth. Now each time the bell rang, Grace began a countdown in her mind. How many more times would the bell ring before the doors were closed for good?

  “Hello.”

  Grace glanced up from behind the bar and found herself looking into the eyes of her masseuse, Matt. “What are you doing here?” she asked before she could think rationally.

  Matt laughed the deep chuckle that he’d met her with the first day. “Well, that’s a fine howdy-do.”

  Grace cringed. What was she doing? “I’m sorry,” she sighed with embarrassment. “I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. How are you?…Matt.”

  “You remembered,” he said with a smile.

  All Grace could think was How could I not remember? I got naked for you a few days ago. You – all tall, handsome, with the big hands and feet. Instead she said, “Yes.”

  “I came for some wine and the readings tonight,” Matt explained with a smile.

  “You did?” Grace questioned.

  “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course it is. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? Right?” Grace stumbled back behind the bar. “Can I get you some wine?”

  Matt brushed his body against the bar as he sat on the stool and smiled at Grace without hesitation. He was a man who was very sure of himself and Grace couldn’t quite peg what the self-assurance stemmed from. Either he was the most self-satisfied masseuse on the planet, or like most men, he hung his hat on the fact that he was proud of his manhood. Matt’s must’ve been big and legendary. Either way, Grace was intrigued and it was a nice distraction.

  “How about a nice Cabernet?”

  “Sounds good,” Grace smiled. “Would you like to see a list? Do you have a favorite? Or…”

  “Or what?” he muttered as he slid the cocktail napkin in front of him on the bar in small circles.

  “Or,” she dropped her voice. “I could pick for you.”

  “Hmmmm…” he smiled and rubbed his chin. “I have a persnickety palate when it comes to wine.”

  “Did you just say persnickety?” Grace asked with a snark.

  “I believe I just did,” he replied with a sly smile. “How about this – you can pick the first one. I’ll pick the second.”

  Grace rocked back on her heels and tried her best to figure out Matt – Matt the masseuse with the persnickety palate. “Is this a contest?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the prize?” he said with a wink.

  Grace felt a tingle in her stomach and it wasn’t her scar itching. He was coming on to her and she was at once excited and scared to death. She paused and thought about what she had and what she had to lose. In the end, she told herself it was nothing. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. If it didn’t work out she would be embarrassed and depressed, but she was already both of those things. She could be with him and he could use her and discard her, leaving her feeling useless and used up. Nope, she felt those things already. In Grace’s mind she was already at rock bottom. She had nothing to lose and yet expected to lose just the same.

  “Prize,” she sighed. “I don’t know. What would be a good prize?” Grace said as she gained a little confidence. “I mean, I’d have to take you at your word that the wine you chose would be, you know, the one. Because you could just pick your wine and win the ah…” Grace caught his glance as she looked up from the bottle she was choosing and found his eyes fixated upon her. “…and win,” she finished in a whisper. “Besides, nothing in life is fair. I’ll tell you a little secret, Matt. All these people will no longer have a place to hear poetry, listen to music, discuss life and drink wine. I’m losing my store.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do.”

  “You can,” she nodded. “You can play fair with our wager.”

  “I promise to play fair.” Matt whispered as he leaned into the bar and touched Grace’s empty hand.

  The tingle in her core moved south and she could feel the charge all the way to her toes and everywhere in between. “I guess I’ll have to take you at your word,” she gasped, barely able to get the words out.

  “Okay then,” he said as he turned loose of her hand and gave her a wicked smile.

  “I’ll go first,” said Grace as she tried her best to pull herself together. “Opus One, Napa Valley.”

  “Jesus, you’re pulling out the big gun early, aren’t you?” Matt laughed.

  “The first glass is on me,” Grace smiled, knowing the two hundred and thirty-five dollar price tag for the 2010 year was hefty but certainly not unheard of.

  “I couldn’t let you do that,” Matt confessed. “I didn’t know you kept that kind of wine here. Actually, I’m really impressed. Where’ve I been?”

  “I used to have an extensive inventory. I lost most of it in the storm. Of course, insurance paid for quit a bit, but most of it was irreplaceable, you know?”

  “Sure.”

  Grace placed the gleaming wine glass on the bar and slid it toward Matt. “Aren’t you going to join me? He asked. “Please, I’m begging you. Join me.”

  “I probably should keep my wits about me tonight. We’ve got some authors and readers coming in that I don’t know and I’d hate to be the drunken sommelier that greets them at the door.”

  “Please?” Matt goaded.

  “Fine,” Grace conceded. “What have I got to lose?”

  “Nothing, Grace,” Matt stated, catching Grace off guard. “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

  “I was just saying that earlier tonight,” Grace nodded as she poured a second glass.

  “What should we toast to?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Not to be kinky?” Grace said, the words escaping her mouth before she thought them through.

  Matt dropped his head back in a deep laugh and Grace’s face immediately filled with blood. She could feel her ears ring with embarrassment. “I meant kinky muscles. Kinks in the muscles. Your muscles…or mine. And I don’t mean that in a
sexual way. Oh God, I don’t even know anymore,” she explained as quickly as she could.

  “Grace,” Matt said as he held his wine glass to hers. “I could tell you that I know what you meant, but frankly, I like your first toast the best. Here’s to not being kinky.”

  Grace’s glass rang out with a chime as they toasted and each took a sip.

  “Mmmmmm,” Matt pursed his lips together and then proceeded to stick his nose in the glass for a smell. “Fresh blackberry, rose petals, and chocolate. I love the flavors of dark fruit highlighted by the well-integrated acidity.”

  Grace couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The only thing she knew to say was, “Yes.”

  “It’s velvety. And the tannins enrobe a silky texture,” Matt continued as she swirled the wine in the glass and took another sip.

  “I had no idea you were a wine aficionado.”

  Matt nodded, knowing he’d read the label on the case of Opus One that had been delivered to his home just weeks ago. He had a knack for reading and recalling information on demand. He never thought it would work to his advantage outside the classroom.

  “I’ll be back,” Grace smiled. “I just need to check on some things. Drink your Opus One.”

  As she walked away and into her office in the back of the house, she straightened the sweater she wore and unbuttoned another button to allow the tiniest bit of cleavage to show. She was happy she’d worn her tight skinny jeans for the night even though Matt had already seen her naked body – well, most of it anyway. Regardless, she knew she’d only let it go so far. There was no way she was showing her scar and explaining herself.

  As Grace came back to the bar, Matt was escorted to the front of the room by her assistant. In his hand he held two things. The remainder of the Opus One and a book. Matt was there to read.

  Grace walked to the back of the room and searched with her hand for the stool she’d planned to sit on. As she fumbled with the seat, it barked as she slid it across the wooden floor. Still she was unable to take her eyes off of Matt in the front of the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” began Grace’s assistant. “Tonight we have a rare treat. From the dusty literary stacks of an Ivy League school somewhere in Boston, I give to you professor of literature and all-around wonderful guy and masseuse, Dr. Matt Trask.”

  There was a round of applause as Matt took his seat and gave Grace a nod. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Matt? Her Matt? The guy with the big hands and feet was a doctor of literature? From Boston? How did she miss this? How did she not know?

  “I’m going to be reading a selection of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden,” he began.

  “It was at the supper table that the boys discovered the change in their father. They knew him as a presence—as ears that heard but did not listen, eyes that looked and did not notice. He was a cloud of a father. The boys had never learned to tell him of their interests and discoveries, or of their needs…”

  Grace watched as Matt’s eyes would float from the page and into the small audience, each time finding her and giving her a smile. She was all at once taken aback. Grace had always thought of herself as someone who read others well. She’d missed the boat with Matt.

  Each time he glanced her way, the same shiver overcame her and she was caught up in every word he said. She was about to lose everything she’d ever worked for. Letting someone in at this point wouldn’t matter. She told herself that men had meaningless flings all the time and never give it another thought. Maybe it was just what she needed –a last hurrah.

  As Grace convinced herself it was perfectly okay to take Dr. Matt Trask out for a spin she was caught off guard by his closing words of Steinbeck. He shut the book and spoke from memory, never losing his watchful gaze over Grace’s face.

  “My father said she was a strong woman, and I believe a strong woman may be stronger than a man, particularly if she happens to have love in her heart. I guess a loving woman is almost indestructible.”

  June 27th

  Dr. Seth Newman wasn’t the kind of man who chased women. In fact, he’d never chased them, because he’d never had to. Most of his life he’d been known as the guy who had it all. He was smart, handsome and athletic – a trifecta with the women who seemed to line up to be with him. He had a reputation of being good in bed that seemed to precede him with each girl, yet he was humble in his conquests, never speaking of them to anyone – with the exception of Kit. He told her everything.

  The women who sought him out were usually beautiful and smart, just like him. None of them compared to Danielle Trask.

  Since their meeting he’d thought of nothing but her. He made it a point to walk past her office every day when he finished or began his shift at the hospital, hoping she was either working very early or very late. Today was his day off, and he was marching into her office and asking her out. He’d already told himself he wasn’t leaving until she said yes.

  It was hot and humid outside with a chance of severe storms. The town was still a little shell-shocked, and any time the words storm and severe were used together folks got antsy.

  Seth carried an umbrella with him as he strolled down the street, dressed in black pants and a crisp blue dress shirt. He wore his Ray Ban Wayfarers even though it was partly cloudy. He liked his sunglasses. They gave him the ability to look where he wanted without being creepy.

  When he opened the door to Trask, Inc. he was greeted by a young man working the front desk.

  “Good morning,” he chimed and immediately corrected himself after glancing at the clock. “I mean good afternoon, sir.”

  “Good afternoon,” Seth replied. “I’m Seth Newman. I was wondering if Danielle Trask might be available.”

  “Have a seat.” The young man motioned to the red leather couch that sat in the middle of the waiting room. “I know she has a full schedule today. But let me check.”

  “Thank you,” Seth replied as he sat and removed his sunglasses.

  When Danielle Trask heard who was in her lobby her heart skipped a beat. Doctor Tall and Adorable was waiting just a few feet down the hall for her.

  “Do you want me to make him, you know, go away?” her assistant asked.

  “No.”

  She considered her next move carefully. Everything to Danielle was strategy – she was, after all, in public relations. Today’s wrong move was tomorrow’s spin.

  “I’ve got a phone call to make. Ask him if he can wait for a few minutes and I’ll call you when I’m ready for him.”

  “Okay,” replied the assistant with a smile as he turned to leave. “Danielle?”

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t really have a phone call to make, do you?” he whispered.

  “I’ll let you know when you can send him back.”

  Danielle pulled the compact mirror from her drawer and checked her makeup. She was flawless even though she often felt as if she was hopelessly imperfect underneath the matte powder and red lipstick.

  After running her fingers through her short platinum hair, she took a deep breath, checked the clock to make sure she’d made Dr. Seth Newman wait at least five minutes and picked up her phone to intercom the front desk.

  “Send Dr. Newman back, please,” she said with authority.

  As Seth walked the corridor he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He was nervous – something he wasn’t used to. He knocked on the edge of the door as he stuck his head into her office.

  “Ms. Trask?”

  Danielle rose from her seat to greet him in her white suit jacket and matching pencil skirt. The blue silk tank she wore underneath matched her eyes.

  Seth lost his breath when he saw her. She was truly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  He laid his open palm across his chest as if something hurt and rubbed it for only a moment. He was in pain. Danielle Trask’s beauty was almost too much for him to take in.

  “Have a seat,” she said as she gestured to one of the empty chairs in front of
her desk. “Is there something we need to go over for the emergency plans on Friday?”

  “No,” Seth replied. “Nothing like that.”

  “Oh,” she baited.

  “Danielle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever take a break from work?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Why is that, you suppose?”

  Danielle bit her lip and Seth Newman found himself squirming in his chair so that he wouldn’t reveal what Danielle was doing to him. The throbbing between his legs began when he walked through her door and had only increased the longer he sat in her presence.

  “I don’t know. Workaholic maybe?” she offered.

  “I get that,” Seth replied. “Do you ever take time off to have…”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Fun.”

  “Do you have fun, Dr. Newman?”

  Seth knew when she called him Dr. Newman that Danielle Trask wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

  “Do I have fun?” he asked. “Danielle, I am fun.”

  “Are you?” she chuckled.

  He made her smile, and it was the open door Seth planned on walking through quickly. “Yes. I’m lots of fun.”

  “And who says these things about you?”

  “What? That I’m fun?”

  “I’m in public relations, Seth. When someone makes a statement I need some proof to back it up. Do you have any focus group stats that show how much fun you are?”