“Can I offer anyone a drink? I have with me a spiced cherry aperitif Abelard just started making with fruit locally sourced from Cloverleigh Farms that’s delicious on its own, over ice, or in a spritz.”
Everyone said they’d like to try it over ice, and I perked up. But as soon as the first two couples wandered into the living room, the doorbell rang again, and I greeted three more people—a gay couple and a woman, the three of whom had driven up from Charlevoix together.
I introduced myself, and it turned out that the couple had stayed at Abelard in the past and loved the wines. The woman said she’d never tasted them but had heard great things and was very excited about the tasting. My spirits lifted even more. While I hung up their coats, they set their overnight bags at the foot of a huge staircase.
“Whew—that drive was a nail-biter,” remarked the man in the dapper bow tie. “I’m glad Fiona insisted we come for the night.”
“Me too,” said the other guy, who wore thick tortoise-framed eyeglasses. “The roads are already awful.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “Are you driving back to Abelard tonight?”
“Yes, but I’ll be fine. I have someone with me, so I won’t be on the road alone,” I said, deliberately leaving out Gianni’s name, just in case they were Lick My Plate fanatics too. “Can I interest you in an aperitif?”
They all said yes, so I hustled back to the kitchen, where Gianni was whisking butter into the sake. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good. Great.” Grabbing the spiced cherry aperitif from the fridge, where I’d placed it to stay chilled, I lined up seven glasses on the marble island, filled them with ice, and poured.
Gianni, who’d taken the dumplings from the oven, dipped one in the sauce, sprinkled it with a little homemade ponzu, and took a bite. “Fuck, yes,” he said slowly. “Come taste one of these.”
“I can’t right now. I’m sure they’re good.” I ducked into the butler’s pantry and grabbed a silver tray from the glass cabinet—hopefully Fiona wouldn’t mind if I used it to serve the drinks. Back in the kitchen, I placed the glasses on the tray and picked it up.
“Wait a minute. Just taste this.” Gianni came toward me with the other half of his dumpling, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he stuck it in there. Of course, he also slipped his thumb in too, and before I could stop myself, my lips closed around it. He paused with his thumb in my mouth for just a second, his eyes locked on mine, then slowly pulled it out, my tongue stroking its tip.
Another electric pulse went through me, just like in the car.
“You’re not supposed to eat my finger,” he said.
I chewed and swallowed the bite he’d fed me, trying to act cool. “Then you shouldn’t stick your finger in my mouth.”
“Well? What do you think?”
“Delicious. Which you already know.”
He gave me his cockiest grin. “But what about the dumpling?”
“Get out of my way before I throw every drink on this tray at you.”
Laughing, he stepped aside. “Can I help you?”
“No. Just stay in here until I tell you it’s okay to come out.”
I made my way back to the living room on trembling legs. What on earth was my problem tonight? First, I had that stupid fantasy in the car—and got caught moaning while I stared at his crotch—and then I sucked his thumb in the kitchen!
Even worse, it was probably the most erotic thing to happen to me in a year.
I managed a smile and a steady hand as I served the drinks, answered the door once more, hung up another coat, and turned to see Fiona coming down the stairs in a new outfit. She’d traded her pants and blouse for a cocktail dress and heels that seemed a bit much for a Monday night dinner party at home—and was much fancier than anything her guests were wearing—but maybe that was how she always dressed. Right behind her was Hadley, who’d swapped her hoodie, skirt, and socks for a fitted black crop top with long sleeves, baggy high-waisted jeans, and white sneakers. Her dark blond hair was long and wavy, and her eye makeup looked more professional than anything I could have done.
Fiona went into the living room to see her guests, but Hadley made a beeline for the kitchen. When I got there, she was sitting at the counter, her chin propped in her hand, watching Gianni arrange the dumplings on a platter. It was easy to imagine the cartoon hearts popping out of her eyes.
“You’re, like, so amazing,” she gushed. “And your following is so huge. I’ve been telling my mom she needs to put you on the cover of Tastemaker for months.”