“What are you drinking?” It was the only detail my imagination couldn’t supply. “Since when have you cared about wine?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Since I found out how much there was to know.” Since I found out that you cared about wine, you idiot. “Something Spanish tonight—Vega Sicilia.” “From when?” “Do you mean which vintage?” Matthew teased. “It’s 1964.” “A relative baby, then?” I teased back, relieved at the change in his mood. “An infant,” he agreed. I didn’t need a sixth sense to know that he was smiling.
