What the hell was he supposed to say? That he’d seen her across the room at that stupid Wine Down Napa event and felt like he’d had an arrow shot into his chest by a flying baby? That his palms had sweat because of a woman for the first time ever that night? He’d already been in that Viennese countryside holding a picnic basket in one hand and an acoustic guitar in the other. God, she was so beautiful and interesting and fucking hilarious. Where had she been all his life?
