Full-bodied Red

Overalls guy was probably in Pippa’s wine shop only to pick up a bottle of white to impress his girlfriend . . .

PIPPA stood behind the counter, feigning indifference to the stocky figure in paint-spattered overalls entering the bottle store. He was a bit like her ex, although this one had red hair and a boyish face. He looked like a beer or lager drinker. She jumped as something nudged her arm. Pippa blinked and looked round.

“You were daydreaming again,” whispered Tilly, her matronly employee. “People are waiting.”

“Oh, right.” She smiled at the young couple, bagged their four cans of lager, and dealt with the payment.

They left. Next to her, Tilly was chatting to an older customer she’d just served. Pippa scanned the shop. Overalls man was looking along the shelves of wine trying to make up his mind.

So he liked wine. Could be he was going to a dinner party and wanted a decent bottle to take with him. It was only seventhirty so he had enough time to change. Or maybe his other half had cooked something special for their anniversary and he wanted something to complement the steak or fish. That would mean a choice of red or . . . “Your sort of man, eh?” Tilly’s voice grabbed her attention. The customer she’d been chatting to had gone. Now it was only them and the guy in front of the racks. “I hadn’t noticed,” she said. Tilly laughed and peered at him over the top of her glasses. “Full-bodied red.”

“No way,” Pippa said. “He’ll go for a light white to satisfy his girlfriend’s taste.”

Tilly tutted. “I meant him. You always assume the good ones are hooked. I bet you’ve even got a picture of this imaginary girlfriend in your mind.”

“Glamorous, false eyelashes, clothes out of–”

“Whoa.” Tilly flashed up a hand. “I’ll tell you this much,” she said, looking Pippa up and down. “If I was blonde, slim and 20 years younger I’d soon find out what the score was.” She turned and headed off. “Won’t be long,” she said. “Excuse me.” Pippa spun round. Tilly must have seen overalls man coming. He was on the other side of the counter, bottle in hand. “I’ll take this.” He stood it on the surface. “You’ve gone for red,” Pippa said. From his bemused expression she might as well have questioned his taste. “Is that a problem?” Heat rose in her cheeks. “No, of course not. I mean, it depends on what you’re going to have with it.” “Beef.” Pippa examined the label. “Pinot noir. Something full-bodied would be better.”

His smile reached his dark-brown eyes. “Would it? Maybe you could recommend something.”

“Of course.” She carried the bottle back to the shelves. Her face was burning. She really must stop telling people what and what not to drink.

“That Bordeaux would be ideal.” She tapped it with a pale pink fingernail. Good job she’d done them before opening up. “It has a trace of green olive, herb and black cherry.”

“Sounds good.” He lifted it down and gave her another warm smile. A shiver ran through her. She needed to stop fantasising too. He was probably married with half a dozen kids.

Back at the counter, Pippa slotted the Bordeaux into a carrier bag and took his payment.

“Thanks, you’ve been very helpful,” he said. “Next time I’ll come to you first. Bye now. Mustn’t keep the lovely lady waiting.”

Pippa sighed as he left. Of course he mustn’t.

Tilly plonked a mug of coffee in front of her. “Well?” she said. “Red or white? What does he do for a living? What’s his name?”

Pippa clicked her tongue. “Red. Don’t know the rest, but he does have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Tilly shrugged. “Never mind, there’s still another few million men in the country.”

There was no time to discuss it further. The door swung open and a gaggle of young men trooped in.

ON FRIDAY evening, Pippa stiffened to see the stocky man coming towards the counter. He was in the same splattered overalls, but this time his mop of red hair had been carefully tended. “Another appeal for assistance, please,” he said. “It’s fish tonight, and the red went down so well I’d like another recommendation.”

She’d intended to be coolly efficient, but one look into those deep dark eyes and it melted away. “No problem.”

“I’m Mike, by the way,” he said, as they stopped in front of the wine racks.

“Pippa,” she replied. “Right, let’s have a look.”

She stood next to him breathing in the scent of a fresh mountain spring. What a shame he was spoken for. She’d never known a man who’d taken trouble to get a simple thing like a bottle of wine right for a special occasion. If that’s what it was. Perhaps all he . . . “What do you think, then?” Pippa gulped. “Oh, er, viognier goes well with fish and cheese,” she said, pointing. “Flavours of apricot and peach.”

Mike picked up the bottle. “I’m sure she’ll be as pleased with this as she was with the Bordeaux.” She nodded glumly. “I do hope so.” “Thanks again for the advice,” he said, while she selected coins from the till. “If I’m around long enough to have another dinner with her I’ll ask you again. Depends on when I finish doing up the shop.” “Really? So you’re here on a job?” What about the girlfriend? Whatever, it was nothing to do with her. More’s the pity.

He threw a glance over his shoulder. “Across the road and down a bit.”

“Harry’s Hardware,” she guessed. “He retired last year.”

“That’s the one.” He picked up his purchase at the same time as the door opened and an elderly couple entered. “I’d better be off. Might see you again.”

The door clicked shut behind him, only for it to open once more, and soon she had no time to dream.

“Did I hear him say something about a new shop?” Tilly asked during the next lull.

Pippa nodded. “I never got a chance to ask him what sort, but if he comes in again . . .”

She left it there and began opening new boxes of lager to replace those they’d sold during the day.

‘PINOT grigio,” Tilly said two weeks later.

“Sorry?” Pippa frowned from where she was sipping coffee at the counter. Tilly stepped over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I was guessing what sort of wine that grey-haired woman was going to buy, but you were daydreaming again.”

“Oh, right,” Pippa murmured. Mike hadn’t been back and she was still trying to push her thoughts of him away. She put her mug down as the elderly customer approached the counter empty-handed.

“Can I help you?” “I’m sure you can,” she said. “I’d like some guidance on what sort of wine to put with the likes of cold cured meats?” “My pleasure. I’ll come over.” “Thank you. You might like to bring pen and paper.”

Pippa resisted the urge to ask why. She didn’t usually find it necessary. But it soon became evident she wouldn’t have remembered such a large order.

“Excuse me for asking,” she said, on their way back to the counter. “But are you in business?”

The woman smiled and held out a hand. “I’m Jill. I’ve opened a charcuterie down the road.”

“Pippa,” she said. “Is it old Harry’s place? I’d heard it was sold, and if that’s the case it’s good to have a shop like that nearby.”

Jill nodded. “Yes, it is. Talking of which, I wonder if you’d like to come to my grand opening on Saturday? Some of the other business owners will be there.”

Pippa accepted and at midday on Saturday walked from her flat above the shop to the charcuterie in warm sunshine.

She stepped inside to find it deserted, except for Jill surrounded by tables loaded with lovely meats and wine.

“Ah, you’re on time,” she said. “But . . . No, here he is.” Pippa turned and her mouth fell open. Mike was standing there in a blue openneck shirt, his thick mop of red hair neatly in place. He looked from her to Jill. “What’s this about?” he said.

Jill smiled. “Well, you’ve been going on and on about Pippa so I thought I’d give you a chance to chat with her before the others arrive.”

She faced Pippa. “I’ve been trying to get my son to join me here in town but he’s playing hard to get. Excuse me.” She spun away and went off into a back room.

Pippa looked back at Mike. “Jill’s your mother?” “Yes, and she can be very wily at times.” Her pulse quickened. “And do you always play hard to get?”

He shrugged, and there was that delectable warm smile again.

“Not necessarily. It’s just that this area’s very different to the one I’d be leaving. I might fit in like a thick, jammy Zinfandel would with fish fingers.”

Pippa’s eyebrows shot up. He’d been doing his homework. She stepped closer.

“Personally, I’d have a full-bodied red with anything,” she said.