One and Only

Chapter 3 - The Wine Tasting

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I had already started to loosen up, excited by the prospect of having a whole 48 hours alone with Andy, and eager to see what he had planned for us. I pulled my car into the carport and grabbed all my shit out of the front seat and headed for the back door. Max came sauntering up to meet me, kissing me repeatedly on my outstretched hand.

"Hey beautiful, how was your day at work?" Andy inquired, taking a long, slow slip of his Epic beer IPA.

"Honestly, I don't even think I can talk about it," I said, dropping my stuff on the outdoor kitchen table under the awning of my porch.

"That bad, huh? I'm sorry, that sucks. Anything I can do to help?" he said, taking another swig of beer, then offering me a taste.

I shook my head, I absolutely hated the hoppy taste of IPA, I was definitely more of a Corona kind of girl. "You can tell me what magical thing it is that you have planned for us tonight, and then you can tell me what part of it we can cut out so that I can find 2-3 hours of time to finish up my charting."

He reached his hand out to me, and I accepted, and then he pulled me to him, such that I was standing in between his legs, with his head about eye level with my breasts. He pulled a chair over so that it was positioned across from him, and bade me to sit down, which I did with alacrity. He bent over and slipped the clogs off of my feet, and took off my socks. He rolled the hem of my pants up and then started to knead the bottom of my feet and along my arches and on the lower part of my calves. I moaned appreciatively, and just sat there for a full five minutes, saying nothing while he massaged the fatigue and weariness out of me.

He switched from one foot to the other, and then, after a full ten minutes, he stopped, and let me just rest my feet on his thighs. "Oh my God, thank you so much! That was amazing! Where did you learn to do that?" I asked, marveling at the skill with which he had performed the massage.

"I... uh... picked it up when I was with Victoria, she used to request them from me after she would have a particularly long rehearsal or after a performance. I actually went as far as taking a few classes, just to make sure I wasn't doing it wrong."

He was, of course, referring to his vile ex-fiancée the Dragon-Slut-Whore-Psycho-Bitch-Ballerina-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

"Well," I said, "at least you got something out of it. Or rather, all women after her got something out of it. And for that I am grateful." I moved my feet off of his lap and onto the floor, picking up my socks and clogs as I stood.

"Come on, let's figure out what we're doing for dinner," I said, as I pulled him inside the house.

"Actually, that's already been taken care of," he said, as we walked into the back door and up the small steps that lead to my kitchen. The kitchen table was already set for two, with plates, silverware, napkins and a dazzling display of glassware. I wouldn't be surprised if he had every single wine glass that I owned on the table.

I turned back to him so that he could appreciate the sheer joy that was on my face. "Oh my God, I can't believe you did this, it's so incredible! What's for dinner?"

"Salmon with a berbere spice rub, over lemon-mint couscous and oven-roasted broccoli and carrots."

"Fuck me, are you serious?" I exclaimed, "that sounds fucking awesome!"

He laughed and moved into the kitchen, first to the sink to wash his hands, then to the oven to start preparing the meal to serve.

"But I still don't understand, what's with all the types of glasses?" I asked, moving over to sit down where I noticed no less than SEVEN different glasses in front of each place setting.