Micah was many things, but an expert on wine was not one of them. As far as he was concerned, there were three kinds of the stuff: red, white, and rosé.

“Um…” Micah couldn’t help but glance Damon’s way for help.

Quickly catching on to Micah’s plight, the man interjected. “Recioto della Valpolicella, if you have any, please.”

The waitress seemed relieved to get a specific answer. “Of course, sirs, I’ll be right back.”

Micah’s shoulders relaxed.

“Recioto della Valpolicella is a sweet wine made with dried grapes from northeastern Italy,” Damon explained. “I usually find it too honeyed for my tastes, but it’s a passable aperitif, and perfect for someone with a sweet tooth.”

Micah fought to stave off a blush. He’d assumed Damon had just rattled off something random, not ordered something specifically for him.

“Honestly, do you know nothing of wine?” Caprice demanded from her spot across the table, ruining the moment.

“I think it’s cute,” Renata offered, offering Micah a smile, but there was a glint in the woman’s eyes that Micah couldn’t read. Did she actually think it – he – was cute? Or did she mean it the same way a southern belle said “bless your heart”, and she actually thought Micah was uncultured swine, like Caprice so clearly did? “Where did you find this one again?”

The question was asked sweetly enough, but the way Renata immediately looked to Caprice made it clear. She didn’t just think Micah was uncultured swine, she knew he was uncultured swine. Or, a prostitute, anyway. Well, ex-prostitute. (Pretend ex-prostitute to be precise, but there was no way she was privy to that part.)

Caprice’s eyes gleamed. “Well-”

“I apologize if my lack of knowledge when it comes to wine is offensive,” Micah hurried to spit out before Caprice could say anything more. He turned to the woman in question. “But I’m sure you’d make an excellent teacher if you could find it in your heart to take me on as a pupil. Every time I see you, you seem have a glass in your hand, after all.”

Caprice’s face reddened. “E-excuse me?” she sputtered even as her husband choked on a bit of surprised laughter.

Though no one chortled as loudly as the man of the unknown couple at their table. “He’s calling you a lush, dear,” the man said. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Most of us here are.” He took a pointed swig of his drink and winked. “Mr. Romano, you must introduce me to your entertaining… companion.”

“This is Micah Gallagher, my date for the evening.”

Micah may have been a sucker for Damon, but he wasn’t stupid enough to give the man his real last name, which is why he’d signed all the NDA’s using the name Gallagher instead of Hart. (He’d borrowed it from Tessa.)