Ethan takes pamphlets or maps—I’m not sure—from the woman and gives her two pieces of paper, which I assume are our tickets. She checks them and leads us to one of the carts.

“You are here,” she says and we get on the train. “Have a lovely evening!” she wishes us.

“Wine Train,” I exclaim and give Ethan an amused look as we’re sitting on deliciously comfortable royal blue plush seats. “So there’s drinking involved?”

“Relax,” he says. “I’m not planning to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”

I roll my eyes, but a tiny part of me says, ‘Bummer.’

“This is amazing. And so comfortable.”

“It’s pretty nice,” he says coolly. “So,” he says and unfolds the pamphlets. “We have three stops. Each quite different, it seems. And we also have dinner and just a small, insignificant amount of alcohol. If you want to. You don’t have to. I know you’re not a big wine drinker.”

“That’s not true,” I say, sounding like I’m trying to convince him I’m an alcoholic. “I appreciate a good wine, for instance. And this is the Wine Train. I assume that’s what we’ll have. I just don’t do beer or hard stuff; never liked them.”

“It’s OK. I’m not much of a drinker either.”

“I noticed,” I say.

I did notice. I noticed many things. How he looks first thing in the morning and right before sleep, how he frowns when he’s frustrated, how his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and how he stares into my eyes without saying anything. Like now.

“I’m so ready for this,” I say, fidgeting.

“I can see that,” he says and chuckles.

We sit opposite each other on two oversized benches, a gorgeous dark-brown lacquered table between us. I try to keep my legs to myself and not play footsie under the table.

Seventy-Eight

The train leaves the station a few minutes later, and I stare out the window, admiring stately properties and expansive vineyards that stretch out as far as the eye can see.

A man wearing a navy-blue uniform comes over with a gold-plated tray with food—ciabatta, smoked salmon, and Greek yogurt smoothies. It’s a lot more food than I can eat right now, but I want to try it all. He also brings up two glasses of sparkling wine.

“Welcome aboard our wine train,” he says, smiling before moving on to other passengers.

Ethan raises his glass, and I do too.

“What should we toast to?” he asks, his eyes on mine, his smile mirroring mine.

“How about a beautiful day?” It sounds boring and safe. I want to be boring and safe.

He twists his mouth. “How about we toast to the unexpected?”

“The unexpected? I like that.”

Our glasses clink together, mellow music in the background, the light slightly dimmed. This is playing out like a scene from one of my stories, isn’t it? The main characters look into each other’s eyes and realize what they really feel. There are violins and fireworks. Nope. Not going to happen. Ethan and I, we’re the wrong characters. I avert my eyes and focus on the landscape. He does the same.