Troubles in Paradise (Paradise #3)(33)

Oh, well—it’s the Virgin Islands.

Granger and Lauren stand up; they’re all smiles as they greet Cash and Tilda, though Lauren says, “We were wondering what became of you two!” The elder Paynes run a tight ship; one needs to watch them for only five minutes to see why they’re successful. They do things impeccably—they get the best table at the most sought-after restaurant and then they welcome you into the place like it’s their home. Cash’s parents had money for years, but they never quite acquired the easy confidence that the Paynes exude.

Tilda instructs Cash to scoot over so he’s across from Lauren. Maybe Tilda is trying to save Cash from an evening of tough face-to-face interaction with Granger, or maybe she would like to be her father’s focus in this discussion. Granger pours them each a glass of wine. It’s the Archery Summit pinot noir, “just to get everyone started.” Cash sees from a quick check of the menu that the Archery Summit costs a hundred and twenty-five dollars a bottle, or roughly twenty-five bucks a glass. He tries to sit up straighter.

Granger says, “We’ll wait until Duncan arrives to order.”

Duncan? Cash thinks. Who’s Duncan? Then he notices a fifth seat at the end of the table, between Granger and Tilda. He feels better about being eight minutes late because this Duncan is even later.

In a moment, Granger and Lauren are back up on their feet again, beaming, and Tilda stands, and Cash, a beat later than he probably should have, also stands to shake hands with a guy—maybe Cash’s age, maybe younger—who’s wearing jeans, a Gucci belt, a Revivalists T-shirt, and a forty-thousand-dollar watch.

“Hey, I’m Cash,” he says.

“Hey, how you doin’, mate, I’m Duncan Huntley, call me Dunk, nice to meet you.” Dunk has an Australian accent, which puts Cash at ease a bit. Cash has never met an Aussie he didn’t like. It seems to be a country filled with friendly, outgoing, well-adjusted people.

They all sit and pick up their menus. Granger says, “We ordered a bottle of the Archery Summit to start.” He checks the bottle; there’s less than a full glass left. “But we are definitely ready to move on.”

“Let’s go with a couple bottles of the Penfolds Shiraz,” Dunk says. “I love a good Shiraz and Penfolds is the best in the Barossa—the best in the world, if you ask me.”

“The Lewis reserve cab is pretty good too,” Granger says. “Lauren and I visited the estate in Napa in January.”

“Don’t brag,” Tilda says.

“You were invited,” Granger says.

“I have a job,” she says.

“You can’t compare the two—sorry, mate,” Dunk says. “Penfolds is head and shoulders above.” He waves over their server, a pretty young woman with long dark hair. “Jena, would you please bring us a couple bottles of the Penfolds Shiraz? We’ll need to decant it.”

“The Lewis will be drinkable right out of the bottle,” Granger says. He turns to Jena. “One bottle of the Lewis reserve as well, please.” He looks across the table. “What about you, Cash? Are you more a cabernet guy or a Shiraz guy?”

Cash would very much like to admit that he’s an Island Hoppin’ IPA guy. He has the wine list open in front of him. The Lewis cab is $240 a bottle, and the Penfolds Grange Shiraz is…Cash blinks. Is he seeing things? No; it’s $700 a bottle. Which is, what, $140 a glass? Cash has a list of things as long as his arm that he would do with $140 before he blew it all on one glass of wine.

Dunk draws a circle with his finger. “So, Cash, how do you fit in with these bludgers?”

Cash would like to ask Duncan Huntley the same thing. “I’m a friend of Tilda’s,” he says. He doesn’t use the word boyfriend because he is already having some manhood issues.

“Well, then,” Duncan says. “That makes two of us.”

The wine arrives, there’s an enormous amount of theater involved in the tasting and decanting, and then Jena runs through the specials. She asks if it’s anyone’s first time eating at Extra Virgin, and Cash admits that he’s an Extra Virgin virgin—only Jena laughs—and she tells them that they have a rooftop garden where the herbs and vegetables are grown, that they use local farms for eggs, and that they get their seafood from local fishermen.

“The mahi for the special tonight was caught just this afternoon by Captain Huck of the Mississippi.”

“Hey,” Cash says. That’s cool, right? Huck caught tonight’s fish? But nobody is paying attention and Jena is off describing how the pasta, the stracciatella cheese, and the sausages are all made in-house.

“Would you ask Chef to do the tuna preparation I like?” Granger asks. “I don’t see it on the menu tonight.”

Cash expects Tilda to give her father a hard time—ordering off the menu is a gratuitous flex—but Tilda seems unbothered. She orders the lamb, Cash the mahi, Lauren the gnocchi. Dunk has a bunch of questions about the short rib preparation and Cash wonders if Dunk will be the first Aussie he’ll ever hate.

He wants to go home—and by home he means…he’s not sure where. He now lives under Granger’s roof.

He throws back several mouthfuls of the cabernet, which is the most incredible wine he’s ever tasted. All other wine hasn’t been wine; it’s been Kool-Aid, lacking the layers of this complex liquid. No, Cash is kidding. The wine is fine, nothing special. The best thing about it is it’s getting him buzzed.