Page 5 of Infidelity Rules

I’m settled in at the wine seminar, trying to focus on the Italian wine expert carefully explaining the nuances of Chianti wine labels.

I’m a whiz with California and Oregon wines, but I swear the Italians like to confuse simply for fun.

But I’m determined to learn and crack the code.

I’m studying my wine region map when a sommelier from Manhattan stands up to discuss appropriate food pairings with some of these hefty reds.

My ears prick up immediately. I hear him say things like “thick tomato ragu,” “slow-simmered Bolognese” and “sage brown butter ravioli.”

My stomach rumbles. They really should have discussed this part after lunch. I look up from my notes to see the sommelier circling a wine region on a large map. In giant script next to it he writes, “pairs best with a well-marbled, dry aged, thick cut of beef.”

Thick cut of beef. Mmmmm. Marcus. Double mmmmmm.

Shit. Bring it back , Quinn. No. No Marcus, no meat.

It’s too late. Now I’m thinking about Marcus and what I want for dinner.

Marcus with his lone dimple, gusty laugh and well-formed pecs. A thick, juicy, almost mooing rib-eye. Mmmm. It’s a 70-30 split. In Marcus’s favor.

Pay attention Quinn , I admonish myself. Quit acting like a jackass. You’re on the clock for Persimmon .

I shake it off and get my head back in the game.

Not only would a rich Barolo pair beautifully with the fat steak I’m dreaming of, but I’m also charged with choosing a few new wines to offer at the restaurant.

The fact that these seminars are also packed with men is simply a bonus.

It would be nice to find myself a married man pronto.

Somebody who can yank me back from the gravitational pull of Marcus.

Wine first, Quinn, I promise myself. Fling, second.

I scribble notes about Italy’s famed Brunello di Montalcino and simultaneously scope out the fellow wine lovers sitting at my table, four men and one woman.

Today’s event isn’t limited to wine professionals, so there are a hodgepodge of attendees.

The five seated with me are apparently all out-of-town drug reps playing hooky on their last day of a pharmaceutical seminar.

I glance quickly at the hands of all the men and all but one are wearing gold or silver bands.

It doesn’t take long to suss out that at least two of the three husbands at my table are happily married.

You can always tell as they bring up their wives rather quickly and will never hold your gaze for long.

That, and these two casually positioned themselves between their colleagues, thus avoiding any chance contact with me.

I don’t know that they did this consciously, but happily married men automatically keep an arm’s length — both figuratively and literally — from other women, particularly single women.

I do a quick assessment of the third married man, who catches me looking, scootches his chair over and says, “You here all on your own sweetheart?”

Ewwww.

I nod. “It’s business. I’m on the clock.”

I’m not into this guy at all, it’s just habit now to read the body language and general vibe of married men so I can quickly rule them in or out as potential flings.

This particular man, Tim as he introduced himself, doesn’t seem to be on the prowl.

He’s just a big, jovial salesman who clearly loves to chat with new people.

I certainly hope he doesn’t supply endless commentary throughout this wine seminar.

Thankfully, he shuts up and I start to settle in and focus on the wines at hand, noting interesting vintages, terroir and any bottles I might recommend for Persimmon.

The details and labeling of Italian wine can get complicated, so today I try to focus on what’s most important to my customers — tasting notes, food pairings and, of course, price.

I sip, I swirl, I spit and repeat. I may not be all that lucky in love, but I do feel extremely lucky to be passionate about my work.

I’ll never forget the first time a food and wine pairing blew my mind.

I wasn’t even in the wine business yet, but I knew some kitchen magic was happening when I walked into the dining room at Hier et Aujourd’hui, a tiny little French bistro on the outskirts of Paris.

Above the hushed bits of French I could not decipher, there was an unmistakable — in any language — sound.

It was a moan. And then another. And another and yet another.

All around these miniscule tables, people were swooning with undeniable pleasure.

I had never seen or heard anything like it.

At that moment, I wouldn’t have been surprised if somebody had stood up and clapped.

I had no idea what was rendering these French diners giddy with delight, but I had to have it. It was my first trip to France and neither I nor my husband at the time spoke French, so we simply pointed and did our best to act out, “we’ll have what they’re having.”

We must have succeeded as, 20 minutes later, Chris and I were both moaning ourselves, eyes closed, as we licked thick spoonfuls of a decadent foie gras mousse and chased it with sips of crisp Champagne.

On their own, the mousse and the bubbles were delicious, but together, well, it made you flat out moan. There is no other way to put it.

That was my moment. The moment I truly fell in love with wine. I had always loved food, but that experience was the tiny germ that seeded what now serves as both my work and play — the pursuit of good food and wine, preferably together.

I went back to Paris shortly after my divorce, specifically to get lost in the food and wine.

I needed a good solid food moan and damn if I wasn’t going to get it.

So I returned to that tiny French bistro and I moaned along with every other diner in my American accent.

Five times in ten days. It was that good.

I am sad to say that Hier et Aujourd’hui has since closed, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying to find that experience elsewhere or doing my best to deliver it to my diners at Persimmon.

I’m daydreaming about that tiny pot of foie gras mousse when Tim leans over and asks about dinner reservations for his crew tonight at my restaurant.

I nod and tell him I’ll handle it. At the break I confirm a five-top for Tim’s group at Persimmon, and then stand to take stock of the room.

There are about 100 people in attendance and it’s time for me to mingle.

I shake off any lingering thoughts of Marcus and head into the thick of things.

I’m chatting with a wine shop owner from Baltimore — perfect distance for an affair — when Tim from my table suddenly appears at my elbow.

“Hey sweetheart! I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight,” he says, winking at me.

I stare at him, perplexed. Is this man actually flirting with me? Married or not, he’s seriously not my type.

“Maybe I’ll show up early,” he winks again, moving in a bit too close.

Seriously buddy? I don’t think so. I know married men must be very direct to launch an affair lest we assume they’re unavailable, but this guy is too much.

“I’ll be busy working, but I hope you enjoy your meal.”

I turn away from him and back to my Baltimore wine guy, hoping Tim will scram.

Baltimore wine guy grins at me. “Looks to me like you have yourself a fan there.”

This one is very cute. Not quite Marcus cute, but he’s piqued my interest. And he’s married. Hallelujah, I think, catching a glimpse of a platinum band.

“I certainly hope not,” I say. “He’s at my table with a group and they asked for a reservation at my restaurant … maybe he’s just appreciative.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says, nodding over my shoulder, still grinning. “Looks like he’s back for more. Let’s see what he has to say.”

Oh good grief.

I turn around just a tiny bit and Tim is on me again. Too close! I can smell the Brunello on his breath.

“Any chance you might be interested in meeting up for a nightcap later?” he asks, reaching out to touch my hair. “My treat. I’d love to pick your brain a bit about wine.”

I duck out of his reach, much to the amusement of Baltimore wine guy. I’m now seriously regretting getting this fool a table at Persimmon tonight.

“Thanks Tim, but I’m not available,” I say firmly, turning my attention back to Baltimore wine guy.

“I’m Quinn,” by the way, I say, reaching out to shake wine guy’s hand.

“Zack,” he says, chuckling. “That was fun. I sure do hope he comes back.”

“Oh please, no,” I shake my head.

I catch Zack spinning his wedding ring on his finger. I can’t quite read him. Is he just friendly or flirting?

I think I need to stick around and find out.

“So,” Zack says. “You work at a restaurant then? That means you must live in the area. Make your way to Baltimore much?”

“Yes and yes,” I reply. “I’m a sommelier at a place called Persimmon and my brother lives in Baltimore, so I do visit regularly.

I also happen to like the burgeoning restaurant scene.

” I smile at Zack and sit on the table next to him, crossing my legs and inching just a bit closer.

“And, I’m always looking for a good wine guy, even in Baltimore. ”

He moves next to me, leaning against the table. This is an excellent sign.

“Oh yeah?” he says, smiling down at me. “Well, lucky me.”

Things are looking up around here. I think Zack is interested in something, I’m just not sure what yet.

I’m not opposed to a one-nighter by any means, but I prefer a romance to last weeks to months.

Just long enough to bask in the glory of a new flame but avoid the boring guts of anything more serious.

“So Zack, you here buying for your shop or just having some fun?”

“A bit of both. I’m here for the weekend,” he says, looking straight at me.

Well ding dong! My affair alarm bells are ringing now.

Of course, I was way off base with Tim, so maybe my sixth sense is out of tune.

But Zack is here for the weekend. What an interesting tidbit of information.

That is generally not something a happily married man shares with a virtual stranger.

Particularly a single, female, flirtatious, virtual stranger.

“Are you on your own?” I ask, wondering if perhaps his wife tagged along for the weekend.

“I am,” he nods. “At least for today. I’m supposed to be meeting up with some D.C. buddies tomorrow.”

We are now ever so slightly touching. And it’s all his doing. This guy is definitely interested.

“I don’t know about you,” Zack says with that adorable grin, “but I got what I came here for today. And besides, I’ve heard the guy lecturing this afternoon before and he’s so dull it’s impossible to pay attention.

There’s sound coming out of his mouth but it’s like listening to the teacher in a Charlie Brown cartoon, all garbled mumbo jumbo. ”

I laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about we get outta here and you let me take you to a late lunch? Give me a chance to convince you that I can be your new wine guy.”

“You’re on. I’m not the kind of girl who says no to lunch.”

.....

Lunch turns into a lovely afternoon of canoodling in a booth side by side, sharing waffles, bacon and huge slabs of avocado toast at a cozy, breakfast-for-dinner spot.

Turns out, Zack does sell wine wholesale to restaurants (bonus), he’s often in D.C.

for business (convenient) and doesn’t have any little ones at home (whew).

So far, checks all my boxes, so to speak.

And clearly, he’s interested in an affair.

“How much time do you have?” he asks, dragging a forkful of waffle through maple syrup and offering it to me.

Good god, this man is feeding me waffles!

I take the bite and look up at him, licking syrup from my lips.

“Wait,” he says, leaning towards me, his mouth almost brushing mine. “Let me do that.” He gently grazes my lips with his and I can taste maple and vanilla and bacony goodness.

Damn what a fine lunch this is turning out to be.

We are now slowly, gently kissing and kissing and kissing. His hand is on my hip and oh boy, we need to stop before we start doing things that are wholly inappropriate at a breakfast-for-dinner place. Or any dining establishment for that matter.

I pull away and smile up at him.

“Wow,” he says, letting out a big sigh.

I nod, wanting him to take the lead. I don’t know if this is his first extramarital affair so I’m not sure what he’s thinking.

I know he’s enjoying this, but sometimes the guilt kicks in and extinguishes everything before it even starts.

That, and neither of us have brought up the obvious yet, THE WIFE, so I’m wondering when that topic will surface.

Zack nuzzles my ear and whispers, “You still haven’t answered my question. How much time do you have? Do you want to get out of here?”

Okay, so guilt is not an issue.

I glance at my watch and notice that I’m due at the restaurant in just over an hour.

“Unfortunately, not much at all,” I say. “I didn’t realize how late it is and I need to get to Persimmon.”

Zack nods and calls for the check. “I wasn’t expecting this, you,” he says. “I’d like to see you again.”

“I’d like that too,” I say, purposefully looking at his wedding ring. “What did you have in mind?”

“I know. I’m married, obviously. I haven’t done this before but, to be honest, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. We’ve both been so unhappy.”

“Say no more. It’s none of my business.”

“So, tomorrow then?” he asks. “Or perhaps even after work tonight?”

“What about your friends? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting up with them?”

“I am, but I have time in the morning. I’d love to take you to breakfast or for a walk in the park. Apparently, breakfast food works for us,” he grins, gesturing to the empty plates surrounding us.

I arrange to meet Zack tomorrow at a little cafe near the Tidal Basin so we can grab a quick bite and go for a walk if we choose. After a lingering kiss, I’m off to change clothes and get ready for work.