Dare Me. Jo Leigh

for him. Until he got to the choice of marry, date or one-night stand. Ah. Okay. So Emmy did get the only thing he was interested in. “Fine,” he said, handing back the card. “I’ll do it. But only because I’m a good brother.”

      Her laughter followed him all the way across the brewery until he closed the door behind him.

      * * *

      “GOLDFISH,” MOLLY GRAINGER SAID, leaning slightly away from the microphone that dangled in front of her face. “I assume you mean the crackers, not the actual fish.”

      Her “frequent listener, first-time caller” Andy laughed. “Yeah. The crackers. The Hot ’n Spicy Cheddar ones.”

      “Give me a second.” Although she already knew the wine she’d recommend, Molly waited a few beats for dramatic effect. “Malbec,” she said. “Definitely a Malbec. And I suggest trying one from Argentina. They’ve done wonderful things with an often neglected grape.”

      “Okay,” Andy said. “But what makes it good to drink with Goldfish?”

      “It stands up well to strong flavors. Malbec has a jammy character, and a great blend of aromas and flavors that makes it very complex, so you’re not just putting out the fire, but adding to the dining experience. Plus there are some very good choices for under twenty-five bucks. Let me know what you think.”

      “Cool. Gracias.”

      “De nada,” she said, then added, “This is Molly Grainger and you’re listening to Molly’s Wine for Newbies on WNYU radio. We’ll be right back.”

      She clicked off her mike and switched her attention to the card that was sitting on her console. She’d just come back from her fifth Hot Guys Trading Cards meeting, and for the first time ever she’d selected a guy. His name was Cameron Crawford. Although he was, by any standard, a very good-looking man, she’d chosen him because he was a brewmaster, a distant cousin of sorts, careerwise. That should make the small talk easier.

      Fact was, while she’d worked for years to overcome her natural shyness in order to teach and speak in public, she still had a hard time with personal one-on-one conversations. Which shouldn’t have mattered, since there was no room in her life for anything but a one-night stand right now, and yet she wasn’t about to jump in the sack without at least finding out if she liked the guy first.

      Her being a master sommelier and well on her way to becoming a master of wine and Cameron’s passion for brewing gave them enough in common to begin a conversation without too much flailing about. And after meeting his sister Emerald, Molly doubted he’d be horrid. Emmy seemed bright and funny and had that very enviable ability to fit in with a broad assortment of people.

      Now all that was left was for Molly to call Cameron and set up a time and place for dinner. Somewhere that wasn’t Prune. She was going to foot the tab, and there was no way she wanted to pay those kinds of prices. She’d already learned that he lived in Queens, so she focused her restaurant search on the area around the Queensboro Bridge. Bistango’s, perhaps, or Tommy Bahama.

      But before she dialed Cameron’s number, she called the woman who’d introduced her to the trading cards: Donna, her boss at Wine Connoisseur and her closest friend. Molly’s producer, Roxanne, would signal her a few seconds before they went back on the air.

      Donna answered on the first ring. “Did you call him yet?”

      “Nope.” Jeez. Donna had been with her when she’d chosen the card all of one hour ago. “But I’ve figured out where I want to meet. The problem is what happens after.”

      Donna was silent for a second. “It’s a date, Mol. You’ve been on dates.”

      “Yes, thank you for being so literal.” Molly studied his card again. “He lives all the way out in Queens. You think he’s going to want to come all the way to Bensonhurst for a one-off?” Donna’s laugh was so loud, Molly had to move her phone away from her ear.

      “You think a guy looking for a one-night stand via a trading card is gonna balk at a train ride? You have been celibate for way too long.”

      “It’s not celibacy if you don’t have time for it.”

      “Were you having sex? No? That’s being celibate in my book. You’ve been so busy working I doubt you’ve seen one movie this whole year. Am I right? Of course I’m right. You need to call this man.”

      “I’m calling him! Stop yelling at me. I just... I wouldn’t go to Queens for him. That’s all.”

      “He won’t mind. I promise.”

      “Hey, Molly. You can screw at my place.” Bobby’s voice boomed over the intercom.

      Molly closed her eyes. She’d neglected to cut off the intercom between her and the booth. When she did look, it was with a glare at the engineer. “I’m one hundred percent certain you’ve hooked up your entire apartment with video cameras,” Molly said. “You’re a perv, Bobby!” Turning her attention back to Donna, she said, “I’ll call you after I set things up.”

      Donna said, “Good,” then hung up just as Bobby said, “I’m a guy, Molly. Did you know we think about sex every six seconds? My interest in the subject is a biological imperative.”

      “Your interest in the subject is that you can’t keep it in your pants,” Roxanne said, her voice dripping with disdain. Theirs was not a match made in heaven. Shockingly, Bobby looked a little ashamed. Not that it would last.

      Molly couldn’t have been happier that Roxanne had joined their team as a producer. Molly had originally worked with a guy named Wesley, who not only didn’t understand wine, but hadn’t understood the basics of personal hygiene. University radio stations were great, but the constant revolving door of personnel was a crapshoot.

      “In three...two...” Roxanne gave Molly the signal. Her next caller had obviously taken a cue from the caller before the break and wanted to know what wine to pair with popcorn.

      “Buttered?”

      “Why not?” the caller asked.

      Again, Molly went to the base ingredients, the underlying flavors and texture of the food. Popcorn was, after all, corn. And the butter meant she needed something sharp enough to cut the coating sensation on the tongue. “There’s a nice aromatic wine called Viognier that would fit the bill.” She spelled the word, which she had to do with a number of wines. “It’s a reasonably priced white—at least, the California varieties are. Look for Cold Heaven, and make sure the bottle’s well chilled. Then enjoy the movie.”

      The requests continued in that vein for the next fifteen minutes. One ridiculous pairing after another. Molly ended up pleased with the hour. They’d had a lot of calls. She was so happy that she did some extra commercial recordings before she gathered her briefcase, her phone and her notes for the following week’s show and headed out to make the all-important phone call to Mr. Crawford.

      But first she borrowed Roxanne’s empty office to steal a few minutes alone with her tablet. Molly checked her messages, texted a few replies and then went to her calendar. It was a masterpiece of organization born of necessity. Every day of the month was broken down into half-hour segments, and each segment was tied to her agenda, including breaks for meals, phone conversations that might take longer than five minutes, blogging, teaching, wine tasting, writing, editing... The list went on. What she was looking for now was evenings when she was free. She usually ended up sleeping or working on her evenings off. Occasionally she’d read, but mostly for research. In the past six months, she’d met Donna for drinks three times.

      Ever since she’d gone to her first trading-cards meeting—ironically in the basement at St. Marks Church—she’d been shifting her schedule just enough to clear two possible nights next week when she could meet her date, have a meal or a drink, have sex and make it back to her apartment before one the next morning.

      She found them on the following Thursday and Sunday. Granted, it would have been better if she’d blocked