“I can miss the appetizers.” She lifted the bottle. “I’ve never heard of this winery.”
“The bartender assures me it’s very good.”
“And how do I know it’s not spiked and you’re some stalker?”
“I’ll take the first sip.” He poured a small amount into two glasses, sliding one across to her, then held his aloft. “To whatever it is you’re celebrating.”
They touched rims. She waited for him to drink first, then followed suit. “That is good . . . Black cherry, dark chocolate . . . and a hint of cranberry.” She picked up the bottle. “Tempranillo grown in California. I see a wine tasting trip in my future.”
“What about your friends? Are you sure you don’t want to . . . ?”
“They’ve probably already forgotten about me. And leave such lovely wine?”
He set his glass on the table and held out his hand. “Sam Fargo.”
She took it in hers, shaking with a firm grip. “Remi Longstreet.”
“Nice to meet you, Remi.” He refilled their glasses. “So, what’s worth celebrating with a Spanish varietal?”
“You have to promise not to tell.”
“Cross my heart.”
Her smile lit up her entire face. “I’ve been looking into rumors that a Spanish galleon sank off Abalone Cove. This morning, I actually found a reference to the ship in the Rare Books and Special Collections Reading Room at Long Beach State. It’s all of two sentences, but considering it took me almost six months just to find that much, I’m ecstatic.”
“That definitely deserves a toast,” Sam said, lifting his glass once more. “So, what’s next? Exploratory diving to find it?”
“Eventually. But that’s only part of it. I’m leaving for Greece in two weeks. Fourni, to be exact.”
“You should have your pick of shipwrecks. What are there, about fifty surrounding the islands?”
“You’re familiar with the area?”
“Read about it, but never been. Underwater archeology’s always fascinated me. The lure of being the first person to find something that’s been buried for centuries . . .” He smiled. “Is that your job? Archeologist?”
“I wish. I’m a translator for an international shipping company. Sadly, it’s not the glamorous globe-trotting job I was hoping for. I sit in a cubicle in Long Beach most of the day, wearing a headset.”
“Which language?”
“Whichever one they need. I’m fluent in several, passable in a few more. How about you?”
Recalling Blake’s warning, he kept it vague. “Past job, design engineer. Current job, retail.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
So much for glossing over the truth. “Would you believe grocery store shelf stocker?”
“That’s quite the change in careers.”
The truth was a bit complicated. Sam, a Caltech engineering graduate, had been recruited by DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, to design technology for the Department of Defense. After seven fruitful years, he’d put in his notice, and moved back to California to pursue what had been up until recently a lifelong dream. “It is, but I wanted the freedom to work on a project. An argon laser scanner.”
Her brows went up, then furrowed slightly. “Which does . . . what?”
“If it ever gets past the paper stage, it’ll identify mixed metals and alloys at a distance. Gold, silver, platinum, you name it.”
“For real?”
“Not yet, but that’s what I’m hoping. My friend,” he said, nodding at the bar, where Blake was still camped out in front of the TV, “set up a meeting with a group of investors in a few weeks. If all goes as planned, they’ll be funding the project, and I can actually take it from paper to reality. For now, the grocery job keeps a roof over my head and gives me time to work on the project.”
“And yet,” she said, tapping her glass with her perfectly manicured nails, “you’re buying bottles of wine for complete strangers? Not exactly budget friendly.”
“So I eat a lot of peanut butter sandwiches for the next week? High in protein and very affordable.”
She laughed. The next several hours passed in a blur as they talked about anything and everything, most of it nautical. Before Sam knew it, the bartender was crying out, “Last call!”
Remi looked up, her expression mirroring how Sam felt. The night was too short. She’d been discussing her upcoming research trip.
He reached over, tapped her hand, getting her attention. “You were saying? About your trip, why you picked Greece?”
She seemed startled by his touch, but smiled. “Sorry. I don’t know where the time went. The trip . . . I spent my junior year abroad. One of the other students’ father heads up the Fourni Underwater Archeological Preservation Society, a nonprofit that’s working to preserve some of the ancient shipwrecks from looting. He invited me for a summer sabbatical. I couldn’t pass up the invite and have a few weeks of vacation coming. Couldn’t think of a better thing to do. Especially with this awful job I have.”
“So you do have a background in . . .”
“Oh, no. The only thing I know about underwater archeological sites is from school—”
“What’d you major in?”
“I have a master’s in history and anthropology, with a focus on ancient trade routes. And,” she said with a beaming smile, “you’re looking at a newly certified scuba diver—as of yesterday.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I figured it’s all good training for when I get back here to search for my Spanish galleon.”
“So how long will you be in Fourni?”
“Three weeks. Then it’s back here, same old, same old. Until, well—” She looked up as the lights flickered on overhead, warning them that time was up. They were the only two left in the bar.
“Here’s to a successful trip.” The two had switched to water long before that, and he lifted his half-empty glass. They touched rims once again, drained their glasses, then stood. “Walk you to your car?” he said.
“I’d appreciate that.”
They walked out into a nearly deserted parking lot, theirs the only two cars remaining. His, a well-used red Jeep Wrangler with a patina of California sun, bleached and sandblasted, and oversized off-road tires complemented her shiny red Porsche 911 GT3. As they neared, she took out her key fob, unlocking it. Trying to ignore Blake’s earlier comments, Sam reached over, opening her door, and said, “I’ll see you soon.”