The Personification of Merlot

He opened the small book in his hands and moments later, the smoothness of his velvet-lined voice soon drifted across the expanse of the small room:

“The rose is fairest when ’t is budding new,

And hope is brightest when it downs from fears"

Entranced, Zelda listened to the words wrap fluidly around his eloquent tongue and spill forth into the stillness of the dimly lit room. Despite the silliness of it, all her mind could seem to think upon was the ‘swooning’ that was often detailed in Romance novels she had read in younger years. She was certain at this moment in time, she might swoon and faint fast away upon the floor of The Prose & Wine, so overcome was she by his lovely recitation of Sir Walter Scott’s prose. Fleeting thoughts of him bent over her lifeless body, attempting to resuscitate her lingered pleasantly in her mind until she forced herself to focus again on the beautiful words and timbre of his voice as he continued to read. Ah, but she could live life in such a way, listening to such beautiful recitations by such a one as he.

Thus, the night ensued with readings from various excerpts of the famous poem. Once they had ended, the waiter made his rounds, replenishing drinks. As he poured a new glass of Merlot for Zelda and stepped away, she gasped for he was standing there, behind the waiter and directly in front of her small table.

“Good evening,” he said with a brilliant smile and voice of velvet that made Zelda’s heart skip a beat. “I hope you enjoyed the reading this evening.”

Zelda found her voice, returned his smile, and managed to answer him without stammering like a timid schoolgirl. “I thoroughly enjoyed it. Sir Walter Scott’s writings are so beautiful.” As are you, she thought.

“Excellent. I am so pleased.” He looked about the room for a minute before his gaze found hers again. As if unsure what to say, he cleared his throat before he continued, “I’ve noticed that you’ve managed to attend all of my readings.”

Zelda felt a blush creep across her cheeks. He had noticed her repeated attendance at his recitations after all. Well, she could only hope that was a good thing. “Yes,” she nodded. “I have enjoyed each one of them very much, too although I think tonight was my favorite.”

For mere moments, the two stared at one another, seemingly frozen in time. Blue eyes met green ones, and in a microcosm of time, connected. Zelda felt a small shiver run through her that had nothing to do with the cold weather outside.

“May I join you?” he gestured to the empty chair at her table.

“Yes, of course. Please forgive my manners,” she said as she quickly moved her wine glass and copy of Lady of the Lake. He motioned to the waiter for a drink, and Zelda watched him from beneath her lashes, wondering if she was dreaming. If so, it was a beautiful dream, and she hoped never to awaken.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” he told the waiter.

Zelda was suddenly self-conscious as the waiter brought her companion’s wine. Her slim, woolen skirt seemed shorter and tighter by the minute, and the burgundy turtleneck she wore seemed to bind her chest tightly, preventing an adequate flow of air. Nervously, she tugged at the hem of her skirt and then fidgeted with the stem of the wine glass, glancing up at him to ensure he was, in fact, still there. She refrained from the temptation to pinch herself just to be sure she was awake.

“You like Merlot then?” she asked, and then mentally kicked herself. Why of course he liked Merlot. He had ordered it, hadn't he? Stupid, silly question!

“Yes, I do,” he smiled, and a big dimple grew in his left cheek. “It’s a favorite. I find it to be such an approachable wine. It is full-bodied and elegant while it pairs with nearly every kind of food but also manages to stand alone quite well. I enjoy the sleek softness of it: fruity, velvety, and so rich,” he added, taking a deep sip from the glass the waiter had placed before him.

And softly sensual, much like the way in which you partake of its sweet richness, Zelda could not help but think to herself, watching his throat as he swallowed. My God, but had anyone ever been able to describe the deliciousness of a glass of Merlot in such a way? Zelda was sure not. Indeed, the enunciation and the beauty in his description, rhythm, and flow of words were like the velvety, rich smooth sensuality and taste of the wine personified.