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living?”
    She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. My dad died of a heart attack about ten years ago and my mother of liver cancer before that.”
    “So…you’re orphaned.”
    “Yes, I am but don’t even think about pitying me. I have a great life and a lot of wonderful friends. And I have a winery you want so that makes my life even better.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “I think it’s going to be fun tormenting you, what else?”
    He growled then laughed. “Well, I have to say your winery and vineyard look terrific.”
    “You were out there?”
    “The other morning, after I left your house, I went out there to have a look and that’s when I discovered who you were. By the way, you did an amazing job on the renovation. Sheila, my executive assistant, pulled the before-and-after piece from the Arizona Republic.”
    “Oh. I should have known you’d investigate. Well, thank you for the compliment.”
    The waiter returned with the wine. When he left, Quint raised his glass to her. How relieved she was that he didn’t offer a toast. She put her glass to her lips and took a sip but her gaze settled on his eyes and for the next long stretch of time she tried to determine if they really were the exact shade of the Sedona sky.
    She set her glass down and worked on breathing because for the life of her she couldn’t look away from him. He smiled crookedly. She laughed, shook her head, then shrugged.
    He glanced past her shoulder to the Mexican courtyard beyond. “So what is this place? Tlaquepaque, I mean.”
    Another safe subject. She owed him one. “I know the developer meant for artists to have their studios here, but in the end, the location was better suited to galleries and shops.”
    He nodded. “The trees are magnificent.”
    “Arizona Sycamores. The original owner wouldn’t sell the land until the trees became part of the development.”
    When the waiter returned again and politely asked if they’d decided, she spoke in her less-than-perfect French and ordered chicken in a wine sauce, carrots and salad. Quint chose grilled filet mignon, potatoes au gratin, peas.
    Once more alone, she asked about his decision to go to Japan.
    “It’s simple. I wanted to be fluent in the language. I’m studying Chinese now.”
    Something inside her went mushy and wanting…again. She loved that his interests, even if they were monetary-based, extended way beyond Phoenix. Maybe he should be less accomplished. She just hoped he didn’t play a musical instrument. That would do her in.
    “Do you play guitar? Drums? Harmonica?” She clasped her hands on her lap. “Accordion? Bagpipes, maybe?” Her heart thumped.
    He chuckled but shook his head. “I’m not musical at all.”
    Thank God.
    “How about you?” he asked.
    “I play the piano a little. Not well enough at all to perform for others. One day perhaps.”
    “You speak French.” It was kind of a question.
    She laughed. “If you call an exchange of greetings with the waiter speaking French . One day I would love to study in France and fill in the vast holes of what I don’t know about the language. I took all that I could in college but that just doesn’t make for fluency.”
    He smiled. “No, it doesn’t. Living where the language can get into your bones makes all the difference.”
    She sipped her wine and strove hard to keep the conversation away from the winery. When she had exhausted her knowledge of the Sinagua Indians who had once inhabited Oak Creek Canyon, she sought around for something else to discuss but came up empty. She breathed a sigh of relief when the waiter arrived with dinner.
    Quint picked up his glass of wine but this time offered a toast, “To a lovely Jeep driver.” He inclined his head.
    How nineteenth-century of him.
    She could be polite, however. She lifted her stemmed glass and inclined her head as well. He waited until the wine touched her lips before he drank.
    He was much, much too agreeable. He ought to wear horns or