Lesson 1 – An Appropriate Red

Clunk. The bottle hit the counter, its hollow sound reverberating throughout Rebecca’s tiresome bedsit.

It was somewhere between Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Live and Strictly Come Dancing that a glass of red piqued Rebecca’s interest.

The only trouble was this bottle was empty. No amount of downturned shaking could change the fact, despite Rebecca’s best efforts. Plan-B sat dusty on her sad wine display, the fancy-shmancy bottle her parents gifted for her 30th birthday.

It had been six months since she’d welcomed Ribera del Duero’s 2018 Tempranillo to her collection, and yet, there had been no occasion to open it.

No dinner parties. No first dates. No work nights out. Definitely no second dates.

I wonder how much this bottle costs? The question lingered as she typed in her search bar, her mood languishing. 

“Ha! Guess I’m going to the shops,” she muttered; Plan-C it was then.

As she grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter, she pondered what occasion would be suitable to open the glorious Spanish red; certainly not Saturday night television, certainly not alone.

She passed her hall mirror on the way out, taming her auburn curls, attempting to look somewhat presentable before leaving the threshold of her safe haven.

It was a short walk from Rebecca’s flat to the nearest corner shop, but the same could be said for every flat in London. 

She strolled past restaurants and bars, making a mental note to book her best friend Claire’s favourite restaurant for her upcoming visit.

 ”I’ve heard the dating scene in London is ripe, you’ll have a man in finance in no time!” Claire had enthused six months prior.

The closest she’d come to a man in finance was her bank calling to check she wasn’t being defrauded. She wasn’t; she really had bought that many romance novels in one day. 

The thought of recounting her love life – or lack thereof – with Claire made her throat seize; she’d need the Spanish red to get through it.

Rebecca made it to the corner shop and hastily sourced an appropriate red for Saturday night television. Plus a packet of crisps, salt and vinegar, for good measure.

Ding. The shop door opened and Rebecca’s gaze settled on the soft, dark features of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. 

The sort of man she would share Ribera del Duero’s 2018 Tempranillo with – any night of the week. 

He looked at her with the most piercing-blue eyes before turning to face the counter, pointing a gun at the shopkeeper.

“Empty the till,” he shouted.

Rebecca’s grip tightened around her bottle of Shiraz as she backed up through the aisle.

“And you,” he said, looking at Rebecca. She froze.

“Get on the ground.”

Fuck. She followed his instructions, her knees giving way long before her courage did. She pressed her face against the cold floor, reminding herself to breathe.

And to think, she would’ve shared her good Spanish red with him.