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7/1/13 11:28Zach and I are at the first stop of a little mini-tour of Italian wine country. We arranged this tasting so there is someone waiting for us, asking us if we are the Quintos. "We are," I say with a proud smile.
I can't help but notice his satisfied smirk. "The Quinto-Pines. With a hyphen." The lady looks at us like he's speaking in an alien language. "The Quintos. It's fine. Let's do this wine thing."
She shows us to a bar where there are glasses and bottles already lined up. Zach stands very close to me with a protective hand planted firmly on the small of my back. I feel warm and safe and I wonder how I made it through my life before I had this...before I had him.
I can't help but notice his satisfied smirk. "The Quinto-Pines. With a hyphen." The lady looks at us like he's speaking in an alien language. "The Quintos. It's fine. Let's do this wine thing."
She shows us to a bar where there are glasses and bottles already lined up. Zach stands very close to me with a protective hand planted firmly on the small of my back. I feel warm and safe and I wonder how I made it through my life before I had this...before I had him.
