,” he permitted, nodding.
She was gratified he didn’t say you’ll like it. That was one of her least favorite phrases; it was always unwisely assured. She hated all scenarios preceding the assumption that someone could predict her taste. Either they thought it universal enough that she could be lumped in with masses or they thought (usually incorrectly) that they understood her specific needs, and she wasn’t sure which crime was worse.
Ultimately, though, she thought the wine was good. She didn’t know the proper words for it, but was relieved that Aldo didn’t offer any. He merely took a sip, glancing with that same degree of discomfort over his shoulder.