I felt a bit shocked. I could remember Ted more inclined to drink cheap rotgut. Then again, I hadn’t seen him since he’d been in college fifteen years ago.
“It’s right over here! It used to be a pantry, back when people still canned tomatoes and pickles every year. But it will work for wine.” Ted took me over to a closed door. He unlocked the door with an old-fashioned key, which I thought looked perfect for a wine cellar full of old, dusty bottles. He turned on the single bulb light inside, and we entered the wine cellar.
I stood, staring. The shelves that once held jars of pickles and tomatoes were now filled with box after box after box of box wine.
Apparently, wine cellar or not, he hadn’t lost his taste for cheap wine.