“And in the tanks?”
“Riesling.”
“Oh, I love riesling.”
“Want to taste some?”
She faced me, her eyes lighting up. “Sure.”
“Follow me.” I led her through a door at the back of the tasting room and down the stone steps into the brightly lit cellar. From an antique cabinet over on one side, I grabbed two glasses. “So the wine is going to be a little bit cloudy because it’s not filtered yet, and it’s also freezing cold, but—”
“Oh, wow. There’s ice on the tanks.” She took off her mittens and hat, shoved them inside her coat pockets, and fluffed her hair a little.
“Yeah.” Momentarily distracted by the feminine gesture and all that golden blond hair, I paused for a second before recovering. “This is what’s called cold stabilization, where the wine is stored just above its freezing point.”
“Really? Why?” Then she grimaced. “Sorry. I’ll just warn you now, all my questions will probably sound stupid to you. I love wine, but despite growing up here, I’m pretty ignorant about the process.”
“That’s okay.” I turned the spigot on one of the tanks and filled one glass halfway, handing it to her. “I’m happy to teach you about it—you just have to let me know when I’m getting boring. I could talk forever about making wine. Renee used to—never mind.”
She put a hand on my arm. “No, tell me. Renee used to what?”
I filled the second glass, sorry I’d opened my mouth, but at the same time thinking how nice it was to feel her touch. “She was just over it after a while. She got sick of hearing me talk about what I do.”
“But you love what you do.”
I exhaled as I straightened. “It was part of a bigger problem. Anyway, I’m happy to answer your questions. If you start to snore, I’ll stop talking.”
She laughed. “That won’t happen.” Lifting up her glass, she looked at the riesling, which was pale yellow and slightly opaque. Her fingers were slender and graceful on the stem, her fingernails painted a soft pink. “Why do you have to keep it so cold?”
“To prevent crystallization of the bitartrates—what we sometimes call ‘wine diamonds.’”
“Wine diamonds.” Her plush lips curved into a smile. “That actually sounds beautiful.”
I laughed. “Maybe, but you don’t want them in your glass. Next week we’ll filter this and get it ready for bottling.”
“Got it.” She lowered the glass and peered into it. “So am I supposed to sniff this first?”
“You can, sure.” I watched her stick her nose inside the rim and inhale. “What do you smell?”
She picked up her chin and looked at me, her expression concerned, like she was figuring out a math problem. “I don’t know. Something fruity? I’m not good at this.”
Smiling, I swirled the wine in the glass. “You’re not wrong.”
“What do you smell?”
“Orchard fruits like apple, peach, apricot. A little honey. Maybe a little petrol.”
“Petrol!” She looked horrified.
“It’s normal,” I assured her with a laugh.
She sniffed again. “I don’t smell that at all, and how the heck do you pick out individual fruits like that?”
“Training. Experience. I also happen to have a very sensitive nose. I’m good at picking up different scents. Now taste it.”
She took a sip, and her eyebrows rose. “It’s actually so cold I can’t taste anything.”
“Yeah, the cold numbs your taste buds. Try this—don’t swallow it right away. Keep the wine in your mouth for a few seconds. Let it warm up on your tongue.” I hadn’t intended for it to sound suggestive, but her cheeks grew a little pink.
“Okay.”
We sipped at the same time, giving the wine a moment to lose its chill in our mouths, and I found myself thinking about her tongue. If I kissed her right now, I know exactly how she’d taste.
Ashamed, I pushed the thought from my head.
“So what do you think?” I asked, stepping back from her slightly. “Can you detect any specific flavors?”
She swallowed and waited a second. “Maybe citrus?”
“Very good.”
She beamed, lighting up the entire room. “Yay! I got one right!”
Laughing, I sipped again. “Do you like it?”
“I love it. And how cool that these grapes were grown right outside!” She pointed in the direction of the vineyard.
“It is cool—at least, I think it is. What you’re tasting is totally unique to the soil here, to this vineyard, to the way we make wine. And what we’re tasting this year will be different than what we taste next year from the very same vines. Wines tell a different story with every vintage.”
She looked surprised, then delighted. “I love that—the idea that wines tell a story.”
“That’s how I look at it.” I couldn’t help feeling excited to have someone to talk to about what I did—someone who wanted to listen and learn. “And it’s a story you don’t just read—you need more than just sight to really understand and appreciate it. You need smell, taste, touch—the feel of the wine in your mouth is just as important to the story as its scent or flavor.”
“Wow.” Sylvia blinked at me. “You’re really good at this. You make tasting wine sound very . . . um, sensual.”
“It should be sensual. But sorry.” I laughed self-consciously, shrugging my shoulders. “I tend to get carried away.”
“Don’t apologize, I love that you’re so passionate about what you do.” She lifted the wine to her lips again, finishing the glass. “This is really good. I can taste it better now that it’s warming up a little. And I’m sure I’ll need plenty of wine to get through all these Cloverleigh holiday parties. Can’t say I’m looking forward to all the questions about my ex.”
I finished my glass too. “I hear you on that. I’m tempted to skip them altogether.”
“Don’t you dare!” Her expression was outraged. “Don’t make me be the only freshly-divorced person there. We can hide out together if it gets bad.”
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“I don’t know. The attic. The basement. The roof! We’ll watch for Santa Claus.” She frowned with pursed lips. “Although I don’t know that he’s speaking to me these days. Pretty sure I’m on the naughty list.”
“Why is that?” I could not imagine this woman being naughty in any way, shape, or form.
Well, I could, but I was trying not to.
She bit her bottom lip. “I got drunk at this event at our country club called Breakfast with Santa. I stole Santa’s microphone. I said ‘don’t be an asshole’ to everyone in a room full of kids.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Wow.”
She sighed, looking into her empty glass like she hoped more wine would magically appear. “It was not my finest moment.”
“Well, everyone has to let off steam now and again. Want a little more wine?”
She grinned and nodded, rising up on her tiptoes. “Yes, please. Thank you.”