Oh, no, no, no, I want to say. I’m the one who’d give it to you, hotshot. And you bet your bottom dollar it’d be right.
Thankfully, Chef Katie appears. She’s wearing a puffer vest over her chef whites and a big smile.
“I don’t think y’all are ready for how delicious this paella is gonna be.” She rubs her hands together. “I love mixing things up this way—been a spell since I brushed off my tapas skills. Great idea.”
I tip my head toward Samuel. “I’m told he’s a connoisseur.”
His eyes flick to meet mine.
“What?” I ask. “I give credit where credit is due. Team player, remember?”
“Right,” he replies. “I remember.”
Only I don’t feel right at all when he turns and stalks across the pavilion, the heels of his red-soled shoes marking a solid beat against the floorboards.
I want.
I want. But I won’t allow myself to have.
Sipping my coffee, I’m glad I waited. It’s still too hot.
“This,” Elijah Jackson says, swirling the Albariño in his glass before tipping it back to drain what’s left, “is fuckin’ delicious. That green apple note? Damn if it don’t play off the cheese and ham croqueta beautifully.”
“Really nice combination of sweet and savory,” Greyson Montgomery adds, holding out his glass for another pour. “What’s the story behind this deliciousness?”
I smile as I refill their glasses, a bloom of lightness spreading through my center. I love this part of my job.
“I was lucky enough to meet the winemaker on a trip to Spain last year,” I say, cradling the bottle label out so Chef Eli and his friends have a good view of it. “Carmen Garcia’s vineyards date back to the fifteenth century—apparently, the nuns in a nearby convent liked to throw down while guzzling Garcia family wine by the barrel.”
Luke Rodgers shakes his head. “Nuns. Gotta love ’em.”
“If you had to wear hats like that every day, you’d drink your face off too. Anyway, when Carmen inherited the vines from her father, they were in pretty bad shape. She got a degree in microbiology and used her scientific background to bring the grapes back to life. I like to think you can taste that in her wines.” I run my thumb along my fingertips, trying to capture just the right words. “That mashup of art and science. History and innovation. Her vines are ancient, but her methods are smart and new. You mentioned that crisp apple zippiness this Albariño has—that’s sharp and sexy, yeah?”
“Very mod,” Eli agrees.
“But then there’s this backbone—yes, I know it’s ridiculous to use words like ‘backbone’ when describing wine, but I’m doing it and I’m not sorry—that’s got this earthiness, this minerality, that tastes ancient. It’s timeless, really. A reminder of the bigger story we’re all a part of.”
Greyson nods, swallowing a sip of wine. “I’m not sorry either. I can totally taste what you’re talking about. That sense of…” He pauses, thinking. Takes another sip. I can almost see the light bulb going off in his head. “Continuity.”
“How essentially human and right it is to enjoy good wine with good food and good friends. We’re taking part in an ancient tradition, getting fucked up with the people we love,” Eli says.
Luke rolls his eyes. “You been hangin’ out with a writer or something lately?”
“Married her.” Eli turns to me and grins. “I’m a huge fan of my wife’s torrid, kinky romance. Just like I’m a huge fan not only of this wine but of your storytellin’ too, Miss Crawford.”
I refill more glasses, wishing I could pour for events and people like this every day.
What if I made that happen? At a place like Blue Mountain Farm, anything is possible. I could bring in winemakers like Carmen. Organize whole weekends around regions, varietals, vineyards. Introduce guests to wines they would’ve never otherwise given a shot, expanding their horizons while giving them a good excuse to, as Eli so poetically put it, get fucked up with their people.
I can bring people together. At the end of the day, that’s what I love most about wine.
“Please, call me Emma. And I love a good story, clearly. All the better if it’s torrid. I actually just downloaded one of your wife’s books—My Enemy the Earl. I’m always looking for titillating new adjectives to use to describe wine.”
“You’ll definitely find ’em in Olivia’s romances,” Ford Montgomery says. “They’re very…descriptive.”
“I’m game,” I say. “In my line of work, being able to access the right vocabulary is just as important as being able to pour correctly.”
People are buzzing and plates are licked clean. There’s laughter. Conversation. Heat from the fire, relief from the breeze. Looking around the table to make sure no one needs another pour before we start the next course, I see smiles. The guests are enjoying themselves, especially the one dude at the far end who keeps laughing.