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.
He also keeps looking at me, which makes my enjoyment dim ever so slightly, because I get the feeling I’m the one making him laugh. Not because I’m witty, but because I’m ridiculous. In his eyes, at least.
It’s totally not okay for someone to laugh at me that way, but it’s an unfortunate reality of my job. Over the years, I’ve learned that the sooner you stay away from people who just don’t get it, the better.
Also helps to keep their water glass full and their wineglass mostly empty.
Making a mental note to keep his pours light from now on, I look away.
My gaze lands on Samuel, who’s staring at me from the other side of the table. My stomach dips at the softness I see in his gaze. When he’s looked before, it’s been wolfish. Like he wants to eat me.
But this—this is open and honest and interested. Like he wants to know more.
About what? Wine? Me?
And why are butterflies taking flight inside my torso?
Chapter Twelve
Samuel
Fuck me, she’s on fire.
Emma’s burning with real, ardent passion, pride too, and I can’t stop staring.
“She’s incredible,” one of the guys at the table murmurs to his neighbor.
She’s better than that. She’s extraordinary. She’s knowledgeable and relatable and funny and warm.
She makes you feel something about the liquid in your glass that, on any other day, would just be wine. But today? Today the stuff is a story. A bridge between the past and present. A way to connect with people we love.
It’s the meaning of life itself.
I have never, in all my years drinking the world’s best wine, felt so much about a glass of grape juice, as Hank calls it. And I’m not even drinking it. I’m watching everyone else soak up the flavors while listening, rapt, to Emma’s explanation of why it’s important and what makes it special.
All the while thinking it isn’t the wine that’s the star here.
I should be threatened. Scared. I know this script all too well. She’s stealing the show. My show. The one I’ve poured years of my life into perfecting.
Only, I’m enthralled.
More. I want more of this, whatever it is. Her bravery, maybe? She’s taking a deep dive into wine and nuns and history, wearing her heart on her sleeve as she gives the table full access to who she is and what she loves.
She’s allowing them to know her in a way I never, ever let people know me. And I’m witnessing, firsthand, how the table connects with her vulnerability, and how it allows her to genuinely, joyfully connect with them.
This is what I’ve been missing.
Holy shit, how did I not see it sooner? I’m protective by nature. I’ll protect my family at any cost.
I guess I’ve been protecting myself