Cherished (Steel Brothers Saga #17) - Helen Hardt Page 0,20

special way of uncorking. As a bartender, you probably do it more often than I do. At least for now. When I’m a sommelier, I’ll do it a lot.”

“Fair enough.” He uncorks the Latour with an expert hand and then pours it into a glass carafe. “Let’s give it a few minutes.”

“Good call. Grand crus need their breathing time.”

Though I’m anxious to taste the wine. Because it’s an excellent cru and vintage, of course, but also because it may loosen Brendan’s tongue even more.

My curiosity is warranted, as I’m in love with Dale. But I’m also being nosy for the sake of being nosy, like when I walked into Dale’s unlocked home.

I should know better.

The chance to find out details the Steels won’t tell me has fallen into my lap, though. Details that may help me understand the man I love better. I can’t walk away from this chance.

“Help yourself to a burger,” he says, “before they get cold.”

I smile and load my plate.

“Those buns are from Ava Steel’s bakery,” Brendan says. “She makes the best bread I’ve ever tasted.”

“Oh?” I squirt ketchup on top of my burger. “I’ve only met her briefly.”

“She’s awesome. Really down-to-earth. If you met her and didn’t know who she was, you’d never guess she was a Steel.”

“Really? I think the Steels are pretty down-to-earth.”

“They’re nice folks,” he says. “But I wouldn’t call them down-to-earth. They live in the lap of luxury.”

I let out a laugh. “Well, that’s true enough.”

“Ava doesn’t, though. She lives above her bakery, in a place kind of like this. She lives off the money she makes herself.”

“That’s pretty cool,” I say.

“It is. She’s amazing.” He smiles slightly.

“Methinks you might have a little crush on Ms. Ava Steel.”

“Oh? No, not really. She’s way too young for me.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-four.”

I burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m only twenty-five!” Then I stop myself. Maybe Brendan doesn’t think this is a date. To him, it may be a couple of people who appreciate wine sharing a nice bottle.

“Are you?”

“If you tell me I look older, I’m walking right out that door.”

“Of course not. You look amazing. I guess I just thought, with your knowledge of wine and all…”

“That I must be ancient?”

“No.” His cheeks turn ruddy. “I’m not scoring a lot of points here, am I?”

I give him a good-natured punch in the arm. “I went straight through college to get my masters and now my doctorate.” I deliberately ignore his “scoring points” comment because scoring points with me is impossible. I’m in love with another man.

Somehow we’ve gotten off the subject of the Steels, which is what I want to be talking about.

“The Latour is probably ready now.” I reach for the bottle.

“Yeah. You do the tasting honors.”

“Happy to.” I pour myself a small portion of the dark-red liquid. “Beautiful color. Deep red with a tinge of brownish orange. Like any good aged Bordeaux.”

So far from the color of Dale’s voice, though. Syrah is much different.

“A lot of the vines in Pauillac are over a hundred years old.” I swirl the wine around in the glass, watching the wavy shapes it forms against the crystal. “They also use biodynamic farming, just like the Steels do.”

“Do they? I didn’t know that.”

I continue swirling the wine, releasing its bouquet. “Yeah. Biodynamic farming tends to make the wine a purer reflection of the terroir.”

“Interesting.”

I’m not sure Brendan finds it interesting at all. He’s a bartender, not a sommelier. Still, in his profession, he needs to know a fair amount about wine.

“It’s lovely on the nose. I’m getting black fruit, of course, and then cedar and a touch of coffee.” I pour him a tasting portion. “See if you agree.”

Brendan picks up his glass and swirls the wine expertly. Then he lowers his nose into the glass and inhales. “Hmm. Dark plum, I think. Blackberry. And yes, the cedar. I’m not getting coffee.”

“It’s subtle. Try to push the dark fruit to the side and concentrate on what’s left.”

He sniffs the wine again. “Still not getting it, but I’ll defer to the expert.”

“Not all noses work the same,” I say. “I think mine goes on overdrive sometimes because of my synesthesia.”

“No kidding? You have that?”

“I do. Don’t tell me you actually know what it is.”

He nods. “One of my aunts has it. She sees letters and numbers in colors.”

“That’s the most common kind,” I tell him. “Mine’s a little more complex. Sounds have colors and colors have sounds. Sometimes tastes have colors. My senses are really intermingled. I’m