Sailing at Sunset - Cindi Madsen Page 0,18

in a matter of minutes, too. “That’d be more comforting if you actually knew me.”

“Sometimes you can just tell. You strike me as a person who achieves whatever she sets her mind to.”

Warmth flooded her, making it that much easier to keep hold of her assuredness. “I don’t even care if you’re buttering me up. I’m going to run with it.” She started down the path again. “And my guess is nine-hundred and fifty grapes per bottle.”

“I think you’re underestimating the grapes. I bet four hundred would do.” A mischievous gleam hit his blue, blue eyes, one that left her a tad wary and a lot intrigued.

Within a few more minutes, they caught up to the rest of the group. As the tour guide answered questions, Danae noted how relaxed everyone seemed. The clouds that had dotted the sky were dispersing, leaving behind clear skies that looked straight out of an oil painting.

Okay, maybe touring a vineyard in place of a foggy sail hadn’t been the worst idea.

Vanessa moved to Danae’s side and showed her the video she’d recorded. The endless blue sky she’d been admiring glowed bright, the perfect backdrop to the leafy green vines and the restaurant down the way. “Doesn’t it look amazing? Like you just want to step inside and stay for a while. I’ll end it with a shot of wine glasses and a bottle. Maybe a cheese plate. It’s going to be perfect. ‘Not just a boat, but a lifestyle.’” She smiled as she quoted Danae’s campaign slogan.

“It’s gorgeous,” Danae said. “I’m here, and I still want to step inside the video.”

Their tour guide led them into a room lined with large wooden barrels, and Danae blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. Then the woman began explaining the varieties of wine.

“If you hold the glass up to a white napkin, you can see if the wine’s more opaque or translucent, which helps us ascertain the quality.” She unfurled a white linen napkin and held it up to the glass. “See?”

Danae inclined her head to Vanessa and whispered, “What’s the difference between opaque and translucent? It just looks red to me.”

“I was about to ask the same thing,” Josh said, turning their duo into a trio.

Vanessa lifted the glass the woman had set in front of her and gave it a swirl. Then she borrowed the napkin and held it up. “Think of it like your relationships…”

“Nonexistent,” Danae joked, and Josh snorted. She ducked her head, working to cover her embarrassment over blurting that out, although she suspected the wine wasn’t the only thing red right now. At least he’d laughed.

Did that mean he was single?

You’re not going there, remember?

“What I mean is,” Vanessa continued, “we want transparency in both our wines and our relationships, not murky or hazy.”

That clicked on the lightbulb over Danae’s head. “Hmm. Things I never knew before.”

“Me neither,” Josh said, and then he took the glass the tour guide handed him and clinked it with Vanessa’s and then Danae’s.

Danae and Josh sipped as everyone else paused to sniff their wine—apparently they’d missed the memo. Since no one seemed to notice their gaffe, she and Josh shared a smile over the rims of their glasses. The red was dry, earthy, and a little bitter. Not nearly as sweet as she preferred, but she suspected it was right up Mark’s alley. His entire family was into wine, and she’d always felt out of her depth whenever the subject came up.

Sure enough, Mark made an mmm noise after he swished and swallowed. “Can’t beat a nice pinot noir. They say it’s a notoriously difficult grape to grow, but a glass like this is well worth the effort.” He chuckled. “Easy for me to say, I’m sure.” The tour guide giggled, complimented him on his knowledge, and talked about the extra steps they took to ensure they had the best grapes for their pinots.

Danae lowered her glass to the table without drinking the rest, and Franco nudged her. “Aren’t you gonna ask for a fruity white?”

“I always feel like wine people roll their eyes over how sweet I like mine. As if wanting to avoid puckering up after every sip is a bad thing.”

“It’s perfectly fine to like what you like,” Josh said, and Franco pointed at him.

“What he said. Wine is supposed to be enjoyed, not endured.”

“If I had my way, they’d roll the rim in sugar, too. Like, why can they do that for a cocktail, but not a