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He had on a white button down, which sat snug on his broad shoulders and brought out his tanned skin and green eyes. Dark navy dress pants and black city shoes completed the hot accountant look.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. She smiled in welcome, but he didn’t return it.
“I think it’s closed.” She thought he would be warmer towards her after their kiss on the beach.
“Did you ring the bell?” He arched his eyebrows, but still didn’t smile.
“Oh!” She hadn’t noticed the small button on the left of the entrance. A second later they were let in by a man, around forty years of age, with gray cropped hair, dark skin, and shrewd black eyes.
“Erez, my man!” The two men clapped each other on the back.
“Hi Dafna, I’m Guy, I own this place. We have a tried-and-true company activity, but we’re short staffed at the moment, so my pal Erez will show you around. Frankly, for the price he negotiated with me, I should let him also guide your company’s tour.”
The two men hit each other hard on the back again, and Guy left. Erez led her a short distance to a large room. Four long wooden tables, each able to fit around thirty people, were set with five shot glasses against each seat. The wall opposite was all glass, a large window giving a view of the distillery. Large stainless containers, the tail end of a tall silo, and barrel shelves stacked from floor to ceiling.
“How do you know him?”
She looked up, hoping he would meet her eyes, she wanted his green eyes scrutinizing her, his hungry stares following her.
“Guy has a huge intraday trading company. This is just his hobby. They’ve been around for a decade, I think they broke even just this year. Come,” he started walking, “we don’t have much time. I promised Gal I’d be home before nine to watch a movie with her.”
She followed him through the distillery. The ceiling was a maze of copper pipes that dripped whisky and distilling byproducts. She stopped to read the labels.
“Each barrel is labeled with the color of the whisky inside and the year it was put in the barrel.” Erez turned right into a side room labeled Cask Tasting Room. A rectangular table with twenty highbacked chairs dominated it. The russet leather of the seats was stretched taut over high-backed chairs, and the leather straps on the table were soft and pliant to the touch. Unlike the distillery cement floor, here they stood on a parquet with a slick, clear layer of varnish, the wood trim polished to a dull sheen.
Erez ran a discerning finger along a row of bottles of whisky and gin that stood on a side table. He chose one, poured himself a shot, and drained it in one go.
“This space is a little small for the whole of Kisharti to come together.” Dafna filled the uncomfortable silence, his distant bordering on rude manner a growing puzzle. “But I guess I can do it in two batches. Maybe use it to mix and match different sections of Kisharti who don’t meet regularly.”
Erez met her eyes for the first time since he’d arrived, a wild gleam in the green depths. His mouth was set and his jaw locked, as if he was debating whether he should be here with her.
“Erez…if you don’t want to be here, then we don’t have to do this.”
“No, I promised. I never go back on my word. We are here tasting whisky.” He pulled out a heavy chair, and she sat on it. “Here, try this one. It matured in a sherry cask.”
He poured a small amount of whisky in a crystal glass. She expected it to be amber, but it was a pale yellow. She took an experimental sip and grimaced. The drink scorched her throat like a nasty heartburn. Ouch. If she kept on drinking it, she’d probably get hot flashes.
“Let’s try to change the taste for you.”
He used a small plastic pipette to drop a few drops of water into her glass.
“Now try it again.”
She obeyed. He stared at her, waiting for her verdict.
“It’s a bit…sweeter?”
“That’s right.”
After a slight hesitation, he pulled the chair next to her. Emboldened by the whisky, she drew her index finger along his veined palm. He jolted and removed his hand and poured her a shot from a different bottle.
“Do you like this one better?”
She tried it and did. It was softer on her palate, with a smoky taste.
“It matured in an Israeli orange wine cask.” She opened her mouth to ask what orange wine was, when he added, “Orange wine is made without removing the grapes’ skins.”
She dripped a few drops of water into her glass. She sipped and enjoyed it even more.
