When they were all cleaned and dried, Tristan gestured toward the vat. A wooden ladder leaned against its side, the rungs worn smooth.
Carol Reston’s voice rose above the rest. “Show us how it’s done, Mr. Mayor.”
Bennett shot Ivy a look that said, “This was your idea,” before climbing the ladder with exaggerated dignity. The toga billowed around his legs. At the top, he paused, peering down into the purple mass below. The torchlight flickered across his face, catching the uncertainty there before he masked it with a grin.
“Here goes.” He stepped in.
The wet crunch made guests laugh. Bennett’s expression shifted to surprise as his feet sank ankle-deep into fruit.
He chuckled and reached for Ivy. “Don’t leave me in here alone.”
Ivy eyed the vat, having second thoughts. She glanced at Tristan. “Is this sanitary? You’re not actually going to use these grapes for wine, are you?”
Tristan appeared at her elbow, grinning. “No, no. Don’t worry. These are leftovers from the harvest. It’s tradition. You see, the Romans believed crushing the first grapes with bare feet brought good fortune for the vintage. Mostly it’s just fun.”
Bennett braced himself against the vat’s rim, testing his balance. Grape skins clung to his calves. “Your turn, sweetheart.”
Ivy hesitated on the ladder.
Bennett reached for her, swooping her into his arms and lifting her over the edge, then lowering her into the vat.
She gasped as her feet hit the grapes. The fruit gave way like wet sand, cold and slick, and she sank past her ankles. The sensation shot up her legs as grapes collapsed under her weight. Juice seeped between her toes, and she grabbed Bennett’s shoulders to keep from slipping.
“Oh, my gosh.” She couldn’t stop laughing. “This is wild.”
Bennett tried to shift his weight, but his foot slid sideways. He caught himself on the vat’s edge, his knuckles white against the stained wood.
Laughing, Ivy helped him up, cool pulp squelching with every tiny movement. She found very little solid ground, just layers and layers of slippery fruit.
The crowd howled with laughter and cheered them on.
Ivy waved to Shelly and Mitch. “You have to come in.”
She clung to Bennett as he attempted a step. His leg disappeared to mid-calf and emerged dripping. Purple stains crept up their shins.
Emilie climbed the ladder with the confidence of one who’d done this before. She gathered her toga, stepped in, and waded toward them like she was crossing a shallow stream.
“You have to keep moving,” Emilie called over the music. Her feet made soft crushing sounds with each step. “If you stand still too long, you sink.”
Shelly and Mitch were laughing so hard they could hardly climb the ladder.
Tristan followed Emilie. They formed an unsteady circle with Ivy and Bennett, each of them gripping another’s shoulder for balance. The grapes shifted constantly beneath them.
“Ready?” Tristan raised a hand. “Let’s crush it!”
They began to stomp to the music.
It was chaos. The grapes burst and sprayed, and juice spattered their togas. Ivy lifted her knees high, trying to find a rhythm. Bennett laughed and nearly went down again.
Shelly and Mitch were at the top of the ladder, laughing at them.
Ivy nodded to her sister. “You got us into this, so you’d better join us.”
“We’re coming,” Mitch said. He scooped an arm under Shelly’s legs and stepped to the vat’s edge.
Their friends roared their approval.
With her arms wrapped around Mitch’s neck, Shelly laughed. “Woo-hoo, here we come. Don’t you dare drop me.”
