We chat about the goings-on in Napa as we head to the tasting room, neither of us in a hurry. Candi hasn’t been to Bella Notte yet, so I recommend it highly. When she asks about my sisters, I give her the rosy version of what they’ve been up to. The sun is brilliant and pleasantly warm, so we pause outside the tasting room doors for a bit, soaking it up.
The whole time, I debate whether I should tell her about Armani’s crush, but I’m not sure I know either of them well enough to play matchmaker just yet. And even though Armani is my favorite Bellanti, he’s still a Bellanti—and I know firsthand what being tied to them is like.
“So, how’s married life?” she asks.
“What?” Her question pulls me away from the noise in my head. “Oh, it’s…well, it’s an adjustment.”
“Ha! I can imagine. They all seem so aloof and unreadable. Although Armani smiles every now and then. I guess Marco does too, at least when he has a woman on his arm.”
“Yeah. And when does he not?” I quip. We laugh. “The little Bellanti definitely has a way with the ladies. But you’re right about the unreadable thing. I’m still figuring out Dante.”
She’s off to check on a delivery, so we say goodbye after making loose plans to get coffee soon. Smoothing my hands down the front of my suit, I take a breath and stride into the tasting room. It’s empty save for a middle-aged man with blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard standing behind the bar. He’s in the standard black button-down uniform, with a name tag that says Greg. I approach with a smile and extend a hand.
“Greg, I’m Francesca Bellanti. I’ll be the sommelier this afternoon.”
He makes no attempt to hide his surprise. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bellanti. I’m the tasting room manager.”
I ignore the stilted way the words tumble from his mouth. I’m getting a bit of a combative vibe from him and I need to smooth it over. No tension in the tasting room to sour the guests’ experiences.
“Thank you, you as well. May I see today’s schedule, please?”
He takes a clipboard from the wall behind him. Beautiful wine cases are stacked floor to ceiling behind the bar, and along the far wall of the room, each rack is filled with Bellanti wines. My chest swells at the sight. This is what success looks like. This is what a winery should be: a showcase of hard work, expertise, and delectable craftsmanship.
I thank Greg and take the clipboard. He puts his hands on the bar and watches me as I flip through the pages of wine selections, with fruit and cheese pairings listed beside each one. I pull a pen from my pocket and mull over the wines on the list.
“May I?” I gesture to the wine racks behind the bar.
“Of course. Make yourself at home. I’ve got a bit to do in the back.” His smile is tight as he leaves me.
Taking my time, I look for the bottles on the list, which I pull and set on the bar. Curious about the entire selection available here, I peruse the other vintages around the room and pull a few additional bottles that catch my eye. Before long, I have an impressive row lined up. Considering the fruit and cheeses that are being offered today, I rearrange the line up with the wine I think will pair best and mark my suggested changes on the schedule.
When I’m done, there are only two wines left from the original list. Oops.
But Dante did give me the job, at least for today, so I’m going for it full throttle.
I stand back and look at my selections, nodding approvingly, and then put all the others back. Greg comes in and does a double take at the lineup. He presses his lips into a thin line, as if he’s holding himself back from saying what’s really on his mind, and then clears his throat.
“None of these are on the schedule, Mrs. Bellanti.”
“That is correct. Well, these two are.” I tap the corks with my finger.
“Mrs. Bellanti, I’ve been the tasting room manager for five years. My team and I carefully plan out the daily selections weeks in advance.”
I get it. I’m stepping on toes. Too bad, so sad.
“And you and your team obviously do a spectacular job, considering the ongoing success of Bellanti tasting events,” I say. “But I couldn’t help noticing the framed newspaper article on the wall in the entry that alludes to today’s date marking the anniversary of Bellanti Vineyards opening all those years ago. Today is the winery’s birthday, if you will.”
Greg’s brow lifts as if he’s not quite following me. “True; however, we only celebrate milestone birthdays. That article marked the 50th. This year is nothing special.”
I put up a finger. “I have to disagree. Every year should be celebrated. It’s an opportunity to market the history of the wines, and considering that we’re coming into fall wedding season, it’s the perfect way to cross-market to that demographic. Let our anniversary help celebrate yours…you see what I’m getting at? In fact, there should be a specific selection marketed just for anniversaries.”
Frowning, Greg steps in front of me.“Most of what you’ve chosen is exponentially more expensive than what was on the list. We don’t want the guests sampling wines they won’t buy.”
“Understood. However, the vintages I’ve chosen—and in this order—tell a much better story of the vineyard, don’t you think? From simple table wine to world-renowned blends. If they love it, they’ll buy it. Regardless of price.”
He crosses his arms, and I know he’s not going to see my vision. I’m plowing ahead with it anyway. “But the cost, Mrs. Bellanti. We’ll be pouring out hundreds of dollars. Thousands.”
“Which means every person who comes through these doors will walk back out with stars in their eyes, knowing firsthand how spectacular our wines are.”
