I followed a few steps behind Tristan as he strolled with easy confidence.Walking to the bar along the back wall, he set the crates down and offloaded the one I carried.He rolled his sleeves up, forearms taut as he lifted the bottles with practised ease.No hesitation.No checking notes.
“Pinot’s on the left, Syrah behind it,” he said to a guy with a clipboard.“Watch the temperature on the second pallet, it ran warm on the Coq.”
The man nodded like that sentence made perfect sense.
“That’s Tommy,” Tristan said.“He’s uber serious at the moment, but he can crack a seriously awful pun when he’s not under pressure.”
Nodding, I hovered near the crates, unsure what my role was.Until instinct kicked in.
“Labels face out?”I asked, already turning one.
Caterina smiled like a proud momma.“Yes.Grazie.We inventory as we unload.”
I was already counting and grouping based on the different labels.
Tristan glanced back once, caught the rhythm immediately, and adjusted without comment, shifting a crate closer, freeing space where I’d need it.Our gazes clicked together for half a second, a shared smirk passing between us.Before we knew it, we were moving again.
We didn’t talk.
We didn’t need to.
Within minutes, it felt like we’d done this together a hundred times.
“Are we missing one?”Caterina said, tapping a pencil against the workorder.Tommy did a quick recount of the bottles.
Tristan stepped in smoothly.“Technically.Anna and I got stranded, and she nearly drank something unforgivable she’d packed.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock pain.
Caterina’s expression softened as she looked at me.“Did he save you?”
Avoiding what could’ve been a hidden question, I answered.“Yes, best wine I’ve ever had.”
The words came out so easily, I knew I wasn’t padding Tristan’s ego.It was the cold, hard truth.
“I’ll add an extra couple of bottles on my next trip, and something special at the end of the season.”
She signed the paperwork and looked at me with a pensive expression.“You move like someone who knows the next step before it arrives.Logistics?”
“Healthcare.”
A quiet laugh.“Of course.Same skill.Different stakes.”
Tristan’s mouth twitched.
When the paperwork was done and the crates stacked off to the side, Tommy clapped Tristan on the shoulder.“Good to see you back, man.We missed you.”
“Try not to,” Tristan said dryly.“I get expensive.Especially with the coveted first batches.”
Laughter filled the space and we bid adieu with Tristan’s promise to return mid-season with a selection of his curated favourites but only after a couple of hugs.
As we crossed the street to the car, I nudged him.“Wine celebrity.”
He scoffed.“Hardly.”
“They worship and love you.Plus, they’re huggers.”Not that it bothered me, some patients were too.Especially pediatric patients’ mothers.
He shrugged nonchalantly.“They just like the product.”
