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“I’ve made a few in my day, but Dale here is a purist.” Ryan laughs.
“What’s wrong with thinking wine should be made with grapes?” Dale asks.
“Not a thing,” Ryan says. “But what does it hurt to get creative once in a while?”
“We’re a serious operation,” Dale says. “We make serious wine here.”
“We make the best wine,” Ryan agrees. “But we also have the best fruit at our disposal.”
“Do you have any of your fruit wines available?” I ask.
“Just a few cases of Fuji apple that we bottled last year. Fruit wines need to be drunk young, as you probably know, so when I go that route, it’s a small bottling, and we try to sell all of it the season we release it.”
“I’d love to try it.”
Dale scoffs. “Would you, Doctor?”
“Yeah, I absolutely would. I bet it’s delicious.”
“It is,” Ryan says. “It’s not fine wine, but it’s not meant to be. It’s crisp and fun.”
Fun. Dale needs some fun. Has he ever had fun in his life? At the party Saturday night, he didn’t talk to many people.
“Tell you what. I’d like to sell off these last several cases. We’ll open a bottle at the tasting today.”
“The tasting I’ll be doing?” Dale asks.
“Yup. If you don’t want to pour the apple, Ashley here can do it.”
I widen my eyes. “Really?”
“The best way to learn is on the job,” Ryan says. “I’ve got our Rhône blend, our fine Cab, and our Cab Franc set out for today. Something different will complement those three well. You can take the Cab Franc and the apple. Dale can handle the Rhône and the Cab.”
“This is so exciting!” I pop another piece of juicy peach into my mouth.
Across from me, Dale looks anything but excited.
Oh, well.
I came here to learn, and that’s what I’ll do.
Whether he likes it or not.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dale
I don’t actually mind doing tastings, but Ryan usually does them because he’s got the perfect personality for them. He’s jovial and full of life, and I’m…
Well, I’m not.
I’m an introvert. I’m not good at making small talk, and tastings require small talk. I’ve learned to compensate. Today, though, with Ashley and the feelings she evokes in me plus the added stress of waiting for the DNA blood test results, I’m going to have an even harder time.
Ashley licks peach juice off her fingers.
God. My groin tightens. Our peaches are the juiciest and sweetest, but Ashley’s pussy tastes even better. She continues licking her finger, and I remember her flavor on my fingers, on my tongue.
How the hell am I going to get through this day? The next three months?
Employees come in to prepare the tasting room.
Ryan picks up his phone. “How many today, Stella?” Pause. “Fifteen? Great. Dale’s going to be doing the honors, along with our new intern.” He ends his call.
“All right. You sure you don’t want to be around for this?” I ask him.
“I actually have a phone conference,” he says, “so you were on the hook today anyway.”
Great. Not that I mind. It’s part of the job, but I have to pour apple wine?
Of course, I won’t be pouring it. Ashley will. “Have you ever done a tasting before?” I ask her.
“Just in class, but I’ll do fine. Don’t worry.”
“Let’s do a quick pour of all the wines so you can taste them before the customers get here.” I pull the bottles off the shelf at my right and grab a bottle of the apple out of the cooler. It needs to be poured cold.
I uncork the apple first and insert the stainless-steel wine pourer. I grab a clean goblet, pour a portion, and hand it to Ashley. “Tell me what you think.”
She holds the glass up to the light. “Nice color.”
Looks like light pee, but whatever. “What else?”
She swirls it in the glass and then inhales. “Nice nose. Apples and spring blossoms.”
“See?” I say. “This is why I’m not into fruit wines. They only smell and taste like the fruit they’re made from.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” she demands.
Ryan laughs. “I’ve got a conference to get to, so I’ll leave you two to battle it out.” He leaves the tasting room.
I open my mouth and find I have no answer to Ashley’s question. So I make one up. “Because that’s not what wine is about. Wine is about bringing every nuance of the fruit into the glass. No one tastes a glass of Merlot and says, ‘This tastes like grapes.’”
She laughs, and as much as I don’t want to, I smile. Her laugh is joyful. Infectious, even. Part of me wants to erupt into giggles with her.
“You’re a handful,” she says, taking a sip of the wine.
“I’m a handful? You’re the handful here.”
She swallows the wine. “I’ve got the perfect word to describe this wine.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
She grins. “Apple-y.”
I roll my eyes but say nothing because she’s right. The Fuji apple wine is nothing but apple-y. The apples that made this wine are my favorite of all Dad’s fruit, but they’re meant to be eaten, not fermented.
