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“We have a treat for you,” Dale says as he ushers the guests into the tasting room. “Only a few cases remain of our Fuji apple wine from last season. We’ll be tasting it today, along with three of our reds. Take a seat if you’d like, and help yourself to some cheese and fruit. You’ll need the cheese to cleanse your palate between each wine.”
He’s smiling as he speaks. Dale Steel is smiling, and two young women, both blond, are hanging on every word.
I have plenty of people skills. I use them when I need them.
Apparently he spoke the truth.
Jealousy rears its ugly green head.
He’s smiling. Fucking smiling at these women! I can’t ever get him to smile.
The other guests are mostly older. Middle age and one couple who look like grandparents.
“This is Ashley White,” Dale says, gesturing to me. “She’ll be helping with the tasting today.”
Am I supposed to say something? I’m not sure, so I nod.
A couple more people straggle in.
“Come in. Welcome,” Dale says. “I’m Dale Steel, the assistant winemaker. Come in and join us. Get some fruit and cheese.”
The smile never leaves his face.
Ryan said he needs to improve his people skills? Seems his people skills are just fine at the moment. Until I notice the tension in his jawline, almost as if he’s grinding his teeth when he’s not speaking.
This is difficult for him. Probably as difficult as calling the apple wine a special treat for the tasters. He doesn’t consider it a treat at all, but he knows his job is to sell the last few cases of it. I have no doubt he’ll be successful.
Once everyone has a plate of food, Dale nods to me. “Let’s start with the apple, Ashley.”
I widen my eyes. He wants me to start? He’s not going to show me how tastings are done here by going first himself?
I inhale a deep breath. I’m almost a doctor of oenology. I can do a tasting in my sleep. So why am I suddenly freaked out?
Because I want to make a good impression on Dale. I want him to… Oh, God. I want him to like me. To respect me as an oenologist and sommelier.
Fuck.
I paste a smile on my face and hold up the bottle of Fuji apple wine. “I’m sure most of you are familiar with the top-notch apples and peaches grown here at Steel Acres.”
Lots of nods and vocalizations, except for one of the blond girls.
“Not really,” she says.
“Our apples and peaches are award winning,” Dale intervenes, nodding at her plate that contains a slice of apple and several slices of peach. “Take a taste for yourself.”
“Or don’t,” I say. “Let this gorgeous wine speak for itself.” I pour a tasting portion into a goblet with the Steel Vineyards logo on it and hand it to her. “Tell me what you think.”
“Really?” she nearly squeals. “You want me to go first?”
I fill several other goblets. “If you’d like to. Please, everyone else, take a glass. Swirl the wine around for a few seconds and then tell me what fragrances you smell.”
Blondie number one walks over to Dale. “Will you help me?”
“Of course.” He smiles.
And I shoot daggers at her with my stare.
She needs help smelling wine? No way will Dale fall for this flirty bullshit.
“I like the aroma,” one of the tasters says. “Smells just like a fresh apple.”
“Yes,” I say. “Fruit wines—other than grape of course—almost always mimic the fruits they’re made with, but try to dig deeper. See if you can catch some of the floral scents.”
She nods and sticks her nose back into her glass. “Honeysuckle?” she asks.
I smile at her. “Excellent. I’m also getting a touch of citrus. Anyone else?”
Several nods and “mm-hmms.”
“This is what we call a semi-dry wine,” I continue, “which means it’s on the sweeter side, but it’s not sugary at all. Go ahead and taste. Let me know what you think.”
“Light and crisp,” a taster says.
“Like an apple but not as sweet,” from another.
“Mmm. I love it. This is perfect for a summer evening,” from an auburn-haired woman.
“Yes,” I agree, even though we’re now in autumn. Maybe she’ll buy a case anyway.
A middle-aged man shakes his head. “I’m not a fan.”
“Oh?” I smile. “What don’t you like about it?”
“It’s too simple. I didn’t come here to taste ornamental wine. I want to taste the famous Steel Syrah.”
“I’m afraid we’re not tasting Syrah today, sir,” I say, “but I think you’ll love our Cab Franc. Unless you want to bring out the Syrah, Dale.”
Dale looks up from Blondie at the mention of his name. “Sorry. What?”
“This gentleman wants to try the Syrah,” I say, “but we’re not tasting it today. I think he’ll like the Cab Franc.”
“Not a big Cab Franc fan,” he says.
“You haven’t tried this Cab Franc,” Dale says, his tone not even slightly amused. “We’ll get to that one next.”
