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“And so this wine is locally grown, aged and served then?”
“Yep. It’s aged on property in oak barrels, so it will have a slightly longer timeline than other white wines. This is where that age thing comes in. While yes, ten years is a long time, we wouldn’t want to age this particular white for more than that. It’s the polyphenols in the barrels that help keep the wine from breaking down over time. But mind you,” I say, my eyebrows going up as I tap the side of one of the glasses, “this wine also has high acidity to keep it from turning flabby. No one wants a flabby tasting wine.”
They both chuckle a little and I’m guessing it’s either my use of the word flabby or because they don’t really have a clue what I’m talking about. Sometimes I get a bit technical and I need to slow myself down.
“No one wants flabby,” the woman says, laughing, her eyes wrinkling up in the corners, showing her age.
“No, this is true,” I say, joking right back with her. “But low acid in a wine can ruin it, just like flabby arms can ruin a princess wave.”
She’s now laughing out loud and I’m glad she sees the humor in my joke rather than taking offense to it. It’s meant to be fun and not shameful by any means.
“Thanks so much for all the information on the wine. We don’t want to take up too much of your time. It looks like you’re going to be quite busy today.”
“Yeah, our weekends are usually busy and today I’m shorthanded, too.” I shrug, looking around the room as people filter in and out. Most of our visitors on the weekends are drop-ins rather than reservations and I’m sure it will stay that way all day today.
“Thanks again,” they both say, giving me grateful smiles.
“Oh, and that wine has a really buttery texture. Let it hit the middle of your tongue and you’ll notice it. It’s almost like an oily or buttery feel.”
Both of them nod and before I walk away, the man looks directly at my nametag, and a second later he pulls out his phone. They were definitely different than the usual taster and the crazy part of me wonders if they’re swingers looking for some young girl to bring into their lifestyle.
I shake my head, laughing a little at my out-of-control imagination.
The day is long and by the time we close, I realize I’ve been here for twelve straight hours. We were swamped and there was no way I could leave the two people I had on staff alone for the rest of the day.
I let them go before clean up, figuring what’s another hour here anyway. They worked their asses off and both have families to go home to. I’m alone, going home to my sauce-smelling little apartment anyway, spending a bit more time here won’t kill me.
I also want to go check on the bees. I’ve never been out there at night and I was recently reading that the hive tends to go quiet at night. They have sleep patterns that are almost human-like. I find it hard to believe our little hard-working bees ever go quiet. The hum of their work is constantly going during the day.
I catch myself thinking and hearing me say “our” in reference to the bees has me thinking about Tommy. I don’t want to want him, but fuck my life, because I do. I want him to want me without reservations, without thinking there’s someone better, without questioning if I’m enough. But I’m done convincing boys to want me because it never goes the way it’s supposed to.
Stop trying to change people and better yourself and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I turn the music up in the tasting room, changing it to something better than the soft lull we have playing during the day.
“Gold Digger” comes on, echoing in the quiet emptiness of the normally crowded room and something about it feels far more calming than the emptiness. I turn it up, the words bouncing off the stillness, making me smile.
I love the emptiness of the vineyard at night. It’s like two different worlds and I relish the one where I feel like I’m the only person here. Knowing Jack and Lauren live on the property, but with their house set far back, there’s no way they hear the music playing. There’s no one to disturb me and while most would call it lonely, I find solace in it all.
I re-stack the glasses and wipe down the bar top. I’ve already taken the garbage out and made sure all the wine fridges are set to the correct temperatures.
Once before I started working here, an employee forgot to check and the next morning all the wine fridges had been off all night. Serving customers warm white wine isn’t ideal.
Again, I find myself shaking my head, wondering just how I ended up here and how I’ve finally found something I truly enjoy doing. Between my bees and my job and finding a place where my employer not only appreciates me but is also my friend, feels deeply satisfying.
I grab the mop and bucket and begin mopping the floor, the last of the jobs before closing up and heading home. The music is playing and I’m dancing along, singing out loud to the lyrics. There’s no way you can’t dance and belt out the words to this song.
I’m dancing my heart out, singing away and when I turn to the doorway that leads out to the vineyards, I see Tommy standing there.
He’s leaning against the doorway looking so fucking hot with his disheveled brown curls and his oh so aloof smirk and eyes that melt my heart every damn time I see him.
“I don’t chase him,” I mutter to myself, but fuck my life because that’s the only thing I want to do.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmurs, his voice like sex, almost a low growl that vibrates through my whole body.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, the tension between us building to something that is now humming between us. I’m breathless and my words come out almost desperate and I can only hope he thinks it’s because of my dancing.
“Long enough,” he chides, winking at me and suddenly I’m not certain my legs will hold me up. His tongue pokes out wetting his lips and before I know it, he’s standing in front of me.
