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“Can you believe the size of that bathtub? And the shower? You could fit six people in that thing,” she gushes. “And the lady at the front desk wasn’t kidding about the view. I bet sitting out on that veranda with a glass of wine as the sun sets is an experience,” she continues to babble excitedly as she opens the curtains to show me the view.
“That is something,” I agree.
“Did you pick somewhere for dinner?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
She picks a book up from the desk in the corner and begins to thumb through it. “This gives you an overview of everything on the estate. Are you in the mood for steak or seafood? What about an Irish pub?”
Her expectant eyes come to me.
“Anything you want,” I say.
“I’m thinking the bistro. You can get steaks, chops, or pasta and Biltmore wines. It says they serve estate-raised and locally sourced ingredients in dishes handcrafted by their chefs in a vibrant, casual setting that embodies European charm. And you can watch the chefs prepare the meals in the open kitchen from your table. Doesn’t that sound divine?!”
“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll make us a reservation for seven and have a car pick us up at six thirty. Will that work for you?”
She looks down at her watch. “I think I can be ready by then.”
She hands the booklet off to me and slips back into her room, shutting our connecting door behind her.
Good call to bring her here.
Anna
“This place is so nice. Do you think the winery is still open?” I ask as the hostess leads us to our table.
“I don’t know,” Weston replies.
“If it is, can we take a tour?”
“I thought you wanted to have wine on the veranda?”
“Oh, right,” I mutter.
He pulls out my chair.
“Maybe tomorrow?” I ask.
He takes his seat across from me. “We’ll be at the festival pretty late, but if you aren’t too tired and they are still doing tours, we can go.”
Yes.
The waitress introduces herself, gives us a rundown of the night’s specials, and asks for our drink orders.
“I’d like a glass of the Biltmore Estate Limited Release Chenin Blanc, please,” I request.
“Excellent choice,” she says.
“I’ll have a Double Hopnosis Imperial IPA,” Weston says.
“By the way, do you know how late the winery offers tours?” I ask.
“It’s open from noon to seven, and the last reservation for the tasting room is six forty-five,” she informs.
I sigh. “Thanks.”
She leaves to get our beverages, and I look at the menu.
