The woman behind the counter, Kerry, started pulling bottles for them to sample. “A little wine will calm any lovers’ quarrel with the first sip,” she said with a smirk.
I kept quiet, waiting for Isabella to correct her, but she just smiled. I wanted to slide my hand around her lower back and had to physically stop myself from doing it.
They had a few options for each wine I wanted to replace, so now we just had to cross our fingers they’d be good enough for the event. Kerry got us set up with some samples of our preferred wines but threw in some additional options for fun.
She created a spread with glasses, chocolates, and some palate-cleansing crackers and set us up on the back patio. The wrought iron table and chairs overlooked the hills of the vineyard, and it was truly stunning.
“Even though you forced me to come here, this is really beautiful,” Isabella said as she picked up the first glass of wine to sample.
I chuckled. “I don’t remember forcing you, but I am glad you came.” We locked eyes for a second and I smiled. “Now, what does your refined palate think of this wine?”
I picked up the Chardonnay, swirled the liquid, noting the legs, took a deep inhale, and held the glass up to the light before taking a tiny sip. Isabella mimicked my movements before taking a small sip herself.
“It’s . . . buttery. Almost like toast.” She took another sip. “It’s thicker than normal but really good.”
I smiled. “Well, the ‘toast’ taste is likely because it underwent malolactic fermentation and was aged in toasted oak barrels. The malic acid, naturally found in grape must, is converted to softer lactic acid by bacteria. This process not only softens the wine’s acidity but also introduces flavors reminiscent of butter or cream.”
“Show-off.” Isabella teased.
“I’m sorry, it probably sounds like I’m mansplaining wine to you, but this does actually help a ton for me to be ready for the exam,” I said.
“It doesn’t come across as condescending, I promise. I can tell you’re really just a wine nerd, that’s all,” Isabella said, smiling.
We sampled the next Chardonnay, both immediately preferring the first, before trying them both again with the chocolates.
“You truly prefer this one?” I asked as I sipped the Chardonnay we both seemed to prefer.
“Yes, truly, and yes, I think other rich-ass people will too,” she said, bringing up my description of our members earlier.
I winced and said, “I’m sorry about that comment.”
“It’s fine.” She shrugged. “Most of those rich-ass people care more about the label anyways.”
“That’s what I’m worried about with this event,” I confessed, reaching for the Syrah so we could taste it next. “I’m afraid they’ll judge the wine if they don’t recognize the vineyard.”
“Then don’t tell them. Have that be a part of the event. Have them speculate where they think it originates from and surprise them at the end. They might be more bought that way,” she said.
“That’s brilliant, Isabella. Get them in love with the wine for the taste then maybe they’ll care about getting it in front of more people.” I could feel the excitement building for the event now, not just nerves.
I poured us each a sample of the next wine and we clinked glasses. It only took seven sips, four nibbles on the caramel, and long moments of quiet pondering for me to decide on the second Syrah as the winner.
I felt immediate relief once I’d settled on the wines to complement two of the chocolates. I had some ideas for which wines could pair well with the others, but those vineyards were more like a plane ride away, so I’d order a few bottles so we could taste them here.
“Okay, so I feel like I totally rained on your event-planning parade,” I said as we both cleansed our palates with some oyster crackers. “How’s everything else coming together?”
I didn’t miss how Isabella’s face lit up as she walked me through some of the setup she and Emma had planned for upstairs. I was dizzy thinking about all the details she was already mapping out. From floral to signage to hand-delivered invitations. She was going to make this event magical.
“You seem like you really love this part. The event planning. Dom talked to you about having it be part of your official job description, right?” I asked.
Isabella shrugged. “Yeah, he did. I think that’s also why I got so carried away. I really wanted to impress him—and you.”
“From what I’ve seen, you more than have what it takes to excel,” I said.
“Maybe,” she replied.
Down to our last wine, we took a walk through the vineyards. The summer sun beat down hot on us as we made our way across the lawn. Rows and rows of grape vines wrapped around thick wire trellises. The expanse of the rolling hills made me feel like I was in another world instead of being outside of the concrete jungle of New York.
“You know that whatever you want to do with your career, or whatever, doesn’t have to be earth-shattering,” I said. “I didn’t mean to force you to turn something you like doing for fun into a job.” Isabella had been quiet for a while, perhaps lost in thought.
