While they worked, laughter bubbled up from down the hall, drifting from the partially open door of the back office. I had peeked inside to see Max, Liam, and Dom, a trio of easy camaraderie, each with a beer in hand, their banter as light as the foam on their drinks. The sight of them, so at ease and content in each other’s company, filled me with a quiet joy. It was a reminder of the friendships that thrived within the walls of the Prism Society.
As the afternoon light softened, we spread Jessie’s sketches across the table, engrossed in a world of creativity as we discussed incorporating whimsical elements to bring our secret garden theme to life. We envisioned hanging lights to mimic the delicate twinkle of stars and pathways lined with soft, glowing lanterns, inviting guests to wander and explore.
The atmosphere in the club was electric, charged with creativity and the hustle of preparation. Jules, the front desk manager known for her charm and efficiency, breezed in to offer her support. She assured us she’d handle any overflow of reservations brought on by the event, seamlessly integrating herself into the whirlwind of activity.
My primary hope was for Max to see and love the world we were creating. I wanted this event to be more than a showcase of exquisite wines. I aimed for it to be a reflection of Max’s journey and his sommelier expertise. It was essential for me that Max saw this space as a true testament to his hard work and dedication to the craft of wine.
Amidst the flurry of preparations, I couldn’t help the flutter in my belly surrounding the stakes of Max’s upcoming sommelier exam. Passing would not only elevate the Prism Society’s wine program, making it a standout feature of the club, but it would also cement our status within the elite circle of wine connoisseurs. The prospect of bringing in more business, especially with members who were here for the wine and what the sultry club offered, was exciting. With Max’s test a month away, the pressure was like a simmering pot of water.
With each detail for the event falling into place, my vision became more vivid and more real. And when the day’s work was done, as the others headed out, Max pulled me aside. He’d received a notification: tomorrow, the special selection of wines for the event would be delivered.
“Think you could help me with a wine tasting tomorrow?” he asked, a hopeful note in his voice. “Could use your palate and your expertise.”
My face broke into a wide, genuine smile. “I’d love to,” I said. And with that, the promise of tomorrow’s tasting lingered in the air, a tantalizing preview of the magic we were about to create.
* * *
Friday afternoon held a quiet hush over the Prism Society, the kind that settles over a stage when the audience has yet to arrive. The club was closed to the public, but within its walls, anticipation was being uncorked, its bouquet ready to fill the room.
Max had transformed one of the plush, curved booths in the lounge into a private tasting tableau. The seating, which normally embraced groups in the revelry of the night, now held a more intimate arrangement. It was set with precision and care, with each glass sparkling under the subdued glow of the wall sconces, their light dimmed to a warm, inviting hue.
The table was draped in a charcoal velvet cloth that caught the light, its surface a study in understated elegance. Atop it, the array of crystal stemware was laid out like instruments awaiting the conductor’s hand, each glass promising a different timbre and tone of the wines they were soon to hold.
I stepped into the space, a smile spreading across my face as I took in the scene. Max had thought of everything. He’d created a tiny tasting experience just for us. The chocolates I’d picked laid out on a platter in the middle of the table, and two small flickering candles sat in mercury glasses, the shadowed light casting shapes on the table.
The air was cooler here, the light danced in flickers across the glasses, and the table seemingly shaded away from the hanging chandeliers. Here, in this hallowed space of comfort and luxury, the outside world felt leagues away. The lounge was a sanctuary, its ambiance a gentle embrace.
I walked over to the booth, my fingers grazing the back of the velvet upholstery. I thought we’d throw back a couple of ounces of wine like we had at the vineyard to make our final selections to go with the rest of the chocolates. But Max had created an experience for us instead.
Max, with a bottle already in hand, greeted me with an easy smile, his excitement barely contained. “Ready to taste some magic?” he asked, his eyes shining with the same fervor I felt bubbling inside me.
I nodded, my anticipation palpable. “I can’t believe you did all this,” I replied, taking my seat and allowing myself to be fully absorbed by the moment.
“I wanted to practice creating more of an experience with this tasting, to prepare for the event. Will you judge me if I go full-on sommelier tonight?” Max asked with a bit of a blush.
“By all means, wow me with all your nerdy knowledge, Mr. Sommelier,” I said as I slid further into the booth.
Max’s grin widened at my challenge, a playful glint in his eye as he assumed the role of the evening’s guide into the world of fine wines. He uncorked the first bottle, a ceremony in itself, the subtle pop a prelude to the evening’s symphony.
“As we embark on this journey,” Max began, pouring a ruby liquid that seemed to capture the fading daylight in its depths, “we’ll explore not just the taste, but the story of each wine. How it speaks of its origin, the earth where the grapes were lovingly cultivated.”
I leaned forward, my elbows on the table, my chin resting on my interlocked fingers. “Tell me its secrets,” I teased, watching the wine swirl in my glass, creating a small vortex of aroma and anticipation.
Max played along, adopting a mock-serious tone. “This first contender hails from a vineyard where the fog lingers like a whisper of ancient tales. It’s a Pinot Noir, with whispers of cherry and a hint of spice. It should play well with the dark chocolate, don’t you think?”
The wine was cool on my lips, the flavor blooming on my palate as I took my first sip. I closed my eyes, savoring the layers as they unfolded. “Mmm, it’s like the first crisp night of fall,” I mused.
Max chuckled as he said, “I love how you describe what you’re tasting.”
He watched me with appreciation as I described the experience, my enthusiasm stoking his own. With a flourish that demonstrated his increasing comfort in his role, he presented the next bottle, a Champagne, with the light catching its graceful curves. “Now, let’s elevate the experience,” he announced, his voice a mix of reverence and excitement. “A little sparkle to cleanse our palates.”
He expertly popped the cork, the sound a festive exclamation point in the lounge’s quiet. The Champagne fizzed to life as Max poured it into our flutes, the bubbles racing to the surface like tiny dancers in a rush to perform.
The wine was a vivacious contrast to the Pinot Noir, with each sip full of effervescence and hints of green apple and toasted brioche. “It’s like a celebration in a glass,” I remarked, the corners of my mouth rising with delight as the bubbles tingled on my tongue.
Max nodded, his eyes reflecting the golden hues of the drink. “Exactly. It’s meant to invigorate the senses, to prepare us for the next act of our tasting journey.”
Our eyes met over the rim of their glasses, a silent toast to the moment.
