“But I also wonder if I should go with the Château Cheval Blanc.” He seemed to be speaking to himself at this point.
Max twisted and reached for another bottle from the very top. “Or perhaps the Romanée-Conti.” He examined the bottle and brought both down to the bar top before turning and heading right back up the ladder. “Or I could go with the Penfolds Grange from Barossa or the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa.”
I could spot the panic in his eyes all the way from down here. Even if I had to trail my eyes past his wide chest first. “Okay,” I said as I sat my bag down on the counter loud enough to zap him out of his panicked trance. “What would help you make your decision?”
“Honestly, the best way to decide is to sample them.” Max glanced over to a high-tech device sitting on the corner of the bar. “I’ve got a Coravin here. It lets us pour wine without removing the cork, preserving the rest of the bottle.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fancy. Will it affect the taste?”
Max chuckled. “Trust the process. It’ll be just as if we uncorked them.”
He carefully picked up each bottle and wiped away the dust, revealing the glistening glass beneath. “You know, most people buy these bottles for the name and to showcase them in their homes. Few actually drink them.”
“You’re awfully chatty when you’re nervous,” I remarked, my tone teasing.
Max flashed his lopsided grin again. “And you’re still ogling me.” He reached down and pulled on his undershirt that was draped over a nearby chair. “Better?”
I pretended to ponder. “Marginally.”
With that, Max began the sampling process. My gaze was drawn to the muscles in his hands and forearms as he fixed the Coravin atop the first bottle, the Château Margaux. He pressed the device down, and a thin stream of wine poured into one of the glasses.
As he moved on to each bottle, he offered a tidbit of information. “Château Cheval Blanc is known for its elegance—a perfect blend of Cabernet Franc and Merlot. The Domaine de la Romanée-Conti? It’s one of the best Pinot Noirs in the world. It embodies the essence of Burgundy.”
Pouring from the Penfolds Grange bottle, he continued, “Australia’s pride. A rich and powerful wine that speaks volumes of the Barossa Valley.”
Lastly, as he poured the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon, he added with a note of respect in his voice, “A cult classic. If you’re looking for the pinnacle of what Napa Valley can produce, this is it.”
I swirled the first wine in my glass, admiring its deep crimson hue and inhaling its complex bouquet. “Well, let’s find your replacement, Wine Guru.”
I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my mouth if I had been promised a million dollars to not do it. The taste of the wine on my tongue melted me. I closed my eyes and held the flavor in my mouth to savor it.
“It’s okay if you swallow,” Max said from the other side of the bar. My eyes flew open as a blush crept up my cheeks at the tone of his voice. He was leaning against the back of the bar, wineglass swirling in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“I’m almost scared to try the others,” I said. “That one is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Max smiled. “For this next one, close your eyes. Swirl the glass and smell the wine before you taste it.”
I nodded, an obedient student. Max slid a glass over to me and our fingertips grazed as I reached for the stem. I closed my eyes as I felt the brush of his thumb against my pinky. I lightly swirled the glass and lifted it to my nose to absorb the aroma.
When I closed my eyes and swirled the Château Margaux, I was immediately enveloped in a complex bouquet. The predominant scent was that of ripe blackberries and cherries intertwined with subtle undertones of violets. As I continued to inhale, layers of cedar, tobacco, and a hint of graphite came forward, rounded out by a whisper of vanilla from the oak aging.
It made me feel warm and relaxed, and I melted into my seat. Max’s voice was low and calm from across the bar. He leaned in toward me, watching my every reaction. “Now,” he said, his voice slow and steady, “tilt the glass back just a little. I want just the tip of your tongue to get the first taste.”
My heart was pounding in my chest as I lifted the rim of the glass to my lips. The cool edge pressed against my bottom lip as I tipped it up. The warm liquid hit the tip of my tongue, and I could detect the fruit and woodsy flavors.
“Now,” Max continued, his voice taking on a suggestive lilt, “let the wine flow across your palate. Roll it around, letting it touch all parts of your mouth.”
I followed his instructions, allowing the wine to dance over my tongue, tasting the subtleties in every corner of my mouth.
“Breathe in gently with your mouth open. It helps to aerate the wine, letting you experience the deeper flavors and undertones,” Max instructed. I did as he said, inhaling softly, which intensified the taste and brought out more nuanced flavors.
I opened my eyes to find Max observing me intently, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Good, now swallow. And after you do, press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. You’ll get the wine’s full finish that way.”
As I did, I caught hints of dark chocolate and soft spice, finishing with a gentle tannic grip that lingered delightfully. The wine was truly exquisite.
Max leaned forward, placing his elbows on the bar, his face inches from mine. “And? How was it?”
“It was . . . intense,” I admitted, my voice huskier than I intended. The close proximity and the intimate lesson were clearly affecting me.
