Page 29 of Summer with the Single Dad

“Here we have a wonderful merlot. Now, because of where we’re located, here on the cliff, we are limited to the types of red grapes we can successfully grow. Your deep syrahs and cabs like it hot. Here, we get cooler temperatures, which bodes well for sweeter and lighter wine grapes, like white. But merlot grapes are rather happy here too. They don’t seem to mind the cool, salty air off the water.”

“I didn’t know that about grapes. Interesting.”

Naomi simply nodded, jostling her thick, voluminous waves. “Merlot is considered a dry wine due to the tannin levels, but the flavor profile tends to lean toward fruits and berries. You’ll probably note the subtle, earthier overtones like vanilla, clove, and mocha too. I definitely taste clove with this latest batch. Clove and blackberry actually, which I love.”

Justine picked up the final glass but paused, waiting for the food pairing suggestion.

“I like my merlot with a sharp cheddar cheese. However, I also like to suggest people finish off their tasting with the merlot and a piece of bittersweet chocolate.” She pointed out the cheddar and the chocolate on the plate.

“Do I need to choose one or the other?”

“Of course not,” she said with a laugh. “And you don’t have to stick to my suggestions either. Try the moscato with the cheddar and see what happens. You never know, you might have found a new match made in heaven.”

“I think I’ll listen to the pro.” She grabbed a piece of sharp, aged white cheddar and popped it into her mouth. The calcium crystals in the cheese crunched against her molars as the salty tang brought forth a fresh flood of saliva. She took a sip of the wine and closed her eyes, humming again in delight. But she wasn’t about to ignore the suggestion of chocolate. Once that mini climax waned, she picked up the chunk of bittersweet chocolate, took a sip of wine, and bit into the chocolate. It was an entirely different, but wonderful, sensation. Less salty and more sweet with bitter notes, and the way the creaminess of the chocolate danced with the mocha overtones of the wine was captivating.

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until Naomi laughed and Justine blinked her eyes open.

“I love to end the tasting with the merlot and chocolate. It’s so satisfying, isn’t it?”

Justine couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever been this happy, or tasted anything so wonderful. But as soon as she acknowledged that joy, on came the guilt.

She stood up abruptly from her seat. “I, uh … I have to go. Umm, thank you. What do I … what do I owe you?”

Naomi appeared shattered and confused. That just compounded Justine’s guilt.

She needed to get out of there.

“It’s on the house. I … have I done something wrong? I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“No … you’ve done nothing wrong. I …” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “I just … it’s the guilt. I can’t.”

“The guilt? Guilt about what?”

“I’m sorry.” She reached into her wallet and pulled out two fifty-dollar bills, placing them abruptly on the counter. “It can’t be on the house. You’re running a business here. I get that. I’m sorry. Thank you. Thank you.” Then she ran out of the building, cringing at how hard the door slammed behind her.

Gravel flew out from beneath her tires as she hastily backed out of her parking stall and onto the dusty laneway that would take her back to the main road. Rows and rows of grapes flanked her, but she could barely see them through the fat blobs of tears that blurred her vision and tumbled down her cheeks.

She didn’t even remember the drive back to her cabin, but before she knew it, she was there, pulling into the small parking space in front of cabin number five.

The tears had stopped falling in such rapid succession, but her face remained damp and her heart heavy.

She probably shouldn’t have driven, given that she’d just had wine, but she didn’t feel drunk, and she never finished any of the glasses—besides the moscato.

With stuttering breaths, she climbed out of her SUV, hooking her purse and beach bag over her shoulder.

The property was rather quiet, save for the chirp of birds and the reassuring sound of the surf not too far away. But the closer she got to her cabin door, the louder a strange whooshing sound grew.

Pausing, with her key in the lock, she looked around. Where was that noise coming from?

With her chest still recovering from crying, she pulled in a shallow breath that snagged in her throat, closed her eyes and turned the key.

The rushing sound of water was right there now and when she stepped into the living room, her shoes squelched on the welcome mat.

The floor was soaked and water flowed out from the hallway.

She raced into the cabin and the bathroom, where more water gushed from the wall, but she couldn’t see exactly where from. Everything was soaked.

The floor, the baseboards. And it flowed out of the open bathroom door into the hallway, the bedroom, the living room and kitchen. Anything of hers that was on the floor was drenched. Luckily, she was the kind of person to put her clothes into dressers when she stayed anywhere for a considerable amount of time. But a few things were on the ground—and they were ruined.

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