Page 78 of Something that Could Last

When we reach a large oak barrel with a tap already in place, he pours us each a glass of Pinot Noir to sample. We sip on it slowly as we finish up the indoor portion of the tour.

Once we exit the building, Martin leads us out towards the vineyard. I hold Abby’s hand, our fingers entwined, and watch her face light up as she takes in her surroundings. The view of the rolling hills lined with row after row of grape vines rivals that of our aerial excursion.

“This is amazing,” she proclaims, her eyes scanning the horizon.

“You like it? You’re really having a good time?” I was a little nervous bringing her here, but seeing the excitement shining in her eyes eases my worry.

“I love it. Thank you for doing this. It’s beyond amazing.”

“You’re welcome, but this isn’t over yet. Things are about to get a whole lot more fun.” She opens her mouth to respond, her lips forming an “O”, but I tug her hand before she has a chance to speak. “Come on,” I say, pulling her along as we follow Martin. If I know Abby as well as I think I do, she’s going to enjoy my next surprise.

We stop at the edge of the vineyard where two large wooden barrels await. Abby leans over and peeks into one, assessing its contents. She looks at me curiously, wonderment alight in her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. Martin instructs us to remove our socks and shoes and roll up our pants legs. After cleaning our feet, I help Abby into her barrel and step into mine. She scrunches up her face when she feels the fruit squishing between her toes, but her smile never falters.

We begin slowly, lifting our feet and smashing the fruit gently. Once we acclimate to the sensation of stepping on them, we pick up speed. We stomp the grapes, both of us trying to outdo each other, smiles splitting our faces in two. We move faster and faster until Abby loses her footing, her body toppling sideways. I reach out and grab her, steadying her by the elbows. Tears spring from her eyes, her whole body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. I love seeing her like this. Happy and laughing, young and carefree like she should be.

We laugh together as she grips my forearms and tries to regain her balance. I had no idea this would be so much fun. I almost turned them down when the winery offered to let us do this, but I’m glad I didn’t. The elation on Abby’s face and her uninhibited mirth make everything worth it.

I climb out of my barrel and help her out of hers. As soon as her feet hit steady ground, I pull her in for a kiss.

“That was fun,” she breathes against my lips, her palms flattened against my chest.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I remind myself that Martin is standing nearby, waiting for us. I want to dive headlong into another kiss, one that will curl her toes and make her moan, but not here. Not with an audience.

We wipe the juice from our skin and slip back into our shoes. I take her by the hand and we follow Martin into the vineyard. We walk through rows and rows of grapes, stopping every now and then to sample the ripe ones. He explains how each species of grape is made into different kinds of wine, and how to pair them with food.

I lace my fingers through Abby’s and try to memorize her face as the sun sinks lower in the sky. It’s nearly set when we reach the end of the last row. She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand when she sees what’s waiting for us.

“Jacob,” she whispers softly.

There’s a small, candle-lit table covered in a white linen tablecloth about ten yards away. The young woman from earlier is standing off to the side with a white towel draped over her forearm, waiting for us to take our seats. I lead Abby to the table, tugging gently on her hand. I pull out her chair and motion for her to sit down. Instead, she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me deeply. When she finally releases me and takes her seat, I ease into the chair across from her and smile. Candlelight dances across her face, her eyes reflecting its warm, yellow glow.

“May I offer you a glass of Chardonnay?” The woman asks lifting a bottle from a silver bucket full of ice, and we reluctantly pull our gazes from each other.

“Yes, please,” Abby replies and I nod. She pours us each a glass before placing a serving tray full of cheese, olives, bread, and various spreads and oils in front of us.

“Thank you,” I tell her before she slips away. We sip from our glasses and snack on our appetizer platter as we wait for our food. I had a special meal prepared for us.

Our salads come first and we devour them within minutes. If we weren’t so hungry for food, our hunger for each other would overwhelm us and I’d have to clear this table to make room for our bodies.

My mouth begins to water as the smell of roast lamb wafts through the air. By the time our waitress places our plates in front of us, I’m ready to dig in.

“Enjoy,” she offers with a smile. “If you need anything, just ring the bell.” She picks up a small silver bell resting on our table and gives it a little shake. I didn’t even notice it sitting there. I’ve been too busy thinking of all the ways I could make love to my dinner companion on top of this table.

“What is this?” Abby asks, cutting into the meat on her plate.

“It’s lamb. Have you ever tried it?”

“No. Never.”

“It’s excellent.” I bite into mine and chew, savoring the delicious mix of flavors. Rosemary and garlic, maybe a little thyme.

Abby brings her fork to her mouth hesitantly and takes a small bite. “Mmmm, this is really good!” she exclaims between chews.

The fiery sunset makes way for the light of a million stars to twinkle in the night sky above us. We finish our dinner, and I pour her another glass of wine as our waitress returns with dessert. One plate holds a slice of tiramisu, and the other a large piece of red velvet cheesecake. I dig my fork into the first dessert and hold it out, offering her the first bite. Gently wrapping her lips over the prongs, she slides the decadent piece of tiramisu off my fork and moans. I squeeze my eyes shut at the heady sound. I made it through dinner without pulling her from her chair and sampling her own sweetness. Surely, I can make it through dessert.

“That is delicious.” I lift a bite of cheesecake to her lips next and let her sample it before I try the desserts myself. Watching her enjoy the rich, sweet cakes and lick her lips between each bite is driving me crazy. How can watching a woman eat be so damn sexy?

“I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Abby announces as she sets down her fork and swipes the cloth napkin over her lips.

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