Page 59 of Promise Maker

Domenico suggests keeping breakfast light sincewe’ll be doing wine tasting and lunch at the vineyard.

We finish in no time and head out.

I admire the endless greenery while Domenicoshares stories. He points out where relatives are from and where he went toschool for a short time before being homeschooled.

I’m sure we’ve been driving several minutes, but Idon’t mind. I’m enjoying his company.

“Here we are,” Domenico says as the driver slowsand veers off the road.

Putting my window down, I raise my camera andquickly snap pictures of the vast vineyard aligning the long entrance. Beyondthat is foliage stretching as far as the eye can see.

It’s utterly spectacular, so scenic—an artist’sversion of a candy store to a kid.

As the driver enters the gates, a massive stonebuilding fills my view.

Domenico takes my hand when we file out of the carin the gravel driveway.

“They’ve been our suppliers since my fatherstarted his liquor shipping,” he explains as we walk to the doors. “Theydistribute to local businesses as well. But we secured a contract whereMartelli would be the only one they work with to ship alcohol internationally.”

I bob slowly, impressed. “Great move.”

An older gentleman greets us in the entry. Heshakes both our hands.

Domenico speaks to him in Italian, and the mangestures for us to follow him.

A warm sensation engulfs my body when Domenicoplaces his hand at the arch of my back.

God. His touch triggers my senses in ways wordscouldn’t possibly describe.

As we enter a large room with a shitload ofbarrels and the strong scent of wine, he explains, “Gerardo set aside ourbestsellers for tasting.”

“Nice. I will be honest if I hate any of them.”

He chuckles softly.

Gerardo gestures with a wave of his hand to a longtable with wine glasses and bottles.

“This one first,” Domenico says, pouring the whitewine for me.

“Let me guess. You realized I liked sweet whitewine from my IG.”

“Yes.” He hands me the glass. “This isn’t thecheap Moscato you were drinking.”

I suck my teeth and mumble, “Whatever.” Then Ibring the glass to my mouth, absorbing the aroma before sipping. My eyes widen.“Mm. This is incredible.”

A cocky smirk results. “Ofcourseit is.” He snatches my glass before I drink more. “You have fourto sample and a whole afternoon with me. Take it easy.”

“Fine.” I snort.

Gerardo explains in Italian while pouring a redwine next.

Domenico translates the details for me, and I’m honestlyimpressed with how descriptive and invested the man is with his alcohol.

I pay close attention as he continues explainingthe rest, deciphering a few words.

At the end of the tasting, I shake his hand again,and he gifts me a bottle of the white wine I liked the most.

On the way out, a woman meets us in the gravelwith a basket containing a blanket, breadsticks, dipping sauce, salami, grapes,olives, and cheese.

---