Page 59 of Gone With the Wine

“Great.”

Her approval has warmth swelling in my chest. I remember my shower last night and my dick thickens in my briefs. I cough.

“I’m jealous,” she continues. “Rosa won’t let me order new barrels.” She sighs.

“Why not?”

She holds up a hand a rubs thumb and forefingers together.

“Ah. Money.”

“Unlike rich hockey players, we don’t have a big bank account to get our winery going.”

“My bank account is shrinking rapidly,” I say dryly. “Don’t tell my mom.”

She smiles. “Why not?”

“She’s afraid I’m blowing my entire savings on this crazy plan and won’t be able to support myself.”

Her eyebrows slide up. “Hmm.”

“You think the same.”

Her lips twist as she tries not to grin. “I may have thought that. But I’m learning more about you. Also, you haveme.”

“Haha. Yes.”

You have me.

Fuck, I wish.

“I’d like to try blending some wines from different locations,” she moves on. “The grapes on the hillsides often have a different feel—tannins that are tart and more rustic.”

“Just growing them in a different location affects the taste.” I do know that, but I’m interested to learn more.

“Yes. The soil type contributes to the grapes’ flavors—whether it’s clay or gravel or volcanic ground. Also the amount of sun exposure. They get less fog when they’re higher up and more UV light gives the grapes thicker skins.”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

She smiles and her eyes sparkle. “It is, isn’t it? That’s why I love it.”

My eyes move over her face, my breath tightening in my chest. I nod. “I get it.” I return my attention to the eggs in the pan. “Can you make some toast?”

“Sure.” She moves to the counter where the bread sits. “You’re okay with that?”

“With what?”

“The blending?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I want to tell her to do whatever she wants. But itismy winery. “Are you talking about the Chardonnay grapes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Yeah.” I nod.

We eat our scrambled eggs and toast, then head out to the vineyard where the crew is assembled along with Diego, who’s already got some samples to test. Bianca takes them to the lab to work on them, along with the ones she brought from Caparelli.

I start helping again, sore muscles protesting as I squat. Goddammit. I’d planned to find a gym in the area but there’s no time right now. My runs with Miles are good, but I need some strength work. I’m a goddamn athlete, I’m not supposed to get sore from picking grapes.

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