Page 40 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
“I’m impressed you remembered. I did go to the baby shower. I visited with her family, and I had a watermelon mocktail—it was wonderful.”And I gossiped about you.I blush.
We reach a large barn, and he points up ahead. “Wine stop,” he announces.
I follow him, and we park the bikes and head inside. He pulls open the big sliding doors for me and flips on the overhead lights. The space is pretty barren, just dozens of large steel drums, and wine-processing equipment. The scent of oak barrels hangs in the air.
“Take a seat over there.” He points to a cozy set of club chairs by the windows that overlook the vineyard. “I’ll be your sommelier.”
He’s sexy like this—in charge and bossing me around. I have a lot on my shoulders at work, and I don’t often have the luxury of being able to turn off my brain and just relax. So of course I obey, heading over and sinking down into the plush forest green armchair.
After gathering some items—glasses, a spit bucket, and a few bottles of wine on a tray—he joins me.
He connects his phone to the sound system, and a sultry song comes drifting over the speakers. “Any particular requests?”
“This is good. What is it?”
“The 1975.”
It’s refreshing to hear something different, and I nod along to the rhythm while Hart pours me a taste of the first varietal he wants me to try—a crisp and refreshing sauvignon blanc.
His long fingers curl around his glass, and he slides it back and forth along the table, watching me while I bring the wine to my lips. Those gorgeous hazel eyes drift to the column of my throat as I swallow.
“You’ll find notes of pear and peach,” he says.
It’s full bodied and decadent. “This is amazing,” I say, taking another sip. “I could get used to this.”
“I’ll take you to my favorite winery tomorrow if you like.”
“This isn’t your favorite?” I ask.
He laughs.
“No. This is where I grew up being bossed around by my grandfather—pulling weeds and hammering down posts for the vines.”
I feel completely relaxed and happy sitting here while he pours me little tastes of all his favorites, tells me about the varietals and the history of the vineyard.
“What made you decide to come?”
“You,” I say without breaking eye contact. “You can be very ...persuasive.”
He leans back in his chair, still watching me. “When I want something, yes.”
My heart rate climbs. He’s like the sun: I almost can’t look directly at him because he overwhelms me.
“Try the cab,” he says, pouring a splash of red into a new glass and handing it to me.
I moan when the dark flavors hit my tongue. Blackberry with notes of spiced tobacco and a hint of vanilla.
“Do you like it?”
“It tastes like heaven,” I confirm. Which means this place is aptly named.
He’s still watching me, his expression intense, while the band serenades us with their haunting lyrics and provocative beat.
A lopsided smile pulls at the edge of his mouth. That mouth. It does things to me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re beautiful.”
