Page 15 of One Week Wingman

“They also said you have a habit of dating all your reps, so I should tell you right now, my wife would not approve.” Natalia adds, looking amused.

“Lovely,” I lean back, smoothly pivoting away from seduction. “How long have you been married?”

“Two years,” she replies.

“Ah, so you’re still in the honeymoon phase,” I note. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“A commitment-phobic bachelor. How original,” Natalia smirks.

“Not at all.” I reply. “Now, how about this wine?”

“Smoothly done.” Natalia laughs, and leads me over to the corner table, where she’s already set up our tasting. “I have some really interesting new vintages for you to try.”

“Interesting… That’s a dangerous word,” I settle in, and reach for the first glass. “It can mean disaster, or a revelation.”

“When describing dates, as well as wines,” Natalia notes, and I laugh.

“Exactly.”

I try the wine, it’s a bold, dry white with a dramatic undertone. I pause, savoring it. “Is that… apple, and vanilla?”

She looks pleased. “My father uses organic matter from the local orchards to fortify the soil.”

“It’s your family operation?” I ask, surprised. Most of the reps I get through here work on assignment, touting varieties from half-a-dozen different vineyards.

But Natalia nods. “It’s my father’s pride and joy,” she explains. “For the time being, at least.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, tasting the next glass. This one is more complex, savory where most Chardonnays are sweeter.

She’s right, it’sinteresting.

“He’s not getting any younger.” Natalia sighs, sitting back. “Modesto is a lot for him to handle, not that he’ll admit it. He’s stubborn, he insists he’s going to keep running the place until he drops dead walking the vines, but I see how tired he gets. I just don’t know how much longer he can keep it going.”

“And you don’t want to take over?” I ask, surprised.

She smirks. “Traipse around muddy fields at the vineyard in Connecticut all day? No thank you. I like my creature comforts here in the city. Five-star dining, the theater, delivery at two a.m. And my wife feels the same.”

“So, have your father take on a partner,” I suggest, taking another sip. I’m getting a prickling sensation in the back of my neck now. Call it intuition or instinct, but I’ve learned to pay attention, because ever since I was a kid, this rare feeling always means the same thing:

Good things are coming.

“I’ve tried, believe me,” Natalia replies, looking frustrated. “But he’s rejected every candidate I’ve brought in. He’s a romantic, you see. Committed to keeping the vineyard biodynamic. He doesn’t want it to wind up just another corporate brand.”

I pause, the sensation growing.

“What about me?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

Natalia chuckles, sipping her wine.

“I mean it,” I tell her, and I do. Owning a vineyard has been a secret dream of mine for years, ever since I got into this business. Of course, it’s been a dream in that vague, far-off way that most dreams are: One day.

One day, I’ll drive a McAdams at Silverstone racetrack. One day, I’ll have my own acreage of vines, growing the perfect blend. One day, I’ll fall in the kind of love that makes me want to finally settle down...

I figured I’d get around to chasing those dreams eventually, but suddenly, one of them doesn’t seem so vague or faraway.

My own vineyard. Something to grow, and develop; make my own mark, instead of simply curating other people’s success.

“I’d love to come and see the property,” I say, getting excited at the possibility. Clearly, they have a quality operation, if this tasting is anything to go by. Small, exclusive, a limited vintage… My perfect match. “And meet your father, of course. Hear what he’s looking for in a partner.”

---