Page 42 of Falling for Carla

I wouldn’t let myself dwell on the future today. I wanted to give her one perfect day, and this was my chance. I couldn’t get in my head about it and think of what might happen once the danger was past, and she could go back to her real life, the one where she didn’t live with me and I didn’t wake up with her in my arms every day. It didn’t bear consideration. Not on a beautiful afternoon in a deserted vineyard with a beautiful woman, a blanket and the promise of a bottle of good wine.

We walked up to the stone building that housed the visitor’s center and gift shop. Heather unlocked the glass doors and welcomed us.

“Thank you for accommodating us today,” Carla said graciously. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the vineyard and tasting the wine.”

“I’m so glad you could be here. When Dad called and said that Drake needed a favor, the answer was going to be yes no matter what he asked. But this? Showing off the vineyard I’m so proud of to people who appreciate it? That’s fun for me, as well. Right this way,” she showed us a series of black and white prints of the vineyard in its early days, displayed on a wall.

“The first vintage was bottled here in 1961, and there were several years of a respectable cabernet, but the second generation to run the place ran into disagreements and when a fungus took the harvest two years in a row, they nearly had to close. The label never really found its footing after that disaster and the nephew who inherited it in the late nineties tried several different varieties looking for the right fit for this soil. Ultimately, when I came on the scene, there was nothing to lose. So I brought in a couple of types of merlot vines and here we are, eleven years on, and we’ve accomplished a great deal. Would you like to freshen up before we go to the cellar?”

Carla ducked into the washroom and I went into the men’s room as well. When we came out, Heather was waiting with bottles of spring water. We each took one and had a few sips. Then we followed her through a hallway boasting more photos of work on the vineyard and the construction of this stone building as well. Down the stairs, we entered a cavernous wine cellar where the air was cool and sweet. Heather took some tools from a rack and led us between rows of vast oak barrels. She pointed out which ones were newest and used a tube to draw a sample and placed it in a glass.

I offered it to Carla who took a sip. “It’s very smooth for such a young wine,” she remarked, “but a little sweet.”

“That will mellow and turn more buttery as it ages,” Heather said. “Just like men in that way.”

They laughed.

“I’m buttery?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Carla said lightly.

“This is probably as mellow as he’ll get though,” Heather said. “My dad’s 73 and he still carries a gun out to get the mail. They’re cops forever, no matter how long it’s been since they were on the force. The silver lining is you’ll be really safe.”

“I’m starting to see that being protective is a good thing in a man, that it’s not controlling or sexist. It’s just—”

“He takes care of you?” Heather said. “I married a cop, so I know exactly what you mean.”

“Hello? I’m still here,” I teased.

“Try this one, it's from the previous year.” Heather drew another sample with a different tube, meticulous not to mix or cross contaminate the batches.

I tasted it. “Good,” I said, and passed it to Carla.

“I like this one. It tastes a lot like the wine we had with my piccata.”

“That’s because it’s the same vintage” I told her. “Lou gets me a good deal on a few bottles from time to time.”

“You know I’d send you them for free,” Heather chided.

“That’s why I go through your dad. I’m not going to take advantage of your gratitude. This is a business. It has to turn a profit.”

“You’re family,” she protested.

“Which is why we’re here today,” I said. “You’re helping us out here, letting me take this woman out for a day trip. She’s doing her graduate work in criminal justice, and she hasn’t exactly been living the good life.”

“It’s my final semester before I graduate,” she said.

“And your professor fell for you? Well done, Carla,” Heather said.

Without warning, I was on guard. Even though Heather was practically family and would never tell anyone I was involved with a student, I knew the mention of it made Carla uncomfortable. The tug at one corner of her mouth, the wrinkle between her brows that she smoothed out purposefully told the tale. I touched Carla’s back reassuringly.

“I had a crush on him,” Carla said, “and I was lucky enough that after a while he noticed me. But you should’ve seen the way he froze me out. The man acted like I wore the scarlet letter because I was in one of his classes.”

“That’s our Drake. He gives grace to other people, such a generous guy, but he’s really hard on himself,” Heather said.

“Could we get back to the wine?” I asked, sounding grouchy on purpose. They laughed lightly and we moved down the row, sampling and discussing.

Then we moved up to the beautiful tasting room where Heather chose three bottles for us to try and brought out some snacks.

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