Page 48 of The Bad Girl List

“Three glasses?” I exclaim. “What part of watered down did you not understand? You just want to entertain the gnomes in my head, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he says with a chuckle, “I don’t expect you to drink all this. I thought it might be fun for you to taste some wine. Do you like Sauvignon Blanc?”

“It’s one of my favorites. Not that I’m a wine expert, but Annika always has it at her place so I drink it quite a bit.”

“Looks like I picked the right varietal.” Trevor arranges the glass across the middle of the bistro table. “These are all Sauvignon Blancs, but they’re from different regions. There’s one from Sonoma County, one from New Zealand, and one from Italy. You look nice tonight, by the way.” His eyes take in my low-cut halter top and relaxed cargo pants.

If he knew how many outfits I tried on for tonight, he’d probably laugh. I tried on several of Annika’s tighter, sexier outfits, but since I'm not sure where I stand with Trevor, in the end I opted for regular Dom clothes with my hair in two buns. I didn't want to look like I was trying too hard. I don’t really fit in with the crowd in Platitude, but when Trevor looks at me, I get the feeling he doesn’t care about that.

“Thanks,” I say. “Oliver hated it when I wore clothes like this when we went out. He was always bugging me to change and dress up.”

Trevor’s eyes darken. “Any guy that doesn’t like you for who you are is a prick.”

I like the way he says that, like he’s defending my preferred choice of clothes. “Thanks.” I pick up the first glass of wine so that I have an excuse to look away. Swirling the wine, I say, “This is the one from Sonoma County, right?”

“Yes. It was aged in stainless steel tanks, which brings out the mineral quality of the grape. Try it and let me know what you think.”

I take a sip. “It’s good. I think I can taste the minerals, but I’m not an expert. Annika is the one who knows wine. She’s the wine buyer for a restaurant on the wharf.”

“She is?” Trevor’s eyebrows lift. “Don’t tell my dad that. He’ll be all over her if he thinks he can get our wine on her list.”

“She takes bribes. Usually the sales guys have to kick down a case or two to get on her list.”

“Now that’s a language my dad will understand. I’ll let him know. After you guys go home. Oh, I brought something for you.” He flips open the pocket on his shirt, which I had noticed was oddly bulging.

Trevor fishes out a small jar, the sort you might use for fancy salt, and sets it on the table in front of me. But instead of salt, it’s filled with what looks like …

“You brought me a jar of dirt?” I ask.

“Um, yeah. It sounds weird when you say it like that. But it’s not regular dirt. It’s something we make on the farm called barrel compost. We sell it in the tasting room. I just finished up a fresh batch last week.”

He brought me a jar of compost? It oddly fits with the guy I met at Zeke’s, the one who hadn’t even bothered to change out of his dirty work shirt before going out for a drink. I feel like he’s letting me see a little more of him, and I like that.

I rotate the tiny jar in my hands, pausing to read the label on the front.

Moretti Winery & Vineyards, Biodynamic Barrel Compost.

Mix contents of jar with 5 cups of water and stir vigorously for twenty minutes. For best results, apply to topsoil of garden in the afternoon on the day of a descending moon.

“Are you analyzing the label design?” Trevor asks.

“Maybe a little,” I admit. “Sorry, it’s an artist thing. Why does this say it’s best to apply in the afternoon of a descending moon?”

“It’s part of biodynamic farming,” Trevor replies. “We work with the natural cycles of the earth and the planets to maximize the potential of the land and the grapes we grow. The earth absorbs nutrients better in the later parts of the day. The soil becomes more active as the moon moves farther away from the earth, making the compost more effective when you apply it at that time. I know this all sounds hippie-dippy, but it’s really about gravity and science.”

“I never heard of biodynamic farming until I met you.” I lean forward, peering at the dark, rich earth inside the jar with more appreciation. I wish I’d known just a sliver of this when working on the redesign of the Moretti label. I can see now that my designs were way off. Nothing in my pieces captured the heart of the vineyard Trevor is describing.

He tilts his head at me. “You should come by the winery if you have time while you're here. I can give you a private tour and show you some of the biodynamic farming practices.”

I nod. “I’ll have to check with the aunties on the schedule, but that sounds fun.” My mind is churning as several new variations of the Moretti wine label begin to form in my head.

“You have that look on your face,” he says.

“What look?”

“That look you get when you’re drawing. Except you’re staring off into space instead of sketching.”

“Sorry.” I firmly push aside the images tumbling through my mind, reminding myself that their wine label is no longer in my hands.

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