Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dinner morphed into a celebration. Régis now sat hand in hand with Danielle, his expression bouncing between elation and looking like he was going to vomit.
My sides ached from laughter, and my head was light with both joy and wine.
“Another bottle?” Remi asked, lifting an empty.
"Careful," étienne stage-whispered to me. “The last time Félicité had too much, she tried to serenade the vineyard cat."
I snorted, nearly choking on a bite of baguette. "Please tell me someone got that on video."
"Sadly, no," he sighed dramatically. "But the memory lives on in our hearts... and in our relentless teasing."
“Ahh, tonight is not a night to back down. Besides, we have not put Elodie’s palate to the test,” Remi said, winking.
“Oh, no,” I said, waving my hands. “I have zero palate.”
“We shall see about that.” Remi slipped away and came back shortly with a tray of filled red wine tasters. He handed the first one to me. The ruby liquid caught the light of the lanterns, sparkling like a gem.
I took a sip, letting the flavors dance across my tongue.
"Hmm. Definitely a red."
Félicité snorted a very unsophisticated laugh.
Remi raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.
"Okay, okay," I laughed, closing my eyes. "It's... complex. Earthy, with notes of... blackberry? And something spicy. Black pepper, maybe?" I took another sip, closing my eyes to concentrate. "It's bold, but not overwhelming. I'm going to guess... a Syrah?"
I opened my eyes to find Remi beaming at me like a proud papa. "Très bien, Elodie! It's Pierre’s 2018 Syrah. You've come a long way from the girl who thought Bordeaux was a type of cheese."
I narrowed my gaze. “I never said that.”
Remi chuckled. “Ok, true. But it sounds funny, no?”
Before I knew it, an impromptu wine tasting was in full swing. Bottles appeared from every corner of the estate, each with its own story and character. We swirled, sniffed, and sipped our way through vintages that probably cost more than my college apartment.
"Now, this one," Félicité announced, presenting a bottle with a flourish, "is special. Whoever guesses it correctly wins... bragging rights for life!"
The competition was fierce. We sniffed like bloodhounds on the scent, swirled our glasses with the intensity of tornado chasers, and argued over flavor notes like our lives depended on it.
A very sober Danielle was in stitches at our antics.
"It's clearly a Grenache," Régis insisted.
"Non, non," étienne countered. "It's too light for a Grenache. It must be a Cinsault."
I took another sip, letting the wine linger on my tongue. There was something familiar about it, a memory tickling the edges of my mind. Suddenly, it hit me.
"It's a blend!" I blurted out. All eyes turned to me. "Grenache and Cinsault, yes, but there's something else. Mourvèdre?" I looked to Félicité for confirmation.
Her eyes widened in surprise. " Incroyable ! How did you know?"
I shrugged, a bit embarrassed by the attention. “A good guess. I did a wine tasting over the summer in Napa and—” I trailed off as I caught Remi’s cheeky grin. He raised his glass in acknowledgment.
"I'm impressed, Elodie. Most people can barely tell red from white after a night like this."
“Cheap shot pulling out a blend for a blind tasting,” Régis grumbled.
"Well," I said with a giggle. “I must be becoming an expert by osmosis.”
“We might need to get closer for that,” Remi said.
The air between us crackled, but before I could dwell on it, I was swept up in a whirlwind of chatter and demands for more wine insights.
For a moment, I let myself imagine a future here—more nights like this, filled with laughter and wine and the warmth of family. Learning the intricacies of winemaking, watching the seasons change across the vineyard, becoming as much a part of this place as the century-old vines themselves.
It was a beautiful dream.