Chapter 32 #2
“You never know, you might find one you like,” I said, gently coaxing her. I passed her my untouched water, hoping I could
continue with her. “Please let me walk you through it again.”
Her head tilted towards me, a lock of strawberry-blonde hair slipping free from her clip. “And if I hate it?”
“Then we’ll order you a nice, cold beer.”
“Now that’s tempting,” she said with a grin, but still, she picked up the glass, holding it up to examine the color.
“I’d say this is red,” Chloe said, glancing at me with mock seriousness.
This time I played along. “Yeah, but more specifically, I’d call this an inky red, maybe with some violet tones.”
Her lips curved into a small smile as she nodded. “I can see that.” She gave the glass a delicate swirl, watching the streaks
along the side.
“Before you smell it, close your eyes,” I suggested, quickly taking a sniff of the sample for my own judgement. “It will help
keep your senses focused.”
She looked skeptical, but I only leaned closer, the sides of our thighs pressing lightly together. One hand rested on the
back of her chair, while the other gently tucked that loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her shampoo carried a soft, tropical
scent, and I couldn’t help but breathe it in.
“Close your eyes,” I said softly.
Her thick lashes fluttered shut, and my heart skipped a beat at how willingly she trusted me in that moment. I quickly scanned
the room, making sure that we hadn’t attracted any stray attention, but with the low light of the room, I knew it would be
hard for anyone passing by to make us out.
“Now, don’t stick your nose right in. Just a soft sniff,” I coached, holding the glass at the perfect distance from her face.
“Breathe in, slow and steady.”
Chloe did exactly as I instructed, drawing the wine’s aroma in through her nose, her expression shifting subtly as she processed
the scent.
“Now tell me,” I murmured, leaning a fraction closer, “what do you smell?”
“Um . . . like dark fruits, maybe?” She kept her eyes closed, as if she was still in the moment, picking the aroma apart.
I wondered if I’d be able to taste the wine from a kiss, pick apart the profile on her lips.
“I smell that too.” I smiled brightly at her. “Now taste.”
She raised the glass, the edge catching on her lips. We both laughed at her near miss.
“Blind taste testing has its difficulties,” she said, and laughed.
“I’ll make sure you don’t get covered in wine.” I watched as she took a careful sip, first a small taste, followed quickly
by another when the liquid was deemed safe. I watched intently as she experienced it, obviously trying to pick the character
apart, her throat bobbing slightly as she swallowed.
Blue eyes met mine. “We used to have a fruit tree at the top of my parents’ garden. The chef used to make jam in the late
summer. I think it reminds me of that.”
I smothered the desire to tease her about having a chef. “What was it? The fruit?”
She thought to herself for a moment. “Plum.”
A big grin broke out across my face, and at the shock of pride I felt for her getting it right, I couldn’t help but close
the small gap between us, pressing my lips to hers.
I was right. The faint taste of juicy plums and dark summer cherries danced along her lips.
She was caught off guard for only a moment before reacting, her hand curling around the back of my head, pulling me a little
deeper. My hand slid up her thigh, the feeling of her skin against my palm a reward in itself.
I pulled back, aware this was the most public we’d ever been, feeling comfortable in the darkness.
“I’m assuming I got that one right?” she asked.
“You assume correctly.”
“Will that be my reward if I get all the answers right?”
“I’m sure we could work out some sort of system,” I said, my voice low as I leaned in, my breath warm against her neck. “One
kiss for nailing the fruit notes.” I let the words linger, watching her lips twitch with amusement. “Another for every assessment
you get right.”
Chloe’s lips curved into a smirk, her fingers tracing the stem of her glass as she turned her head, her cheek almost brushing mine. “And if I guess wrong?”
I tilted my head, letting the teasing lilt in her voice sink in. “Then I’ll have to show you how it’s done,” I murmured, my
gaze dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes.
“So then, teacher,” Chloe teased, her fingers pointing back to the second glass, her other grabbing the small menu of answers
the server had left. “Where is this from?”
I had to take a moment to recalibrate, my mind all too distracted by the line of her neck, her bare shoulders, the way she
moved and held herself.
I’d had a taste, and now I wanted more. Wine or not.
“South America,” I said, my mind struggling to come up with a better answer when she was looking at me like that. I knew it
was a Malbec, but the exact location had faded from memory, replaced with the taste of her lips mixed with the wine.
“More specific, please,” she teased, her heated gaze turning up a notch. My mind blanked, any remnants of high-school geography
vanishing into thin air. My mouth felt impossibly dry.
Whether it was the desperate need to feel her lips on mine once more or a genuine curiosity to figure out the wine—I didn’t
mind either excuse—I leaned in and kissed her again. The taste of the wine was faint, but not of her. That flavor was quickly
becoming my favorite.
She’d be a white wine, American, of course, a burst of ripe apples and nectarines, a sweet strawberry undercutting delicate
florals on the palate. It would be the kind that lingers, making you crave more than one sip.
I thought for a second, distracted by the the way her face studied mine, Chloe’s attention intoxicating. “Chile?”
Quickly, her lips met mine in a swift, rewarding kiss. I hardly had time to react before she pulled away, her grin mischievous.
“She shoots, she scores,” Chloe said, her voice lilting with playful triumph.
The faint flush spreading across her cheeks and neck made the satisfaction pool low in my stomach.
I wanted more, more of that blush, more of her.
My resolve to go slow, to take our time, wavered.
I wanted to pin her against the wall, drag her to the bathroom or back to my hotel room to see how deep that blush burned.
“This might be my new favorite game,” I murmured, my fingers brushing hers, lingering on the stem of her glass.
She arched an eyebrow, her smirk turning downright devilish. “Not tennis?”
“If tennis came with wine . . .” I trailed off, my gaze dropping to her lips. “Then it might stand a chance.”
Then again, tennis had her.
“Careful, you’re dangerously close to converting me into a wine enthusiast.”
“Not dangerous,” I murmured, “just persuasive.”
“I want to test you on this last one.” She sat up straight, nudging the wine towards me, but little did she realize, I knew
what that wine was the second I saw it.
“I don’t need to taste that one,” I replied, a smirk on my lips. “I already know.”
Her eyebrow raised. “That cocky?”
“It’s called confidence.”
“Okay then.” Her words were broken with a laugh, and instead she switched gears. “Walk me through the wine.”
That usual competition between us reared its head. “And if I get it right?”
She didn’t even need a second to come up with her answer. “Then I’ll let you take me home.”
I blinked once. Twice. Three times. I think I forgot how to breathe.
Why did this feel so overwhelming, but in the best way?
It had never felt like that with anyone else.
Like . . . I was a teenager again, learning that this feeling wasn’t wrong, that this need and craving that I never felt towards men in the way my friends did might be the most natural thing in the world.
Chloe made me feel like that.
Everything, everyone before her was wrong. The wrong puzzle piece. The wrong time.
“Dare I remind you my hotel room is down the corridor from yours?”
“And you’ll be spending the night there alone if you get this wrong,” she replied, lifting the third glass. She did as I taught
her, swirling the dark liquid, judging the legs. Smiling, she raised it to her nose, as I had for her.
When she closed her eyes, I described the notes to her. “On the nose, you’ll find more dark fruits, but this time, you’ll
get more of that earlier spice. This time it’s from oak ageing, and it might be like cinnamon, clove, maybe a very subtle
hint of tobacco.” Even describing them to her, I could feel them prickling my tongue.
She opened an eye, peeking at me. “Are you guessing?”
I shook my head, insisting again, “I know this wine.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes, suspicion still crinkled across her features, but she relented. “Fine, taste time.”
She tipped the glass towards her lips. “Remember, take your time,” I reminded, my voice low. “Savor it.”
Chloe paused, doing exactly as I said, before slowly opening her mouth and swallowing.
“On your tongue, it will be velvet and full-bodied.” I almost whispered the words to her, not wanting to distract from the
flavors she was experiencing. “Those berry flavors will be coming in bold, but with an underlying smoke that gives this wine
its signature taste.”
A moment passed and I held my breath, waiting for her to make her judgement.
When her eyes opened, they were wide with delight. “This is really nice,” she said enthusiastically, taking another careful sip. I was almost content to watch her, letting the rich taste of the wine and her presence linger.
I picked up my own glass, unable to resist the temptation any longer. Raising it to hers, our glasses met with a soft chime.
The first sip greeted me with a burst of berries, the rich liquid rolling over my tongue, its complex flavors seamlessly intertwined,
all married into beautiful memories.
Home. Hot summers and rolling hills. Long evenings fading into starry nights. The comforting crackle of a winter fire.
Tempranillo, one of my favorite wines.
“This might be my favorite of all three,” Chloe admitted, glancing at her glass, now nearly empty.
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. Keeping my gaze fixed on her, I replied with a playful warmth, “That’s
because it’s a Spanish wine, honey.”