CHAPTER 3
CHOSEN BOTTLES
By the fourth pour, Miles understood that Julian was no longer conducting one tasting.
He was conducting two. One for the group, full of vineyard histories and weather patterns and polite comparisons.
One for Serena, hidden in plain sight, built from glances, pauses, and bottles that seemed to know too much.
The couple at the far end argued cheerfully about oak.
A man in a navy blazer asked about shipping cases to Portland.
A woman with pearls took photographs of every label.
Life continued around them, normal and civilized, while Miles sat beside his wife and watched an invisible current pull her farther from shore.
He could have stopped it. That knowledge mattered.
He could have touched Serena's arm, made an excuse about the drive, asked the hostess for the check.
She would have come with him. Maybe she would have been relieved.
Maybe she would have been disappointed. He did not know which possibility frightened him more.
Julian brought out a red from a narrow cabinet behind him. 'This vintage is not on the printed flight,' he said. 'It is temperamental. It dislikes crowds. But I think tonight it has found the right company.'
He poured for everyone, but he watched Serena taste first.
Her lips parted over the rim. She held the wine on her tongue longer than before, and Miles felt the room tighten around that small private act. When she swallowed, she exhaled slowly through her nose.
'Cherry,' said the woman with pearls.
'Leather,' said the man from Portland.
'Rain on warm stone,' Serena said.
The room went quiet for half a beat. Julian's expression changed, not dramatically, but enough. Recognition. Appreciation.
'Yes,' he said. 'Exactly.'
Miles stared at his tasting card. He had tasted cherry too, and something earthy he might have called cellar if forced.
Rain on warm stone would never have occurred to him.
He was proud of her for saying it. Jealous that Julian had drawn it out of her.
Disturbed by how similar those feelings felt in his body.
When Julian moved to the next guest, Serena leaned close. Her shoulder brushed Miles's. 'You are quiet.'
'I am learning a lot.'
'About wine?'
He looked at her then. Her cheeks had warmed. Her eyes were clear but brighter than when they arrived. The black dress still looked elegant, but the woman inside it seemed less carefully arranged.
'About you,' he said.
She studied him, searching for accusation. He gave her none. That was harder than he expected, and more honest.
'Do you mind?' she asked.
He knew what she meant without her explaining it. Do you mind that he is paying attention? Do you mind that I like it? Do you mind that something in me is waking up here, in front of you?
Miles turned his glass by the stem. 'I mind less than I thought I would.'
Her breath caught. Just lightly. Enough.
Julian returned with a small silver tray of dark chocolate and thin slices of fig. He placed it between them, although the other guests had to share plates farther down the counter.
'For the next wine,' he said. 'Bitter first, then sweet. The order matters.'
Serena took a piece of chocolate. Miles expected her to eat it quickly, but she held it for a moment, then turned toward him. 'Bitter first?'
Miles nodded, unsure why his mouth had gone dry.
She placed the chocolate on her tongue and closed her lips. Julian poured. The wine was nearly black. When Serena tasted it, her eyes did not close this time. They stayed on Miles.
Something passed between them that had nothing to do with Julian and everything to do with him. Permission was too simple a word. It was not a gift one person gave the other. It was a door both of them were touching from opposite sides.
Julian watched them realize it.
'That is the problem with a proper tasting,' he said. 'After a few honest glasses, the wine is no longer the most revealing thing in the room.'
Serena's fingers found Miles's beneath the marble edge. She squeezed once, then let go. Not reassurance. A question.
Miles did not know the answer, but he wanted to keep reading.