Martin Barrett spoke up first. “Something is definitely missing. I can taste the absence of it, but I can’t define what it is.”
“It needs depth. Or weight. Some kind of bridge between the fresh fruit and something more substantial underneath,” Hewitt suggested.
“Like it’s missing a foundation,” Brix added. “Or maybe a top note. There’s a component that should be there to complete the blend, but I can’t identify what it would be.”
Discussion swirled around me as those who’d tasted tried to puzzle out what was wrong. They talked about pH levels and acid balance and tannin structure. They debated whether the issue was with one of the varietals or with the blend ratios or with the fermentation process. All the measurements had been perfect, they agreed, but somehow, the wine was still incomplete.
I couldn’t hear most of it over my pulse roaring in my ears.
I had failed. I looked at my father across the table.
Dad was tasting and retasting, evaluating honestly with decades of experience behind it. He knew wine better than almost anyone I’d ever met, and I could see him searching for the same thing I’d been looking for. That spark. That magic. When his eyes met mine, I saw everything in his expression. Pride in what I had attempted. Sorrow that it wasn’t enough. Gratitude for the friends who had helped us. And heartbreak, deep and raw, because this beautiful wine wasn’t going to save us after all.
My mom’s hand rested on his arm. Both of them understood what this meant. Their daughter had made beautiful wine with the best help she could find. But beautiful wasn’t going to be enough.
Snapper’s arm went around my shoulders, and I rested against him because I needed his warmth and his steadiness. He didn’t offer empty reassurances or hollow promises that everything would be fine. He just held me while I stared into my glass of disappointment.
“We still have time,” said Cru. “We’ll figure it out.”
But looking at the faces around me, at the people who’d spent their entire lives crafting wine, none of them seemed to know how to fix it.
The expression on one person’s face, though, chilled me to the bone. Isabel Van Orr lookedtriumphant. Like this was somehow a competition between just the two of us and she’d just won.
“Where is everyone?” I heard someone say from the cave’s outer corridor.
“Baron!” said Tryst. “Welcome back. When did you get in?”
He stepped into the room, looking around with curiosity, especially when he noticed his daughter’s presence.
“I flew in for Thanksgiving, and when I saw the notice about tonight’s meeting, I came straight here.”
While Baron took in the gathering with growing interest, every time he looked in Isabel’s direction, his brow furrowed.
“So what is all this?” he asked, motioning to the table with its rows of glasses, then to the tapped barrel. “Are we tasting a special vintage? May I join you?”
“Of course,” said Cru, pouring a glass and handing it over without comment.
Like we all had, Baron held the wine up to the light to examine the color, then he swirled, bringing it to his nose and breathing deeply. His eyes closed as he concentrated on the aromatics. Collectively, we went still as he took a sip and held the wine in his mouth for several seconds before swallowing.
Then, he set his glass down on the table. His gaze connected with Tryst’s, then my father’s, then mine.
“This is the Christmas Blessing Wine.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact from a man who knew exactly what he was tasting.
He was met with stunned silence. Nobody had expected Baron Van Orr to walk in and immediately identify what we’d been trying to create.
“Something is missing.” His said with absolute certainty. “And I know exactly what it is.”
17
SNAPPER
Baron Van Orr set his wineglass on the table. The barrel room had gone quiet enough that I heard the clink of glass against wood.
“I know exactly what’s missing.” He raised his glass again and held it to the light a second time. “It’s missing the Van Orr blend—my grandmother’s contribution.”
Saffron’s head shot up. “By any chance, was her name Ellen?”
Baron’s eyes widened. “Yes, it was. What makes you ask?”
