“You know with a good red how you’re supposed to let it breathe before you drink it?”
“Yes.”
“I like to think of those moments as warm up—like a player does on the field. It will not play the same without those last moments of calm.” His eyes twinkle. “Put differently, it’s the difference between a field goal and hitting the uprights.”
“Both are good kicks, but one gets the points?”
“Exactly.”
We both laugh as he hands me back my camera. Moving forward between the tanks, his hand brushes against mine every so often. I find myself leaning into his touch by the time we reach another room with barrels stacked three high.
I halt. “Whoa.”
“Impressive. Isn’t it?”
“That’s an understatement.” I absorb the scent and nuances of the room. “Can I?—”
“Please.” He gestures me forward. “As you might have guessed, this is the barrel room. This is where our wine rests. Depending on what we’re looking for will determine how long a barrel will stay in here. It’s where every bottle ofTenuta delle Ombretakes on its character.”
“You make it sound like a person.”
“I guess I do. We nurture it from the vine. We protect it from the elements and shape it into maturity before we send it off into the world.” He shrugs. “If people curated their relationships with half as much respect, would there be as much strife in them?”
Something in his words touches me deep in my core. Still, I have to ask, “What happens if it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped? Do you just discard it?”
Troy meets my gaze, and I’m transfixed by the look in his eyes. “Then you adjust. Try again. What you don’t do is give up.”
I want to look away, but I can’t. Even though feet separate us, the space between us devolves to nothing. I can practically feel his fingers dancing along my skin, leaving sparks of fire in their wake.
He nods toward a small table in the back. “Let me show you how the story ends.”
My heart twists at the thought of there being an ending. “And here I thought we still had time.”
“Wehave all the time in the world,uvetta mia. I just thought you might like to try the finished product.”
“Absolutely.” I lift my camera to my face, using the familiar weight of it to steady my hands—and maybe my heart. Through the lens, the world narrows to him. Shadows distort his features slightly, making him appear as if he’s just stepped out of my dreams.
He glances in my direction, mouth quirking. “You’re supposed to be documenting the process; not me.”
“I’m not certain there is one without the other,” I say honestly. Still, I train my lens to capture the rustic essence of the room before Troy calls out my name.
“Come join me.” He gestures to the small table he’s moved to that’s set up against the far wall. A bottle has been uncorked, but I don’t recognize the label as one of the regalTenuta delle Ombrebrand. This one is plain, with a bold scrawl on the front.
This is special.
Confirming my guess, Troy pours a small amount into my glass. “This is from the reserve barrels. Mama claims it has yet to declare its intentions.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. “Like us?”
After pouring his own, he sets the bottle down and reaches for my hand. “Exactly. But now’s not the time to think of that.”
“No?”
He shakes his head, giving me space I’m not certain I require. He lifts his glass and swirls it enough to allow the color to glow in the dim light. Mimicking him, I do the same. Somehow, despite the number of times I’ve done this in restaurants, this feels more like a benediction than a tasting.
Especially when Troy murmurs, “As you prepare to take that first sip, breathe it in. Embrace the scents. Picture every moment of the process that led to this point.”
Closing my eyes, I bring the glass close. I do as he says. The second the spicy wine passes my lips, I feel transported from the fields with the harvesters to the touch of Troy’s hands gripping mine as he rose above me in bed.
