“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 cravingthat 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, “Iknowthis 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 almostcontent 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.
