“It’s also a warning,” Alina said.
Graham peered at a barrel. “Are we the vines in this metaphor?”
“You’re the reason the vines need support,” Cufflink said.
The tasting took place on the terrace.
By then the sun had lifted high enough to turn the white umbrellas bright at the edges. A long table waited beneath them, set with thin-stemmed glasses, slate boards of cheese and dried fruit, small bowls of olives, and bread still warm enough to steam when broken. Beyond the terrace, the vines fell away in ordered lines until the land roughened into scrub and low trees.
Nick stood near the low wall with Elias, close enough to hear everything and far enough away to remain officially uninvolved. He had removed his sunglasses and hooked them into the front of his shirt. His sleeves were rolled, forearms bare, posture easy to anyone who didn't know how much work went into that kind of stillness.
A flush started low in my belly and spread up my throat before I could stop it. I watched the way his weight settled into one hip, that easy stillness, and my fingers twitched against my thigh. I remembered exactly how those forearms felt.
I didn't need to think it. My body already knew.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Get a grip, Jules. You've had him three ways since Tuesday.
Marieke poured the first wine, a Chenin Blanc that caught the light in pale gold ribbons.
“This block is dry-farmed,” she said. “Older vines. Lower yield. More concentration.”
Graham lifted his glass with grave importance, then sniffed.
I looked at him. “Do not say you detect notes of shareholder value.”
He lowered the glass. “Now I can’t say it because you stole my brilliance.”
Naomi tasted and closed her eyes. “Pear. Citrus. A little honey.”
Cufflink swirled once. “Good acidity.”
Owen nodded. “Bright.”
Graham tasted, paused, and frowned toward the vines. “I’m getting smoke.”
Alina looked past him to the outdoor grill being lit for lunch. “That’s the fire.”
Marieke didn't laugh, which proved her professionalism exceeded mine.
Nick’s head turned slightly.
He had heard.
His mouth stayed neutral, but his eyes touched mine for half a second, and there it was again. The private line under the public day. The part of him that remained with me while he stood fifteen feet away, armed, sober, and responsible for everyone’s pulse rate.
Alina leaned closer while the others debated the second pour.
“He’s careful with you,” she said.
I didn't look at Nick. “He’s careful with everyone.”
Alina held her glass by the stem and studied the color. “No. He is professional with everyone.”
A little wind moved across the terrace, lifting the corner of a napkin and carrying the scent of crushed herbs from the kitchen.
“That sounds like a distinction designed to create trouble,” I said.
“It usually is.”
