Page 35 of The Sweetness of Life

“When most people come in to do the wine tasting, it’s just that—a tasting. They sip the wines, laugh with their friends, and then move on. But, to truly taste a wine, it takes a little more than that and has to involve the other senses.”

After opening my wine key, I grab each bottle in turn, keeping the labels faced toward me, and open them with practiced precision. After each one, I set the bottle next to me, making sure to keep the label away from Shelby.

“Meg and I have gone to tastings before, and I freely admit to falling into the in-and-out category like the masses.” She’s watching my hands as I move between the bottles, and I hate to admit it, but I like it.

“And that’s quite all right with us. The majority of people who come in are no different, but to those who’ve made wine tasting a hobby, it’s more involved than that.”

“So teach me, oh great one.” She folds her arms in front of her on the island and leans toward me.

A smile splits across my face, and I shake my head at her. She smiles back, and the air in my lungs freezes. Damn, she’s beautiful.

I pour each wine into a glass and set the four glasses next to their respective bottles.

“First is sight, and then smell. They say you eat with your eyes first, right? Well, drinking wine is no different. A lot of the time, people make an immediate assumption based on the color or clarity. If it’s light, it must be weak, watered down, or flat, but if it’s dark and thick, it’s sweet like grape juice, et cetera. However, you shouldn’t let the way something looks fool you.”

“Like don’t judge a book by its cover?” She grins at me.

“Something like that.” I push the first glass in front of her and continue, “But I’ll admit, I do. I’m guilty of keeping or passing on a book based on its cover.”

“Tsk tsk, Mr. Wolff. You should take your own advice.” My eyes find hers and there’s a playfulness in them. Is she usually like this? Until yesterday, she’s been guarded and all business. The first time I saw this side of her was when she spun in a circle and forced me to eat honey. The slips in her armor seem to be coming more frequently, and I find myself becoming more confused and intrigued by what I see—a woman who doesn’t fit the image of a dream killer like I’ve created in my mind.

“Maybe. Here, take a good look at this and then smell it.” She picks up the glass, swirls the wine, and tentatively brings it to her nose to sniff.

“What do you think?” I lean into the island to get closer to her.

“I think its color is a deep red, looks almost like blood, and it smells like pepper.” She looks at me for affirmation.

“Do you smell anything else?” I nod to the glass, and she picks it up again.

“Maybe a little clove and licorice?” she asks questioningly.

“Very good.” I smile at her. “Okay, now taste it.”

She smells it again before shifting the rim to her lips, lips I’m suddenly fascinated by. With her eyes on me, she takes a sip of the wine. Her nose scrunches and her lips pucker together.

“It’s good, it’s just not for me.” She licks her lips and swallows again before sliding the glass in my direction.

Reaching for the glass she freely gives to me, I taste the wine, too. I like the peppery undertones, always have. So, I take another sip before sliding the glass back to her.

“Taste it again. Just like eating some candy—say, Sour Patch Kids—your mouth needs time to adjust.”

She sips it again then reaches for the water. “Well, that time it was a little better, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Why?”

“I like dry, bold wines that are more smooth. This one is way too spicy.” She shakes her head and frowns.

“Swirl the glass again.” I slide it back across the island to her. She complies, and as she swirls, I continue, “Do you see the streaks running down the sides? Those are called legs. Loose legs usually indicate the wine is light to medium with a lower alcohol content, and thick legs tell us it’s more full-bodied with a high alcohol content.”

Her eyes light up. “That’s a great tip.”

“Yeah, if you plan on drinking for a while, it’s a mental reminder to either have at it or take it slow. This wine is a syrah.” I turn the bottle around so she can see the label, pick up the glass, and swallow the rest in one go, enjoying the subtle kick it leaves behind. Delicious.

Reaching for my water, she mimics me, and we both cleanse our palate to start over.

She nods her head in understanding and picks up the next glass.

“Okay, let’s do it again. Swirl this one a few times and deeply inhale it.”