A Taste of Romance

by Rhonda Laurel

  She continued checking emails and texts but suddenly put her phone down. Maybe Marco was right about today’s technology. She should have been enjoying the moment instead of staying glued to her phone.

  She finished her fruit salad and put her dishes in the sink. It was time to go, but first she had to stop by the winery and say goodbye to Marco. He’d been so hospitable last night. She wanted to thank him for everything he’d done. The winery was too far away to walk, especially in the sandals she was wearing.

  She followed the roaring sound of the vacuum. Ingrid was in the living room.

  “Ingrid!” she shouted over the noise.

  She shut off the machine. “Yes?”

  “I’m getting ready to leave. I just wanted to say thanks again for pressing my clothes.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a safe trip.”

  “Thanks.”

  She went outside and loaded up the car. She drove the few short miles over to the winery and parked. She went inside and searched for Marco. He was standing by the reception desk with a group of people. She didn’t have to get his attention. As soon as she approached, he started toward her.

  “Good morning, Katrina. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Marco. Good morning.” She took a deep breath when he leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He looked great in a blue shirt and jeans.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well.”

  “You look radiant, like you have a new lease on life.”

  “You have a very comfortable guest bed.”

  “I should get you into my bed.”

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I meant—” He cleared his throat. “My mattress is firm yet comfortable. It has…a pillow top.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She smiled. “I have one of those on my bed at home as well.”

  He looked her in the eyes. “Are you missing home?”

  There he was, reading her mind again. She had felt a jolt of homesickness as she’d fallen asleep last night. She might have made a big deal about being a big girl and being able to go to California on her own, but the truth was, she felt more confident and fierce in the company of her loud, crazy family.

  “I was a little homesick yesterday, but I think that subsided. It must have been the five-star treatment I got this morning. Imagine my surprise when I met Ingrid this morning.”

  “My apologies. I forgot to tell you about her.”

  “She pressed my clothes and made sure I ate breakfast.”

  He smiled. “Ingrid is taking good care of you.”

  “You took pretty good care of me yesterday.” She smiled back. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure. Forgive my horrible manners. I should have been there when you woke up this morning.”

  “Please.” She waved a hand at him. “I think you’re the politest man I’ve met in ages in California and Pennsylvania.”

  “Two states, eh? I may give myself a pat on the back.” He laughed. “Chivalry is a dying art form. I hope you don’t think I act like an antiquated caveman.”

  “Chivalry was murdered a long time ago, and no one’s bothered looking for suspects to the crime. I guess we all share the blame for the decline of civility in the world.”

  “Yes. I agree,” he said thoughtfully. “Sometimes sabotage is a group effort without realizing it. We’re all so busy fighting for one kind of equality or another, we’ve forgotten to be kind to each other.”

  “Exactly.” The man had a way with words. “I wish there were more attentive and well-mannered men like you in the world.”

  “And handsome. Don’t forget handsome.” He moved closer to her.

  She shrugged. “Giuseppe is handsome. You’re OK.”

  He let out a hearty laugh. “Now I’m in competition with my own alter ego. You have me longing to be an overworked cargo handler. So, what are your plans for the day?”

  “It’s time for me to get on the road.”

  “So soon? I thought I’d have you for at least a few more hours before you went poof out of my life.”

  “But—” She broke the playful gaze and looked at her watch. It was early, and she had plenty of time. She wanted to spend some time getting to know…the vineyard. Yes, that was it. How could she leave without seeing the winemaking process on one of the tours? “I thought I’d look around before I go. Maybe take the tour. I’m here, I should get the full Paloma Vineyards experience. You know, see how the wine is made and all that.”

  “There’s a tour starting in ten minutes. Let Maria at the desk know you’re going on the tour and she’ll give you a wristband. No charge, of course.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you after.”

  “I’m certain you will. I’m doing the next tour. Looks like we’ll be spending the next couple of hours together.”

  Trina went over to the desk to get her wristband from Maria, who also gave her a souvenir canvas bag that included a brochure.

  Portia was standing near the desk. “Hi, Trina. I’m glad to see you’re still with us.”

  “What can I say? Napa makes an impression.” She held up the brochure. “I’ll be leaving this afternoon, but in the meantime, I’m taking the tour.”

  “Great!” Portia clapped. “You’re going to love it. In case you haven’t noticed, I love this place. And you’re in for a treat. Marco rarely does tours himself anymore, but when he does, it’s a real treat. It’s downright entertaining.”

  “I’m sure he loves to talk passionately about his place.”

  “No, I meant the women who preen and act like idiots trying to get his attention. Seeing them in action is more fun than learning about the winemaking process. He stopped giving the tours for that very reason. Talk about beating women back with a stick.”

  “I can see that,” she murmured.

  “I blame the website upgrade a few years ago. The marketing team convinced him to be part of the promotion, so they plastered photos of him on the site. Next thing you know, groups of women were calling to book tours with the guy on the website, tour business tripled, and he had to hide away most of the time. He’s really good-natured, but you could see he was annoyed. He had them remove his photos.”

  Whoever was on the marketing team was a genius. Having Marco’s face on anything was PR gold. The average man would have reveled in that kind of attention—women flocking to the vineyard to see him and buy wine. “Why is he doing one today?”

  “We’re a little shorthanded. Our honeymooning co-workers aren’t here. And one of the employees who handles the bulk of the tastings called out sick. It’s an unusually busy week.”

  “Oh,” Trina said. So, Marco had forsaken a chunk of time entertaining her yesterday. She just seemed to be getting in everyone’s way in California.

  “I guess he’ll be busy right up until his date tonight.”

  “Date? What date?” She said it so fast her tongue twisted. Marco had a date?

  “Oh.” Portia laughed. “Genevieve thinks it’s a date. It’s really a business meeting that she’s wrangled into a dinner. She works as a go-between matching restaurant chains with the local winemakers. It always starts out the same. A meeting at the winery turns into lunch at the café. Then she calls and says she’s over-packed her schedule and suggests they meet for dinner, usually around the time the café is closing. Marco, being a nice guy, doesn’t make the staff stay, so they get to be alone.”

  “Oh really?” She let out a sigh of relief. Wait. Why would Marco having a date bother her?

  “Yeah. She’s been trying to get her hooks into Marco for the longest time. But I suspect it hasn’t worked so far. He’s polite to her because she brings business his way, but I don’t think he wants to seal the deal with a roll in the hay.”

  “Is she not his type?”

  “No. She’s about Marco’s speed. Attractive. He dates beautiful women, but it gets hard, you know?”

  “Why?”

  “Even the most beautiful women pale
in comparison to him. Marco’s in a class by himself.”

  “Oh.”

  Back home if he’d walked into Seraphim Dreams, her go-to beauty salon, he’d definitely warrant a collective damn from the women and bite on the knuckle. She smiled. She missed her trash-talking meeting place where they dished about men and the random goings-on in their lives.

  Portia was a wellspring of gossip on Marco’s life. Trina hadn’t flexed her intrusive, inquisitive muscles since she’d left Philadelphia, and right now she felt like she was cramping up. A hot guy who had his pick of women but was in no rush to be in a relationship had the hallmarks of being a commitment-phobe. But why? And why did she care? She looked at Portia. She’d sort out her subconscious motives later. Right now she had to tap the well while it flowed over with information.

  “Why do you think he won’t seal the deal with Genevieve?”

  “Well.” Portia leaned in closer. “Marco’s no stranger to marriage. He’s been married twice.”

  “Really?” She tried to feign surprise. Charisma had told her that last night. “You don’t say.”

  “Yeah. Both marriages crashed and burned,” Portia said in a hushed voice. “You know how the saying goes, once bitten.”

  She knew the saying. Marco had done the love tango twice and failed.

  “And then there’s Mama Paloma. She usually shoos Genevieve away. And if his mama doesn’t like a woman, then it’s arrivederci for the unlucky chick.”

  “Mama Paloma?”

  “Marco’s mom. We call her that. She’s like a mother to all of us.” Portia smiled. “It’s interesting Genevieve picks now to come to Marco with a business proposal. Mama Paloma would tell her to say her peace and move along.”

  “That’s very abrupt.”

  “Mama Paloma doesn’t mince words. I’ve seen her chase many would-be girlfriends out of here.”

  “How many have there been?”

  “Oh, a few.”

  Maria handed Portia a slip of paper. “Here you go.”

  “OK.” Portia looked over the paper. “We have a lot of people on this one. I have to set up the big tasting room for the end of the tour.” She glanced at Trina. “I assist Marco. There will be food. It’s fun. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Trina smiled. “Thanks for the info.”

  “You’re welcome.” Portia smiled back. “I know I tend to gab a lot. My boyfriend says I spread gossip faster than a forest fire.”

  “No worries. I’m the designated Nosey Nellie in my family. It’s people like us that keep the masses in the know.” Trina giggled. “I’ll see you in the tasting room.”

  She went back outside to join the group. Marco was giving an overview of what they would be seeing. The crowd reacted to his enthusiasm, and she couldn’t help but see how the women responded to him. They were hanging onto his every word, which sounded syrupy sweet with the deep tone of his voice mixed with his accent, roguish good looks, his dark hair, and that incredible jawline. He was a fantasy come to life, and the ladies were eating it up. She’d even seen a few of them touching up their makeup.

  Portia’s declaration a few minutes ago seemed like a prophecy. As if on cue, she overheard a plot to get closer to him.

  “I want to hear the story of the Kissing Fountain!” a woman yelled out.

  “We’ll get to that in due time,” Marco replied. “Let’s begin.”

  “I can wait as long as I get to kiss him at the end of the tour,” a woman who was standing with two other ladies remarked.

  Marco began the tour in a brick-lined corridor with huge oak barrels. It was a museum of sorts. He explained each antiquated piece’s purpose, and he promised to show the modern-day replacement that was in his distillery. Next, he led them into a room with huge plaques showing the lineage of ownership of the land, Marco’s family being the owners for the last fifty years. There was a huge photo of his family on the wall. By the looks of his father, it was apparent where he got his looks. They had the same dark features and sparkling eyes.

  Marco continued talking about the harvesting process and how the grapes made their way into the processing building where they were pulverized and finally put into the humongous barrels to age. In addition to the winemaking process, the wine was bottled on site too. Everything was done on the premises so that strict oversight could be conducted on the finished product. A few questions were asked, Marco answered with fervor, and they continued on.

  It was all rather fascinating learning how a simple pleasure she enjoyed came to life. She’d pushed the juicy gossip she’d heard from Portia out of her mind and focused on his words. Winemaking was all about time and patience. Quality ingredients and a discriminating work ethic were at the core of Paloma Vineyards wines. Marco reiterated that these elements were what he’d learned from his father and had been passed down from his grandfather. He was continuing his family’s legacy by remaining disciplined at what he’d been taught. You could see the sense of pride he took in continuing those traditions.

  For all the extensive knowledge he was doling out, it was kind of hard to hear with the horny hens in the back talking about him as if he were a piece of meat. For heaven’s sake, they were grown women. It wasn’t like they’d never seen a man before. OK, maybe they hadn’t seen a man like Marco, but that didn’t excuse their rudeness when the rest of the group was listening in earnest. She had to put a stop to it.

  “Shh!” She put her finger to her lips.

  Well, the pom-pom squad didn’t like that. The wave of catty looks that came her way made her laugh. Little did they know, she’d taken snark as an elective in college. She matched the catty collective with one steeled look that, as her Grandma would say, would make a bird stop mid-chirp. It was a special skill honed by the Reed women.

  Marco winked at her and moved on. Fifteen minutes later, they finally arrived at the tasting room. She could only imagine what the ladies would have in store after they had a little wine in them. It was bound to be interesting. The women were doing their best to pour into the tasting room to stand closest to Marco, but he was too quick for them.

  “Katrina, you sit here.” He took her hand and led her to the place setting with a tasting glass and a plate of cheeses and fruits.

  “I think you have a fan club,” she whispered as she took her seat.

  “Tell me about it.” He grinned. “Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes. I’ve learned so much. It’s all so interesting.”

  “Good. As long as you’re happy. We’re going to sample a few of the more popular wines right now. Portia calls them the layman wines.” He chuckled.

  “Ah.” She laughed too. “I was wondering how we were going to taste all the wines you said were made on the premises without needing a caravan of taxis to take drunken people home.”

  “Most people are aware of zinfandels, pinot noirs and ports. So, we showcase what the average wine drinker may like. But we have more intensive private tastings for connoisseurs.”

  “Is that where stuffy people stand around looking at the wine, swish it around in their mouths only to spit it out before they get to the good part?”

  “Yes. It’s a regimented process for the more serious aficionado.”

  “Seems a shame to have something so delectable within your grasp and not drink in the experience. Pardon the phrase. Why not enjoy it while it’s there right in front of you?”

  “You mean letting passion and impulse overtake you? That could be fun and dangerous.”

  She didn’t have the courage to toss out some flirty response. The look in his eyes was anything but fun and dangerous. It was more like a high-charged, sexy dare to put her money where her mouth was. Trina knew it was better to keep silent for once in her life.

  “Um.” She cleared her throat. It was time to change the subject. “I’ve been to a few wine tastings back home, but I think I did more drinking than tasting. Have any advice before we begin?”

  He inched closer to her. “
Hmm. I’d say, take it slow and enjoy it.”

  She felt her core temperature rising as he looked at her in that thoughtful, sexy, and enigmatic way again. She was pretty sure he was flirting, but this time it wasn’t the obvious Giuseppe flirting. He’d been sending subtle sensual signals her way. Or maybe she was just reading too much into it. No, that wasn’t it. She was reacting the same as the rest of the ladies in the tour group, but he was reciprocating.

  “Here you go, Trina,” Portia handed her a card and a pencil. “Mark off the wine you like.”

  Marco turned his attention back to the group. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to start with our Chardonnay. I suggest everyone eat something. We have some wonderful sample platters before you. It also will give you an idea of what to pair a certain wine with when you’re entertaining at home.”

  The questions to Marco kept coming but, in her opinion, they were borderline pick-up lines.

  “What type of wine would you suggest while cuddling up on a cozy, romantic evening in front of a fire?” one woman cooed as she tossed back Chardonnay.

  Trina rolled her eyes and popped a piece of gorgonzola into her mouth.

  “I would say whatever puts you in the mood for romance,” Marco replied.

  “What puts you in the mood for romance? Do you have a favorite wine?”

  “I don't have a favorite. But a good glass of wine should always be shared with scintillating company and good conversation.” Marco looked at Trina.

  The chatter continued around the room as everyone tasted the next bottle Portia was dispensing.

  “Marco. You just told a little white lie. You do have a favorite wine,” Trina said in a low tone.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw six barrels off in a corner during the tour. They were marked private.”

  “You are a very good observer. Yes, it’s a special wine that’s aged. I only drink it with family and friends. I’m dedicated to my work, but I have to save something for myself,” he said. “Tell me what you think of this Cabernet Sauvignon.”