Page 109 of Bottles & Blades

It’s…peace.

Soft fingers brush over my cheek, down along my throat, and my eyes fly open.

I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped.

Jean-Mi smiles. “You feel it too.”

We’ve toured Oak Ridge winery’s aging facilities, a huge room sunken into the earth on one side of the rolling hills, kept to a precise temperature for the wine to sit in, waiting for the proper flavors to develop. We tasted several varieties, and though I know what kind of wine I like to drink, what is pleasant to my tastebuds, I had no idea all the complexities that went into creating the bottles I buy at the grocery store.

The chemical reactions, the flavors that are absorbed by the type of wood the wine is aged in, the different factors that lead to changes to the scent, the texture, the color.

Then there is all the work that goes into planting, harvesting, crushing, fermenting, clarifying, and bottling the wine.

And don’t get me started onthat—the appearance of the bottle itself, the design of the label, even the cork.

It’s so much more complicated than I anticipated, and hearing the excitement, the pleasure, the knowledge of each step in the process as Jean-Michel described them warmed my heart. I’ve seen him in the office, listened to him interact with his employees. I’ve seen him with Angela, with Chrissy and Rory.

But this is different.

There is passion here.

It lights up his eyes, his words.

“Feel what?” I ask softly.

“Feel the magic here.”

My lungs freeze because that’s exactly what this place is like.

“How can you go into an office when you have all of this?”

He grins and draws me against his side, starts us walking again. “Because the office makes it so I can have this place.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “I mean…”

“What?” he presses when I get distracted by the flowers and the breeze and the peace in these rolling hills.

“The bottles of Oak Ridge wine are expensive, and I just figured that meant the winery is doing well.”

“It is.”

I glance up at him, brows furrowed. “Then why…”

“It was a mess when I bought the vineyard—we had pest damage, fire damage, and had to replant. It takes years for the vines to mature enough for a good harvest. Which meant we needed capital to keep this place moving toward what I knew it could become.”

“And what has it become?” I ask as he guides me to the side and down another row of vines.

“Expensive,” he says, looking down at me, his mouth tipped up at the edges.

It’s a cocky smile.

And it’s exceedingly kissable.

Longing winds through me for a moment. But then I realize I don’t have to sit in that longing.

I can kiss him if I want.

Because…he’s mine.

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