Page 20 of Gone With the Wine

“I know. He could probably use your help at the winery, though.”

“I’ve got things covered,” Jansen says with a polite smile. “We’re good. But thanks.”

He just took over a winery and he doesn’t need help? I call bullshit. But I set that aside. “Here in Napa we make reds in a Bordeaux style. And I think we can make excellentblendsin a Bordeaux style.” I lift my glass. “I’m impressed with this one. The winemaker is doing a good job.” A little envy warms my stomach. God, I want to make wine.

“What were you making in Argentina?” he asks.

I sigh inwardly, remembering my work there. “In Argentina, it’s all about the malbec. They make the best malbec in the world. I was also playing around with syrah, cabernet franc, cabernet sauvignon, and bonarda. Full-bodied, layered, very intense wines.”

“Interesting.”

I smile. “I could talk for hours about it. Don’t encourage me.”

“It’s interesting.”

“The goal in blending is to respect the character of each varietal while crafting the best possible wine.” I wave my hands again, almost knocking my glass over. I grab it to steady it. “Oops. So like when one musician plays the…the flute, it can be pretty. But when you layer in more instruments and musicians who play well together, you create a beautiful, harmonious symphony.”

“Right. Like a hockey team.”

“A…what?”

“A hockey team. You have a bunch of guys who are good players on their own position, good at scoring goals or taking faceoffs, or defending or stopping goals, and you put them all together to make a team that works as one.”

A slow smile plucks at my lips. “Yes. That’s it exactly. In music you have to understand all the different highs and lows and rhythms. The different instruments. And with sports, I guess. With wine, you have to know the flavors and what individual wines contribute to the overall character. And like music, it should evoke emotion. Memories. A shared experience. A good wine is best shared.”

“Also like a hockey game.”

I grin. “Sure. Okay, I’ll shut up now.”

He almost smiles. “Thanks for explaining that.”

“No problem.” I bite into my corn dog. “God, this is good! I haven’t had a corn dog in years.”

After we eat, we go back outside.

“Come on over, folks! Win the ladies a prize!” A man at one of the games gestures at us, pointing to giant stuffed animals.

“What if we can win our own prizes?” I call back to him.

The others all chuckle and I catch Jansen’s smile of appreciation.

“Skee ball,” Nolan says, rubbing his hands. “Let’s do it.”

“Don’t waste your money,” Ana begs him. “You’ll never win anything.”

He frowns. “You just challenged my masculinity. Now I have to win something for you.”

She covers her eyes with one hand. “Oh, here we go.”

The three guys pay and line up.

Why is Jansen doing this? He doesn’t have to win a prize for anyone. Maybe it’s just fun for him.

He’s tossing the ball in quick, efficient motions, his hand and eye coordination commendable, racking up points. He punches his hands in the air when he wins, then looks almost embarrassed, dropping his arms. The game operator hands him a plush panda bear.

Jansen looks down at it. He shakes his head, then looks at me. “Here you go,” he says dryly.

“Oh, keep it! You won it!”

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