Page 72 of Gone With the Wine

“Whew.” I look back at my girl. “You’ll be better soon. You’ll be back bossing everyone around in no time.”

A smile ghosts over her lips.

I pick up her hand and kiss it. “Okay. I’ll check back later.”

Once again, I become aware of Rosa’s acute regard. I lower Bianca’s hand to the covers.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Back in the cellar, Antonio and I draw samples to taste. I’ve listened and learned from Bianca and I know that the TA decreases during fermentation. My tasting also tells me the wine should be more acidic, so I instruct Antonio to add tartaric acid in this tank.

When it’s time for the cellar meeting to talk about the crew’s schedule for tomorrow I’m again grateful for Bianca’s detailed notes and the time I’ve spent with her, and with the input of Antonio and Diego, we draw up a plan for tomorrow.

I don’t want to let her down, so I carefully make notes about everything we’ve done today, and then I hotfoot it back to her place to check on her.

She’s better. Somewhat. She’s sitting up in bed with pillows propped behind her, reading a book. Relief slides through my veins. “Hey. How’re you doing?”

She looks up and smiles, still pale. “Better. A bit. I’m on antibiotics now.”

“Yeah. That’s good.” I sit on the edge of the bed and feel her forehead. “Feels better.”

“The Advil helped. Thank you.”

I nod.

“So much for dinner tonight,” she says. “And…”

I have to admit I’m disappointed. But I’m relieved she’s okay. “Well, here you are in a bed…” I hoist an eyebrow and lift my hands to the buttons of my shirt.

She grins weakly. “You made a joke.”

“Yeah.” I reach out and smooth back her hair. “We have lots of time for…dinner.”

Her eyes warm. “Okay. How did things go today?”

“Good. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Like hell you will.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel better.”

Rather than argue, I say, “Let’s play it by ear.”

Again, she relents too easily, a sign of how ill she is.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Mmm. Not really.”

“Maybe some soup?”

She nods. “With crackers? Goldfish?” she adds hopefully.

I smile. “You got it, beautiful.”

I don’t know if they have Goldfish in their kitchen but I’ll drive to San Francisco to get them if I have to, and then I will feed her the goddamn soup mouthful by mouthful to make sure she eats.

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