Page 28 of Love on the Vine
“Have you come to beg more wine from me?” Reynaud asked, poking at me with his cane.
“No, I’ve given up on that long ago.” I’d abandoned the idea of exporting his wine but bought a few bottles for myself every year. “I thought you might want to go for a ride.”
His eyes ran over the car. “Very nice, but I would prefer to drive, not ride.” He looked at Olivia and pointed to his eyes. “Not so good anymore.”
“Oh, do you miss driving?” she asked.
“No. Now, I have more time for my bees. Come, come, see.”
He shuffled over to a table where his antiquated beekeeping material lay in a tattered heap. Snatching up his hat and gloves, he set off like a very determined armadillo, motioning at us to follow him.
Beyond the house was a small field of lavender bordered by wildflowers where bees were happily buzzing away. The heady scent of lavender wrapped around me, and I breathed deeply.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” Olivia exclaimed as she took in the full view of the vines laid out neatly on the hill. “It looks beautiful from the house, but it’s even more spectacular up close. And you still tend to all of this yourself?”
“I have some help.” Reynaud jabbed at me again. “This one could help me if he ever stayed longer than a month at a time, eh?”
I shook my head. “I can’t help it.”
“Ha! Do you really believe that?” He took Olivia by the arm and led her toward the vineyard while I followed behind. “He is rootless. This is not good. We needterroirtoo, like the vines.”
“Terroir?” she asked.
“Yes, the soil, the rocks, the vines. This is my terroir.” He spread his arms wide. “It gives my wine its character. This is why he likes my wine. You see the bees feed on the lavender. They pollinate the cover crops, which helps make the soil richer and the vines healthier. No chemicals. Very important. Come, I’ll introduce you to the bees.”
I knew I had done the right thing in bringing Olivia here when I saw how delighted the old man was to show her around his beehives and his vines. He was clearly smitten, but then who wasn’t?
* * *
The morning flew by as Reynaud showed Olivia around his vineyards. I followed along, happy to be in the vines again. There was a stillness here, a feeling of having entered a self-contained world where for a moment I could forget about my problems and just be.
It was already past two when we came back to the little stone house, still cool in the midday heat, and waited in the dark, low-ceilinged kitchen while the old man went to fetch two bottles for me from his cellar. When he came back, he nodded toward the small pot on his stove.
“If you’re hungry, Chantal brought me soup. I may have some bread—my teeth, you know, not what they once were.” Reynaud took Olivia’s hand in his and said gravely, “I’m in the last of the seven ages of man. In second childishness and mere oblivion.”
“And melodramatic pronouncements.” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you made it to a hundred and ten justto have the pleasure of refusing to sell your wine to me. Anyway, we’re not here to eat your food.”
With surprisingly nimble hands, he opened the bottle of white from last year’s harvest and poured it into three glasses. Olivia took a tentative sip. “Oh, it’s lovely. Like seashells bathed in honey.”
I hesitated. What if I couldn’t taste this too? It would devastate me. “None for me today, but I will take a bottle for the weekend.”
“Come now. You haven’t tried this one yet,” Reynaud urged. “The wine-cup is the little silver well, where truth, if truth there be, doth dwell.”
He was right. I couldn’t run from the truth.
And I had the feeling that by the time this summer was over, it was going to catch up with me.
Chapter 9
Olivia
“We’re early this time,” Jake said as he slid his sunglasses on and sat on the low wall next to the train station. It struck me that this was the exact spot where I’d waited for him a couple weeks ago, wondering if I’d made the right decision to come here. Today, after spending time with him at Domaine de la Ruche, I was sure that I had.
“Thanks for coming with me.” I sat down next to him and tried not to stare at his perfect profile. I was constantly stealing glimpses of him. I couldn’t help it. Yes, he was handsome. And right now, in that loose linen shirt rolled up over his forearms and open at the neck, he was doing things to my insides that were making me lightheaded. But it was more than that. I’d never been as drawn to another person as I was to him.
And now that I’d seen him in his element, I was even more intrigued. Gone were the constant worry lines and permanent scowl that were normally etched on his face. In the vineyard, he’d been another person, looser, more carefree, as he scooped up a handful of rocky earth and studied it with rapt intensity. He and Monsieur Reynaud had a unique chemistry, almost like a grandfather and his wayward grandson. It was kind of adorable. Quite honestly, Jake looked more at home in those vines than he did anywhere else. Seeing that side of him was like beinglet in on a secret. And it also felt like a turning point in our relationship.
When he noticed me looking at him, Jake dimpled under his scruff, and my heart fluttered. I could have happily stayed here with him for the rest of the afternoon, but then a high-pitched alarm came from the station announcing the train’s arrival.
