Page 30 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
"You would." He glances at me, the firelight catching golden highlights in his eyes. "She'd like you, too. She appreciates people who know what they're talking about, even when she disagrees with them."
It feels like a peace offering, this small acknowledgment. I accept it with a nod, relaxing slightly into the blanket.
"Why wine?" he asks unexpectedly. "With your palate and analytical skills, you could have gone into perfume development or food science, fields with regular hours and stable paychecks."
The question catches me off guard—it’s personal in a way our previous conversations haven’t been. "My grandfather was from northern Spain," I find myself explaining. He brought his love of wine to California and planted a small vineyard behind their house. Nothing commercial, just for family."
The memory warms me more than the fire. "He taught me how to taste—really taste—when I was a little girl. We'd sit on his porch, me with grape juice, him with wine, and he'd have me identify all the flavors I could find."
"So it's in your blood."
"In a way. But also..." I hesitate, uncertain why I'm sharing this with someone who wasa stranger two days ago. "Wine connects people. It has this magical ability to transform a meal, a moment, a conversation. I loved that alchemy."
Dominic nods, understanding in his eyes. "It's alive. Always evolving, never the same experience twice."
"Exactly." Our gazes meet across the room, an unexpected connection forming through shared passion. "What about you? Was it always wine?"
A shadow crosses his face. "No. It was supposed to be law. The responsible choice to help run the family business."
"What changed?"
"Everything." He stands abruptly, moving to the kitchen. "We should think about dinner. Options are limited with the power fluctuating."
I recognize the deflection, but don’t push. Instead, I join him in the kitchen, where we cobble together a meal from available ingredients. The simple act of cooking side by side eases the tension between us, establishing a surprisingly comfortable rhythm.
Over dinner, the conversation flows more naturally, aided by a bottle of his Syrah. The wine is exceptional—complex and balanced, with unexpected notes of black pepper and dark chocolate. It loosens something in both of us, the earlier friction giving way to genuine exchange.
"So San Francisco," Dominic says, refilling our glasses. "Competitive scene."
"Cutthroat," I agree, the wine emboldening me to share more than I might otherwise. "Especially for women. We have to be twice as good to be considered half as qualified."
"Yet you've made a name for yourself."
"I've tried." The memory of Davis stealing credit for my wine program surfaces unexpectedly. "Though not everyone appreciates the work behind the reputation."
"There's a story there." Dominic tilts his head, studying me.
Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the isolation, or maybe it's simply the way he looks at me—really looks—but the words spill out before I can stop them.
"My ex-boyfriend received the promotion that should have been mine," I admit, staring into my glass. "Three years building an award-winning wine program, and he swooped in at the last minute, presented my work as a collaboration, and charmed the ownership into making him partner instead."
The admission leaves me feeling exposed. In San Francisco, I've maintained a careful facade of professional detachment, never letting anyone see how deeply the betrayal cut.
"What a dick," Dominic says with such matter-of-fact conviction that a startled laugh escapes me.
"Yeah. He is."
"So this deal with Silverleaf..."
"Would help prove my value," I finish for him. "Show them what they missed. Pathetic, right?"
"Human," he corrects, his voice gentler than I've heard it. "We all want recognition for what we've built."
Something in his tone tells me he understands this motivation personally. Before I can ask, the lights flicker once, twice, and then plunge us into darkness.
"Perfect timing," Dominic mutters. His chair scrapes as he stands. "Stay put. I'll get the lanterns."
I remain at the table, eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, broken only by the glow from the fireplace in the adjacent room. Within minutes, Dominic returns with battery-powered lanterns that cast long shadows across the walls.
