Page 54 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
"No," I interrupt, curiosity overriding fatigue. "I'd love to."
He leaves and, after a few minutes, returns with a tray. Dominic settles beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. The tray holds an assortment that immediately sparks my professional interest—four wine glasses, each slightly different in shape, and three bottles, including the Savennières we discussed earlier.
"I've been saving these," he explains, lifting the most aged-looking bottle. The label has faded with time, but I can make out a distinctive crest and the vintage, 2017. "This was the year I decided to rebuild."
"After the fire," I say softly, understanding the significance.
He nods, his movements deliberate as he opens the bottle. "I bought this the day I found this property. I promised myself I’d open it when Silverleaf was established as something real, sustainable."
"And is it? Established?"
His eyes meet mine across the small space between us. "I think so. Whichis why tonight feels right."
There's something ceremonial about how he handles the wine, carefully decanting it to separate any sediment. The process feels intimate, as if I'm being invited to witness a private ritual never intended for outside eyes.
"The others?" I gesture to the remaining bottles.
"A vertical tasting of sorts. The Savennières we discussed—" he indicates the bottle we found earlier "—and this." The third bottle bears Silverleaf's distinctive label, marked simply 'Prototype V79-H' with a date from last year. "The experimental varietal I showed you. It's not ready, but I want you to taste it alongside these others. To understand the journey."
The thought he's put into this selection touches me deeply. This isn't just wine; it's Dominic telling his story through vintages that mark the chapters of his life.
He pours the first wine—the 2017. The color catches the firelight, deep amber with hints of gold at the edges. When he hands me the glass, our fingers brush, a momentary contact that sends awareness dancing along my skin.
"Tell me what you notice," he says, not as a test but an invitation to share the experience.
I close my eyes, breathing in the complex bouquet. "Age, certainly. Dried apricots, honey, a hint of beeswax." Another breath. "Something mineral underneath—wet stone after rain."
When I open my eyes, Dominic is watching me with undisguised admiration. "And on the palate?"
I sip slowly, allowing the wine to spread across my tongue, noting each flavor as it unfolds. "Remarkable acidity for its age. Stone fruits, dried flowers—chamomile, maybe. A touch of salinity on the finish that lingers." I take another sip, savoring. "It's beautiful. Perfectly balanced between richness and precision."
"Like you," he murmurs, so quietly I almost miss it.
Heat rises to my cheeks that has nothing to do with thefire or the wine. Before I can respond, he pours the Savennières, continuing our vertical journey.
Each wine becomes a conversation, not the technical assessment I'd normally provide, but something more personal. We share impressions and memories, the flavors evoking places we've been and moments we've experienced. With each glass, we move incrementally closer, the space between us shrinking until our shoulders touch as we lean in to compare notes.
The final wine—his experimental varietal—he pours with visible pride, touched with vulnerability.
"It's young," he cautions. "Still finding itself."
The liquid glows almost silver in the glass, catching and reflecting the firelight. I breathe in its aroma, surprised by its complexity despite its youth. "There's so much happening here—bright citrus, Alpine herbs, a touch of honey, and something... mineral? Flint, maybe?"
Dominic nods, pleased. "The soil composition here creates that mineral character. It's unique to this elevation."
When I taste it, I close my eyes involuntarily, overwhelmed by the vivid intensity. It's like nothing I've encountered before—vibrant yet focused, powerful yet elegant, with a finish that evolves and lingers tantalizingly.
"Dominic," I breathe, opening my eyes to find him watching me intently. "This is extraordinary."
"It's not finished," he says, but the pride in his voice is unmistakable.
"No, but it's..." I search for the right words. "It's full of potential. Like it knows exactly what it wants to become."
Something shifts in his expression, a vulnerability that makes my heart stutter. "That's what I felt, the first time I tasted the test batch. Like I'd finally found the path forward."
We're sitting so close now that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight unevenness ofthe scar along his temple, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. The wine has lowered our guards, creating a space where truth feels not just possible but necessary.
The fire crackles lower, the last logs splitting with a soft hiss, casting the room in molten, flickering gold.
