Page 22 of Worth the Wait
An hour later, we’re driving through increasingly dramatic countryside toward our final stop. The storm clouds have darkened to an almost charcoal gray, and I can see flashes of lightning in the distance. The radio weather reports have gotten more urgent, but we’re too close to finishing our wine selection to turn back now.
“One more stop,” Lianne says, checking her notes. “The Esperanza Resort’s wine cellar. They have an exclusive partnership with a local vintner for their reserve collection.”
The Esperanza Resort. Where we had our awkward venue walkthrough, where Erik made it clear he knew Lianne better than I was comfortable with, where I realized I didn’t like seeing her comfortable with other men.
“Are we meeting with Erik?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“No, he’s at a conference in San Francisco this week. We’ll be working with their sommelier directly.” Lianne glances at me, and I wonder if she can read the relief on my face. “It should be a straightforward tasting. Their reserve wines are supposed to be exceptional.”
The Esperanza’s wine cellar is exactly what I’d expect from a property known to be frequented by billionaires who collect vintage bottles like other people collect art. Stone walls, temperature-controlled storage, tastefully arranged seating areas that suggest this space is used for intimate tastings rather than just storage.
Frederick de Vries, the resort’s sommelier, greets us with the kind of professional warmth that suggests he’s accustomed to handling high-profile clients. He’s prepared a selection of five wines, each paired with small bites that demonstrate how the flavors work together.
“We’ll start with our signature Chardonnay,” he explains, pouring pale gold liquid into crystal glasses. “This vintage has won several international awards, and it pairs beautifully with oysters or light seafood appetizers.”
The wine is exceptional—complex and elegant with the kind of finish that makes you want to take another sip immediately. But what captures my attention is watching Lianne’s reaction to it. Her eyes close briefly as she tastes, and a small smile plays at the corners of her mouth.
“This is incredible,” she says, making detailed notes. “The balance between oak and fruit is perfect.”
“The vintner uses a very specific aging process,” Frederick explains, launching into technical details that clearly fascinate Lianne.
As the tasting progresses, I find myself paying less attention to the wines and more attention to Lianne. The way she asks thoughtful questions about production methods. The way she considers how each wine will work with different courses. The way her professional expertise shines through every interaction.
But I also notice other things. The way she laughs more easily as the afternoon progresses. The way she meets my eyes when she finds a wine particularly impressive. The way the formal distance we’ve maintained all week has gradually dissolved into something more comfortable, more natural.
“For our final selection,” Frederick says, leading us deeper into the cellar, “I’d like you to try something special. This Cabernet is from a very limited production—only fifty cases made, and one of Noah Thorne’s personal favorites. It’s not available for purchase, but the Esperanza occasionally offers it for special events.”
He leads us to a private tasting alcove, an intimate space carved into the stone foundation with a small table and two chairs positioned close together. The lighting is soft, provided by what appears to be actual candles rather than electric fixtures designed to look rustic.
“I’ll give you some privacy to evaluate this properly,” Frederick says, pouring deep-red wine into our glasses. “Take your time. This wine deserves careful consideration.”
He disappears back into the main cellar, leaving us alone in what feels like a cave designed for romance rather than wine evaluation.
“This is beautiful,” Lianne says, looking around the alcove. “I had no idea this space existed.”
“Private tastings for special clients, probably,” I reply, though I’m more interested in the way the candlelight catches the highlights in her dark hair.
She takes a sip of the Cabernet and her expression changes, becoming almost reverent.
“Cameron, you have to try this. It’s extraordinary.”
I taste the wine and have to agree—it’s exceptional, with layers of flavor that seem to reveal themselves gradually. But watchingLianne’s face as she savors it is more intoxicating than any wine I’ve ever had.
“We have to include this in the selection,” she says, making notes with obvious excitement. “I know it’s exclusive, but for Sterling Industries’ 50th anniversary...”
“Whatever you think is best,” I agree, though I’m not really thinking about the anniversary gala anymore.
The storm outside has intensified, and we can hear rain beginning to hit the windows above us. Thunder rolls in the distance, but it feels far away from our candlelit alcove.
“Listen to that storm,” Lianne says, glancing upward. “We might be here longer than planned.”
“Would that be so terrible?” I ask, the question coming out before I can think better of it.
She looks at me, wine glass still in her hand, and something shifts in the atmosphere between us, the professional distance we’ve maintained all day replaced by awareness that’s been building since this morning’s car ride.
“Cameron…”
“I know,” I say quietly. “This is supposed to be business.”
