I closed my eyes and sorted what I smelled in my head. Cherry and dried cranberry were predominant, with undertones of strawberry and blackberry. The fruit aromas blended with licorice and espresso. I took a sip, letting the wine linger on my palate.
While this wine was fantastic in its youth, aged Brunello, especially Valentini’s, were my favorites. Give it a few years, and the flavors
would intensify.
When I opened my eyes, Pia was studying me and smiling. “You like it?”
I shook my head. “I love it.”
She squealed and clapped her hands. “You have a very discerning palate.”
“I don’t know about that, but I do know what I like.”
“Me too,” said Pia with a giggle when a tall, dark, and very handsome man walked into the main tasting room.
“Someone you know?” I asked.
“No. You?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know anyone.”
He looked in our direction briefly, and Pia raised her glass. He smiled.
A woman from behind the bar approached and handed him a sheet of paper. While he studied it, I studied him. He was the epitome of my type. Rock solid and muscular, maybe a little too much so, but I certainly wouldn’t complain.
He wore a white dress shirt, with two buttons open at the collar, showing off his chest. His hair was dark brown, but from where I stood, his eyes looked more hazelnut. He had stubble on his chin, but not much. If my former best friends were here, they’d tease me about how I always went for the baby-faced-looking guys.
The bittersweet thought broke me out of my reverie. I looked back at my wine and then up at Pia.
“I know that look,” she murmured. “A happy memory that turns sad.” The expression on her face mirrored my own then broke into a full-blown smile. “More wine!” she exclaimed, refilling my glass. “I think he should join us in the VIP room, sì?”
I took another sip of the Brunello. “It’s your winery.”
Pia rushed out, took the man’s arm, and led him into the smaller room. She pulled another glass from the bar area and poured him some of the wine we were tasting.
“Why, thank you,” he said, raising it to her.
“This is Valentini’s Brunello di Montalcino. My friend Catarina says it’s fantastico. What do you think?”
“I would agree,” he said, taking a sip. His eyes met mine, and he smiled. While at first glance he looked Italian, his accent, I decided, was British, but every so often, he sounded more American. I couldn’t place it.
“I am Pia Deltetto, and this is Catarina Benedetto. What is your name?”
“Ben Knox.” He held his hand out to Pia, and she shook it. “Thank you again for the wine.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, winking in my direction.
He turned to me. “It’s very nice to meet you. Did you say your name was Catarina?”
“I did.” I shook his hand and then pulled mine back when he hung on a little longer than necessary.
“Are you American?” he asked, raising his glass but keeping his eyes on me. “Such an Italian-sounding name.”
“My parents love Italy.” It wasn’t a lie; they’d honeymooned here.
“It’s a very beautiful name.”
“Wait. Did you say you are Ben Knox?” asked Pia.