“The job—”
“Fuck the job.”
When I walked into the tasting room at Casavetti, Pia and Tara were already there. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Ben!” exclaimed Pia. “You made it.” She tugged on Tara’s arm. “Isn’t that fantastico?”
Tara nodded, turned to me, mouthed, “Sorry,” and rolled her eyes.
I looked her up and down. She looked as gorgeous today as she had yesterday. Instead of jeans and a sweater, she was wearing a tight-fitting charcoal-gray turtleneck with equally tight-fitting black pants. Instead of sandals, she wore mid-calf-height black boots.
“Do I look okay?” she asked when I got close enough that she could do so without anyone else hearing.
“You look beautiful.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. These clothes belong to Pia, and I’m quite a bit taller than she is.”
“You look great,” I said out loud, but inside, I wanted to tell her she looked so fucking sexy I could barely keep my hands off of her. Tackle’s words echoed in my head. “Reach out and grab every bit of happiness you can,” he’d said. I leaned closer to her.
“Would you like to taste?” she asked, offering me her glass.
“If you don’t mind sharing.”
“It isn’t my favorite,” she whispered.
I took a sip of the white wine. “I would have to agree.” When I reached around her and tossed what was left into the dump bucket, my body brushed against hers. She made the same mewling sound she had last night and this morning, and looked up at me. I stared into her deep blue eyes and then at her lush red lips, fighting an overwhelming desire to kiss her.
“Would you like to taste?” asked the woman behind the bar.
“We could share,” Tara said before I had a chance to respond. “Since you’re driving.”
“I’d like that.”
“What do you think of my cousin’s wine?” Pia asked, jarring me out of the spell Tara had swept me under. I took an abrupt step back.
“It’s very good,” I said, clearing my throat. “Um, very good.”
Pia swatted my arm. “You have no idea whether it is good or not. You’re too busy admiring our Catarina.”
“Guilty,” I admitted, winking at Tara.
When we were finished in the tasting room, Pia gave us a tour of the Casavetti winery buildings. It seemed everywhere we went, we met another of her cousins. They all looked a lot like Matteo.
When we exited the last building, an older man approached. “Uncle Joe!” Pia exclaimed. “I want you to meet my friends. This is Catarina Benedetto and Ben Knox.”
The man took Tara’s hand and kissed the back of it.
“This is my uncle, Guiseppe Casavetti, but everyone calls him Joe.”
“Zia Renata will want to see you and meet your friends, Pia. She’s on the terrazza.”
Pia cheek-kissed her uncle, and we followed her to the outside steps.
“Zia Renata is my father’s sister,” she explained. “She sometimes gets emotional when she sees me.”
Evidently, this was not one of those times. Pia’s aunt welcomed us graciously, immediately asking if we were hungry.
“I’m so sorry, Zia, but we’re on our way to Vitticio. Perhaps another time.”