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“A WINE TASTING?” SANDI grinned. “Now you’re talking.”
They’d returned to the house, and Fred had announced her suggestion. Ginger and Sandi had just finished washing the dishes, and their eyes lit up.
“What do you think?” Fred asked Mac.
“Now?” he said.
“I want to sample the merchandise.” She lifted her gaze to his and held it.
The corners of his lips curved up. “Whatever the customer wants.”
Her heart banged against her ribs. She mustn’t flirt with him. But it was impossible not to. The guy was so... it was hard to put it into words. He was gorgeous, but that wasn’t the only reason she liked him so much. She’d previously compared him to Tangaroa, the Maori sea god, because of his blue eyes, but now she found herself thinking of him more as a nature deity, like Herne the Hunter or the Green Man. He’d said things about the land and nature that made her shiver. Nobody had ever come close to expressing the way she felt about life. He was a complete stranger, and yet oddly, in the one day since she’d known him, she felt as if he understood her more than her mother, her sisters, or any of her friends had ever done.
“Why don’t we go back to the B&B,” he said. “That way, when we’re done you can just roll down the corridor straight to bed.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” Ginger replied.
“I thought the idea of wine tasting was to spit it out,” Sandi commented.
“It’s entirely up to you whether you want to spit or swallow,” he said.
Ginger snorted and Sandi laughed. Fred raised her eyebrows.
Mac ran a hand through his hair. “You won’t believe me, but actually I was referring to the wine.” When Fred grinned, he gave a rueful smile and just rolled his eyes. “Technically, the true sommelier won’t swallow or else he or she will get drunk every time they go to work. But tonight? I think you’ve earned the right to get a bit tipsy. Come on.”
They all went over to the B&B, and Mac told them to sit in the dining room while he fetched the bottles. Scully stayed with them, as if she’d decided she was one of the girls now.
“That was deliciously cute,” Ginger said when he’d left. “He’s quite gorgeous when he’s not being all dark and broody.”
“He’s devastated by what his father did.” Fred retrieved four wine glasses from the cabinet, placed them on the table, and sat. “Absolutely gutted, and determined to make it up to us.”
“We mustn’t let that go to waste,” Ginger said.
“Ginger,” Sandi scolded. “I don’t care what we’ve both been through—we don’t take advantage of other people like that.”
“Oh, keep your knickers on. I just meant that if he’s offering help, we’d be stupid to ignore it.”
“I’ve already told him that I’m hoping he’ll stick around to advise us,” Fred told them. “I know all three of us find it difficult to trust people now, but let’s face it—if we decide we want to make a go of it here, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Have you made up your mind yet?” Sandi glanced at the door to make sure Mac hadn’t yet returned.
Fred met her gaze. “Have you?”
Sandi shrugged. When they looked at Ginger, she shrugged, too. They all gave low chuckles.
“Tomorrow,” Fred promised. “We’ll sit down at the end of the day, cards on the table, and go through everything.”
They all nodded.
“Do you think Mac’s a typical Kiwi guy?” Ginger asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I wonder if they’re all like him. If so... I think we’re going to have some fun while we’re here.”
Fred opened her mouth to reply, but he walked back in at that moment, so she shut it again.
He was carrying five bottles, and as he set them on the table, Fred saw that he’d brought one of each of the types of grapes they grew at the bay—Chardonnay, Merlot, Syrah, Pinot Gris, and Chambourcin.
He also had a box of chocolates from an intriguingly named shop called Treats to Tempt You, which he laid alongside the bottles. “Help yourself,” he said, taking a seat opposite Fred.
“You are absolutely divine.” Sandi opened the box, pulled one out, and popped it in her mouth.
“Sandi’s a chocoholic,” Fred explained.
“And you’re not?” He pointed the box at her.
She shrugged and chose a caramel creme. “Is there a woman in the world who isn’t?”
He smiled and turned the bottles so the labels faced them. “Where do you want to start?”
“We’re in your hands,” Sandi said. “You choose.”
“Okay.” He unscrewed the top from the bottle of Merlot. “This is our crowd pleaser. It has tones of chocolate and cherry, so it’ll go well with the truffles.” He poured a small amount into each glass.
“What’s the difference between a Merlot and a Cabernet Sauvignon?” Fred pulled the nearest glass toward her. She took a deep inhale of the wine and immediately smelled the cherries he’d talked about.
“I brought a color chart.” Mac laid it on the table before them. It featured photos of six glasses of wine, all reds. He tapped the first. “The color is caused by how long the grape skins are allowed to soak in the wine. With a Cab Sav, you can see the color is deeper and richer than the Merlot. The Cab Savs have more tannin, which is that dry sensation in the mouth.”
Fred took a sip. “Mmm. That’s a nice wine.”
“Here’s a story for you,” he said. “Both the Cab Sav and Merlot were born in Bordeaux, in France, on either side of the Gironde river. The left bank was better suited for Cabernet, the right for Merlot. So you can also ask for a left or right bank Bordeaux in a wine shop. That’ll score you some points.”
“I love stories like that,” Ginger said.
Mac ran his tongue across his top lip. “Oh, I’ve plenty more where that came from. Come on, drink up. Let’s compare it to the Syrah.”
Fred finished her Merlot, trying to suppress the shiver that had run through her when he’d licked his lip. Now he knew they weren’t going to be angry with him, he was starting to relax, and she was beginning to realize there was a much more playful guy beneath the reserved front he’d been projecting.
They compared the spicy Syrah they’d had with dinner to the Merlot, and then tried the Chambourcin.
“It’s a hybrid grape,” Mac explained, “which a lot of winemakers don’t like because they prefer ‘pure’ wine. But it’s resistant to disease, and it’s good for blending—in Australia they use it to add color and depth to Shiraz, for example. Can you taste the black cherry and plum?”
“Um...” Fred sipped it again. “Sort of.”
“I can taste fruit,” Ginger said.
Mac rolled his eyes. “Well if you’re going to work on a vineyard, you’ll have to do better than that. Drink up. Time to try the whites.”
By now, Fred was feeling nicely relaxed, as if she’d been all sharp corners and angles, and someone had come along with sandpaper and filed them off. She had another chocolate while Mac took the glasses off to rinse them, then came back and refilled them from the bottle of Chardonnay.
“Here’s a joke for you,” Mac said as he poured. “A convent’s mother superior called all her nuns together to share some troubling news. She said, ‘My dear sisters, we’ve found a case of Gonorrhea in the convent.’ ‘Thank the Lord,’ one of the nuns said. ‘I was getting sick of Chardonnay.’”
Sandi coughed into her glass, and Ginger and Fred burst out laughing.
“I love it,” Fred said. “I’m going to write that down.”
Mac winked at her and handed her a glass. She took it, feeling a glow inside that she wasn’t entirely sure was due to the wine.
“This is aged for eight months in oak barrels,” he said. “It smells of peaches and tastes of creamy butterscotch.”
“Mmm,” Ginger said. “It’s lovely.”
“I’m not normally a big Chardonnay fan,” Fred said, “but it is nice.”
Mac finished off his glass. “Chardonnay’s a bit of a Marmite wine. People either tend to love it or hate it. I think ours is nicer than the more acidic Chardonnays. You can taste our sub-tropical climate in this wine, I think—it’s the one I’m most proud of.”
Fred could see what he meant—she could certainly taste the peach and citrus notes in it. The lemon reminded her of Mac, with his fresh lemony scent. But then everything was making her think of Mac at the moment.
There was something magical about the evening—she could feel it unfurling, spreading through the room. The evening sunlight slanted across the table in bars of orange-gold, and her senses were filled with the smell and taste of chocolate and fruit, rich, late-summer tastes that she thought would always make her think of laughter and a full belly, and give a pleasant drowsiness to her eyelids.
It was lovely to see Sandi with her feet up on a chair and her head propped on a hand, laughing as she listened to Mac telling another story about someone who’d visited the vineyard. Sandi hadn’t laughed much at all lately. And Ginger—who had become harder and much more defensive since she’d been fired and accused of stealing—looked as if she’d finally let her guard down for a while.
And the cause of all this was the man standing before them, who had switched on his entertaining role, and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself as he related facts about the wine and teased the girls with his inimitable wit.
He was now unscrewing the bottle of Pinot Gris. “Apparently, they’ve developed a new hybrid grape,” he said. “It acts as an anti-diuretic, and it’s supposed to reduce the number of times you have to go to the bathroom in the night.”
Ginger frowned. “What’s it called?”
“Pinot More.”
Fred snorted and held out her glass for him to splash some into. “You have this performance off pat, don’t you?”
“Damn straight. Did you know that in the sixteenth century Martin Luther said, ‘Beer is made by men, wine by God’?”
“And Pope John XXIII said, ‘Men are like wine—some turn to vinegar, but the best improve with age.’”
He grinned. “Which one am I?”
“I’ll let you know when I get to know you better.”
He chuckled and gestured at her glass. “Tell me what you think of that.”
She inhaled tropical fruit, melon, and mango, and when she sipped it, the wine tasted rich and almost oily. “It’s nice,” she said. “Different. I really like it.”
“So.” He gestured to the bottles before him. “What’s your favorite?”
“I like the Pinot Gris,” Sandi said. “It’s lovely.”
“The Cabernet for me,” Ginger replied. “I prefer a red.”
“So do I normally.” Fred considered the bottles, and her gaze rested on the Chardonnay. She thought about its lemony scent, and how it had reminded her of Mac. “I’m going to surprise myself and choose this,” she said, tapping the bottle.
She met his gaze and felt an inner glow as his smile spread slowly. He was pleased with her choice. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did.
“So, Chardonnay for you.” He poured some more into her glass, then topped up the other girls’ glasses with their favorites. After pouring himself some of the Chardonnay, he said, “If I may suggest a toast... To Blue Penguin Bay.”
“To Blue Penguin Bay,” Fred and her sisters repeated, and they all sipped their wine.
“I’m glad we came,” Sandi said, “whatever happens now.”
“Me too,” Ginger added, which pleased Fred. At least they weren’t all regretting coming here.
“Mac said he’d take us to the crematorium, where Dad has a plaque,” she told them. “If you want to go.”
They both nodded. “It’s funny to think of him living here,” Sandi said. “I mean, that this was his land. That it’s our land.”
Fred glanced at Mac, but he just smiled.
“I hope you don’t feel that we took it away from you,” she said to him.
“I don’t.” He reached for the bottle and poured some more Chardonnay into both their glasses. “Part of me knew I was only here on borrowed time. It was a nice fantasy, but life generally doesn’t gift you things like that.”
“So...” Ginger stared pointedly at his empty hand. “You’re not married, then?”
“Nope.” He sipped his wine. He didn’t smile, but something told Fred that he was amused by her direct question.
“And not living with anyone?” Ginger persisted. Fred wanted to tell her to stop being so nosy, but she couldn’t get the words out because she really wanted to know.
“Nope.” He sighed. “I haven’t dated for a while. There was a girl, some time ago, when I was in Blenheim, but it didn’t work out.” He met Fred’s gaze briefly, then dropped it back to his glass.
“So,” she said, pulling the bottle toward her. “None of us have anyone to nag us for coming home drunk. Excellent!”
They all laughed and refilled their glasses, and for the next hour or so, as the sun sank into the west, they finally let themselves go. They ate all the chocolates and sent Mac out to the kitchen to find some crackers and cheese, then ate those while they continued to talk, until the wine levels dropped in the bottles and they couldn’t drink any more.
Sandi yawned and stretched, and said, “I know it’s not late, but I really ought to go to bed.”
“Lightweight,” Ginger accused, although she was practically asleep on the table. “Yeah, me too.”
“Go on,” Fred told them, “you go in. I’ll take the glasses to the kitchen, then I’ll join you.”
The two of them stumbled off. In the background came the sound of someone crashing into something, and then they both giggled.
Fred met Mac’s gaze, and they both smiled. “That did them the world of good,” Fred said softly. “Thank you.”
“You all looked like you needed to relax.” He sighed. “It was good for me too.”
“I’m glad. You’ve obviously had a tough time, as well.”
Her gaze lingered on him. He now had a decent five o’clock shadow, and his eyes were half lidded, although he wasn’t slurring his words or anything. Fred had drunk more than she would normally limit herself to, and she hoped she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself. Not that she cared anymore. Something about Mac made her feel as if she could throw off all the cares and worries that had plagued her since... well, forever. He didn’t seem bothered by the social constraints that had been part of her life in the U.K., like wearing the newest fashions or driving the correct car to project the right image. He drove what he called a ‘ute’, which turned out to be a utility vehicle or a huge, battered pickup truck, and clearly designer clothing played no part in his life.
His blue eyes had darkened, like the sea itself as the sun set, and for once he didn’t look away when she met his gaze. A small smile appeared on his lips, but he continued to watch her, sitting back in his chair, turning his wine glass around by the stem.
“What are you looking at?” She meant it to sound sassy, but it came out kind of breathless and hopeful.
“Your hair,” he said, surprising her. “I’ve never seen hair as long as yours in real life. It’s beautiful.”
His compliment threw her. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who tossed them around willy nilly, and although he’d called her beautiful before they’d gotten in the car, she was sure he hadn’t meant her to hear it.
“Oh,” she said. “Thank you.”
He gave a small shrug, and smiled again.
Bemused, because she didn’t get compliments very often, and certainly not from gorgeous men, she gathered together the wine glasses, stood, then laughed as the world tilted and the glasses clattered together.
“Careful.” He rose too and collected the bottles. “Come on, you can lean on me if you like.”
“You’re drunk too,” she scolded as they walked back into the kitchen.
“I’m mellow,” he corrected, “not drunk.”
“Mellow.” She liked the description. It seemed to capture the whole of New Zealand.
He put the wine bottles in the recycling bin, and she placed the glasses carefully by the sink, determining it would be best to wash them up the next morning.
“It’s warm tonight,” she said, although it was probably the alcohol that gave her a glow in her cheeks.
“Want to catch some fresh air?” He gestured at the door.
“Sure.” Trying to ignore the hammer of her heart, she let him open it for her, and went out into the fresh autumn air.
