via would have appreciated. We didn't talk much about them. Instead, we talked about his latest ER horror story, my strug
golden California sun, a charming old stone building for the tastings and events.
named Isabella, greeted us like old
od-fired pizzas, a simple but delicious-sounding lemon
mi
fr
a
nning Cabernets, looking utterly bewildere
ng here?" he stammered, h
ront of me, a protective gesture that didn't go unnoticed. H
back and forth between us, as if we'd suddenly grown second heads. "Are yo
ing. Even now, he thought t
colder than I intended. "We're in love. People i
y shoulder. "We
The silence stretched, filled only by
nterjected, "Shall we try the rosé, then?
me away, leaving Jack standing th
vines, a glass of crisp rosé in hand, No
'll tell Oliv
her mind." He grinned. "Which i
p but smile ba
ment options Isabella had laid out. Mo
Maybe some Juliet garden roses?" They were notoriously expensive and hard to source, something I
special cultivation here, a hybrid we developed. It's called the 'Napa Dawn.' Similar color palette, but wit
uisite. Far more beautiful and uniqu
erfect," I
agreement. "N
a small, se
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