In Over His Head

Chapter 12

Shiny clusters of red, semi-ripe grapes peeked out amongst the dark green of the grape leaves, textbook-perfectly spaced along the wooden and wire trellis. Sharla was examining a small cluster the head viticulturist had cut, and he was pulling it apart to look for the telltale greyish-white gunk of bunch rot when Kevin's laugh floated over the vines. He was with the owners in the next row, speaking fluent Italian. Sharla was half listening to the stilted English of the man she was with, and half listening to Kevin's deeper British-accented voice flowing in another language.

It was sexy, no matter how much she tried to push that thought out of her head. She nodded at the man beside her, who was muttering and thumbing through the cluster. "It's good, no mold," she said slowly as he pulled it to his nose and took yet another huge huff. Hopefully they didn't overdo it on the pesticides or he'd be high soon.

"Si, sono quasi pronte, buona... ahh... bloom. How you say... we pick soon?" he replied, beaming.

"Si," she replied, feeling a tad out of her depth while straining to understand Italian and the different methods of a Campania region harvest. This grape, normally harvested right before it was fully ripe, was unlike the varietals her parents grew. Mind you, frost wasn't a worry here, to her knowledge, so there that sharpening of the sugars that happened when it got colder like in Canada, never happened here. Harvesting them as they did, when it was still warm and the grapes still firm, made the sugars in the must a bit lighter; perfect table wines.

They were at their sixth vineyard of the day, and she had tasted some very interesting wines over the course of their travels up and into the mountains away from the coast. The first place was somewhere new that Kevin had heard had received an eighty-nine on their proprietary blend. They definitely did not taste anything close to that, and when they were in the car headed to the next winery, they crossed it off the list, much to Kevin's disappointment.

It was hard to remember she was actually at work. Sharla felt as if she'd been transported into a fantasyland. Everywhere she looked, vines and idyllic scenes assaulted her. Terraced fields arcing along hillsides and sun-soaked laneways with rock-walls transported her back in time. Ivy-covered villas paved with terracotta-coloured antique terrazzo tile courtyards and tinkling fountains greeted them at every stop. All with a rendition of Bacchus pouring out wine, or tiny, peeing cherubs. Italians had an odd sense of humour or a fascination with peeing children. She wasn't sure which.

Every single damned vista was ridiculously pastoral, the people friendly, the frenetic yet sensuous Italian floating over her wherever they stopped romantic. It was overwhelming and heady all at once, and Sharla loved it. Her phone was going to run out of room with all the pictures she was taking.

Some of the pictures had been of Kevin because it wasn't just the countryside that was distracting her. He casually placed his hand on her back as they walked, brushed her hand when he handed her a glass, and the glances he threw at her were throwing her control out the damned window. The casual way he ran his fingers through his hair, or closed his eyes, as he tasted a wine was keeping her in a low state of arousal that was drowning out the slight wine buzz from all the tastings. She shouldn't be thinking about him like this, but there it was, stronger than ever.

Sharla and the man checked a few more vines, and she noticed how meticulously trimmed the rows were. Her parents would be amazed, the amount of work and care going into the cultivation. They finally wound their way back to Kevin and he turned as she approached, stealing her breath because with the way his hair was windswept and rumpled, he looked very handsome. He handed her a glass of ruby red wine the moment she arrived.

"Here Shar. Last year's pressing. Give it a go, yeah?"

The way he said it, one eyebrow raised, meant he needed her opinion, because he was on the fence about it.