Chris McDermott’s Family Ranch in Napa, CA
(Dinner after an all-day TV shoot in the vineyards)
The kitchen door swung open and Catherine walked in. She’d changed for dinner into black skinny jeans and a caramel V-neck sweater that accented her honey-blonde hair, which she wore down. Chris couldn’t help staring. Now that’s my type. She looks delectable.
He went behind the bar to pour her a drink. “What is your pleasure, Miss Reynolds?”
“I’ll have what you’re drinking.” She stepped over to join him.
“Excellent choice.” He held the bottle for her to inspect then poured wine into her glass.
“I don’t know that label. Kenmare Cabernet.” Catherine swirled the wine in the glass, put her nose over the rim to sniff, and took her first sip. “This is good. Is it a local wine?”
“I’m glad you approve. You’re one of the select few to sample the first cabernet sauvignon from the McDermotts’ new wine label, Kenmare—my mother’s maiden name and a town in Ireland where our family is from.”
She took another sip. “You mentioned a family wine. I didn’t know you were this far along. Is it sold anywhere?”
“Not yet.” Chris explained how anyone could produce a custom wine with their own label by buying grapes from quality growers, renting winery equipment, and using an experienced winemaker. Chris and his dad knew the valley well, so they were able to choose the best grapes and oversee the process themselves.
The last five years they’d been using grapes solely grown on their property. Since they intended to build their own winery, these bottles were a preview they’d been sharing with local restaurants and distributors.
“This reminds me of wines I’ve tasted in Bordeaux,” Catherine said.
“Yes, wines labeled Bordeaux are usually a blend of cabernet sauvignon and merlot,” he said. “We’ll see how they compare when we’re in Bordeaux for Vinexpo.”
Maura appeared at the door. “Dinner’s on.”
“Sounds good. I’m famished,” his dad said.
They carried their wineglasses into the dining room. His dad pulled out Maura’s chair next to him and sat at the head of the table. Chris pulled out a chair for Catherine on the other side of his father and sat next to her.
“Everything smells delicious,” Catherine said.
“Thanks, dearie.” Maura passed the platter of chicken marsala with parmesan risotto for Catherine to serve herself first.
Chris noticed how close the two women seemed to have become in just one day. In this setting, Catherine seemed more relaxed. It appealed to him. Chris topped off their wine while his dad filled water glasses from the pitcher on the table.
“This roasted asparagus looks so fresh,” Catherine said.
“I found it at the farmers market yesterday,” Maura said.
With Catherine’s interested prodding, the conversation at dinner continued with Chris and his father explaining their plans for the McDermott winery.
When they were finishing the fig tart dessert with freshly whipped cream from their dairy, his dad leaned over to Chris. “Why don’t you show Catherine our current operation? It’s not much yet, but she’ll be able to say she saw a world class winery in its early stages.” He stood up and grabbed his plate. “I’ll help Maura clear the dishes. You two can take off.”
Chris didn’t need prompting. He was feeling inexplicably drawn to Catherine. The temperature outside dropped quickly, so he bundled her up in one of his warm leather jackets. It was three sizes too big, which only made her look more adorable.
They stepped onto a moonlit path and walked a short distance to the temporary winery: an aluminum-sided structure that held rudimentary winemaking equipment next to cases of empty bottles. A walk-in cooler held samples of the wines they’d already produced laid horizontally on racks. On the far end of the room, a partial wall separated the “office”—an old metal desk, a long table with office equipment and a computer, one file cabinet, shelves brimming with books and magazines, and a large bulletin board with articles and graphs clipped on it.
“I know it doesn’t look like much yet,” Chris said. “But it’s the genesis of our dream. My dad and I have been working toward this moment for many years, the chance to create our own family wine.”
He held out his hand. “Let’s go sit outside. It’s such a clear night, we should be able to see the stars.”
They sat on hay bales near the barn, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her warm. He pointed up to the sky. “Most nights you can see the constellations and major stars, unless there’s cloud cover.” He pulled her closer. “There’s Venus . . .”
“Named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty . . .” Catherine chimed in.
Seems the beauty is right here, sitting next to me. “How about you, Catherine Reynolds? What are your dreams?”
She tucked her hands into the jacket pockets. “Unlike you, my dreams have changed over time. When Vanessa and I were teenagers, we went into modeling.” She made a face. “It’s not as glamorous as people think. Now, I’d like to pursue a career in the hospitality sector.” She sighed. “Still working that out.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you in the beginning. I think you’re a wonderful asset to the company.” And to my life.
He stood up and silently offered his hand, pulling her up to face him. An owl hooted nearby, momentarily jarring him from his intent to steal a kiss. He took a deep breath and gazed into her upturned face. Her long-lashed eyes blinked as she looked into his questioningly.
“We’d better get going.” He turned her around and draped his arm over her shoulders as they walked back. When they reached the guest cottage, he gave her a warm hug and walked off. She’s too appealing. I’m falling fast.
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