“Have you learned about the finish of a wine yet?”
I nodded, unable to speak. He was so damn close I could smell him.
“Then you know,” he said, his voice low and decidedly very sexy, “the finish of a wine includes how long the taste lingers. And how long the texture of the wine lasts in your mouth.”
I was pretty certain my heart stopped.
Then, as if nothing happened, he stood up and resumed his former position, sipping wine like he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.
“I thought—” my voice did not sound normal, but I couldn’t help it, “—you had a very strict no-fraternization policy at Grado Valley,” I said boldly.
“We do.”
“So you typically sip wine on your front porch while whispering about tastes and textures and mouths to your employees?” My question, even bolder.
“In fact,” he said, “I don’t.” That was it. No further comment. And now he’d managed to make me feel special somehow. Unique.
A totally counterproductive thought if ever there was one. “Hmmm.”
“You wanted to talk to me?” he said as if that incident never occurred. Which it totally did. He’d been flirting. One hundred percent.
Focus, Brooke.“The CEO of Avec Coeur loved reminding everyone we were a luxury brand. That meant the right visuals, a compelling brand story, credibility, and a quality experience.”
“I’m with you.” Cosimo sipping wine on the porch of his lakeside cabin was pretty much the only visual enticement anyone would need to come to this particular vineyard, but I skipped that part.
“You have all of that here. Its exclusivity makes it easy to market Grado Valley as a luxury brand.”
“Exclusivity...”
“Yes. If Sunset becomes a problem. I know you don’t want to add docks—”
“Two of my siblings do.”
“But you don’t. I can tell. And I’m sure there’s some pressure from your dad not to make such changes, intentionally or not, as you transition into the new role. Also, I kind of agree with him. Adding a dock would create the kind of chaos that is the opposite of what Grado has going for it. A sort of old-world, laid-back charm. As if, when you’re here, you really are away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world and maybe have stepped back to a simpler time.”
“Not that Kitchi Falls could be considered hustle and bustle.”
“No,” I agreed. “Locals don’t need that escape. They have it already. But we’re talking about the tourists. People like me who would be happy never to hear a honking horn again in their natural lives.” He gave me a quizzical look, but I plowed on. “So compromise. Build one small dock off to the side, like the private one you have here but on the other end of the property, out of the sight line of the Cellar deck. Instead of the masses coming and going on something like a Sunset Wine Tour, offer a very exclusive private tour with one of the owners of Grado Valley. If you each did one or two a week, that would take you through the summer. Go to your personal favorite wineries, aside from Grado. Sample our wines on the boat, of course, and end up back at the Cellar. A ‘part of the family’ slant to the whole thing. You could charge a premium for it without the crowds of people at fifty bucks a shot Sunset offers.”
He hadn’t hinted even once what he’d been thinking as I talked. But now, Cosimo sat up in his seat, blinked and then stood. He walked to a table with a wine bottle on it, poured himself a glass and then eyed my empty one.
“Amateur,” he said. “Didn’t bring the bottle?”
“No,” I answered, still waiting.
“I’ll grab it for you while I process your idea.”
What was there to process? It was brilliant.
“Wait,” I said, stopping him. “The keys.” I extended them out to him.
Cosimo looked at me strangely. “You locked it?”
“You don’t lock your door?”
“No,” he replied immediately. “Never.”
I dropped the keys into his hand. “Thanks. It’s in the fridge.”