The Wine Tasting - after hours

I hadn't planned on going.

That was how it started.

My friend had been talking about this little vineyard for weeks, insisting we needed a Saturday afternoon away from work, phones and the usual chaos of life. Then, two hours before we were supposed to leave, she called to say she couldn't make it.

Normally, I would have cancelled too.

Instead, I found myself standing in front of my wardrobe wondering what exactly one wore to a wine tasting when one was going alone.

I eventually settled on a black dress, ankle boots and a jacket I'd bought months earlier and had barely worn.

Nothing too obvious.

Nothing that said I'm single and available.

Although, if I was being completely honest with myself, I wasn't entirely opposed to either message.

The vineyard was beautiful.

Rows of vines stretched across the hills, the late afternoon sun making everything look slightly more romantic than it probably was. There were fairy lights strung between the buildings and wooden tables scattered around the courtyard.

And then there was him.

He was standing behind the tasting table when I arrived.

Dark hair. Rolled-up sleeves. A watch on his wrist. The sort of relaxed confidence that immediately made me wonder whether he was naturally charming or simply very good at his job.

"You're late," he said.

I looked at my watch.

"Four minutes."

"I noticed."

I laughed.

"That's slightly worrying."

"Only if you were planning on making an impression."

He handed me a glass.

"Here. This might help."

I took it.

"Wine?"

"Confidence."

I looked at him over the rim of the glass.

"I don't think I need either."

His smile told me he didn't quite believe me.

The first wine was delicious.

The second was better.

Or perhaps I was simply becoming more aware of the man pouring it.

He had a way of looking at me when he spoke that made me lose track of what he was saying. I'd catch his eyes, hold them for a second too long, and then suddenly become fascinated by the wine in my glass.

Eventually, he noticed.

"You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Looking away."

"I don't."

"You do."

I smiled.

"Maybe you're making me nervous."

That stopped him.

For just a second, his expression changed.

"Am I?"

There was something in his voice that made my stomach flutter.

I took another sip.

"Maybe."

The afternoon continued.

People came and went. Glasses were filled and emptied. Conversations drifted around the courtyard.

But somehow, every time I looked up, he was there.

And every time he walked past me, his shoulder seemed to brush mine.

Maybe it was accidental.

Maybe it wasn't.

By the fourth tasting, I was laughing far too easily.

He leaned against the table opposite me.

"So, are you actually interested in wine?"

"Not particularly."

He laughed.

"Then why are you still here?"

I looked around the courtyard.

"Good question."

His eyes met mine.

"Have you figured it out yet?"

I didn't answer.

I didn't need to.

The last group left shortly before sunset.

Suddenly, the vineyard felt completely different.

Quieter.

More intimate.

The fairy lights had begun to glow and somewhere in the distance I could hear music playing softly from inside the main building.

I should have said goodbye.

Instead, I stayed.

He poured himself a glass and came to sit opposite me.

"So," he said, "tell me something I don't know about you."

I laughed.

"That's a dangerous question."

"Why?"

"Because you might actually find out."

He smiled.

"Go on."

I thought for a moment.

"I'm usually very sensible."

"Usually?"

"Almost always."

He raised his glass.

"I don't believe you."

"And what about you?"

He took a sip.

"I'm usually very good at behaving myself."

I laughed.

"Usually?"

His eyes held mine.

"Almost always."

The silence that followed felt different.

Neither of us spoke.

Neither of us looked away.

He stood first.

For a moment I thought he was going to leave.

Instead, he walked around the table.

He stopped beside me.

"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he said quietly.

I looked up at him.

"You aren't."

His hand found mine.

It was such a simple gesture.

Almost innocent.

Yet my heart was suddenly beating far too quickly.

He leaned down and kissed me.

Slowly.

Tentatively at first.

Then with the confidence we'd both been pretending not to have all afternoon.

When we finally pulled apart, I couldn't help laughing.

"What?"

"You've ruined wine tasting for me."

He smiled.

"How?"

"Because I'm never going to be able to look at a bottle of this again without thinking about you."

"Sounds like a problem."

"It is."

He kissed me again.

And this time I didn't bother pretending I was nervous.

The evening disappeared in a blur of laughter, whispered conversations and stolen kisses between glasses of wine.

Eventually, I found myself standing by my car, keys in my hand, wondering how an afternoon I'd almost cancelled had somehow become one of the most unexpected dates I'd ever had.

He stood beside me.

"So," he said, "same time next Saturday?"

I smiled.

"Are you inviting me back for the wine?"

He shook his head.

"Definitely not."

I laughed.

"Good."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because I was hoping you'd invite me back for something a little more interesting."

His smile widened.

"Come inside."

I followed him back towards the tasting room.

The door closed behind us, and suddenly the quiet felt completely different.

He crossed the room and pulled me gently towards him.

We kissed again.

This time there was no hesitation.

His hands settled at my waist as mine slipped around his neck. The kiss deepened, and I felt myself smiling against his lips.

"You've been thinking about this all afternoon, haven't you?" he whispered.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

I looked at him.

"Definitely."

He laughed softly before kissing me again.

His lips moved from mine to my cheek, then along my jaw and down towards my neck, each kiss slower than the last.

My jacket slipped from my shoulders.

Then his hands found mine again, giving me every opportunity to stop.

I didn't.

Instead, I stepped closer.

The world outside seemed to disappear.

There was only the warmth of his body, the quiet music in the background and the delicious uncertainty of what might happen next.

We kissed until we were both breathless.

There were more whispered words, more laughter, more kisses that seemed to last longer than the ones before.

The evening became a blur of discarded jackets, tangled hair and increasingly reckless smiles.

At one point, I caught my reflection in the darkened window and barely recognised the woman looking back at me.

Not because she looked different.

Because she looked completely uninhibited.

Completely present.

Completely herself.

He kissed my forehead and smiled.

"Still okay?"

I nodded.

"More than okay."

He pulled me close again.

And for once, I wasn't thinking about whether tomorrow would make this complicated.

I wasn't thinking about work.

I wasn't thinking about what I was supposed to do.

I was simply enjoying the moment.

The night continued behind that closed door, away from the outside world, with the details belonging only to the two of us.

By the time I finally left, the vineyard was completely quiet.

The sky was dark.

The fairy lights were still glowing.

And I was smiling like an idiot.

He stood in the doorway watching me.

"Next Saturday?"

I looked back at him.

"Definitely."

I got into my car, started the engine and glanced at the empty wine bottle sitting on the passenger seat.

I'd arrived that afternoon expecting a few glasses of wine and a quiet afternoon alone.

Instead, I'd left with a story I'd probably never tell my friends.

At least, not all of it.

And as I drove home, I found myself wondering exactly what would happen the next time I walked through that door.