The Winemakers Guide to Falling in Love

Cherie felt like a salted caramel; sampled and replaced, then perhaps traded for a maraschino cherry. Online dating is, to quote Forrest Gump, one big box of chocolates without a five-star rating system, or a comment section equivalent to Trip Advisor. And one shouldn’t assume that making a date stops the date-ee from scrolling to the next gourmet chocolate in waiting. Cherie knew she might be seen as plain among the forest of false eyelashes and a seductive mountain range of cleavage peep shows. She hadn’t resorted to that type of self-promotion. She herself wasn’t looking to endlessly compare truffles to creams; just a good guy to hang out with, a smart one who likes to get outside and have a good conversation.

Quinn had a puppy on his lap that would clearly give him an excellent reference. There was an actual bookshelf behind him, with books. He wasn’t posing with fish or dead mammals, armed with a rifle, nor wearing designer shades that could be hiding any number of character flaws. It was a bonus that there weren’t heavy metal posters in the background.

Cherie had contacted him based on that photo and it was she who decided to dispense with a lengthy conversation that would allow the time to hyper-focus on reasons why they shouldn’t more than why they should. She cut short their video chat with, “Do you want to go wine-tasting on Saturday?”

Nice blurt, she thought. When he agreed, she quickly said, “Ok I’ll text you the deets.” She had never said deets before in her life. She was not the groovy hip kind of person who messed with the English language that way. Cherie cursed her inner self-conscious introvert for pretending to be someone other than the slightly shy and nerdy person she was.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t show up. Maybe the next profile he clicked on was a willing booty call and she would fade from his memory with unprecedented speed. Still, he had responded to the time and place deets message with some happy face and wine glass clinking emojis. It seemed like a good sign.

Cherie wondered if winetasting was a high brow kind of thing, like modern art galleries or expensive restaurants where you can embarrass yourself with an innocent question. The winery’s website talked about a commitment to representing the distinct terroir of the region. It was one of a few words she looked up.

Terroir: the complete natural environment in which a particular wine is produced, including factors such as the soil, topography, and climate.

Cherie was anticipating learning something about wine and hopefully Quinn would be good company. Her go-to was the house wine or a servers recommendation when dining out and she went for artsy labels when buying bottles. She had learned by accident that red wine with salad is gross but that there is a special harmony that exists between chardonnay and popcorn.

Ghosting and online dating are aptly paired. Cherie wished they had arranged to meet outside so she could save face if he didn’t show. She scanned the few tables in the chic but intimate tasting room.

The relaxed atmosphere was a pleasant surprise. She had settled on slim cut jeans, black leather boots and a deep plum-colored sweater, hand knit by an aunty who told her she needed to get out more often. Maybe it was lucky. She thought it brought out the hazel of her eyes. Her long dark hair was loose from the usual braids that kept it out of the way of the meals she cooked for the local senior center.

The only face she recognized was at the table by the window that framed an expansive view of a green sloped vineyard. Quinn was turning his wheelchair towards her and waving. She had missed the presence of a wheelchair his profile photo. It caused her a split-second pause to adjust her expectation in a way she didn’t really understand or have time to think about.

“Cherie! Over here.”

His natural good looks were only exceeded by the enthusiasm that broke the ice of being virtual strangers. Cherie was a sucker for soft flannel shirts like the touchable sky blue one he was wearing.

“SO glad you came.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it to emphasize how much.

Their server approached with glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other. “I’m Amy and I’ll be your fairy godmother today.”

Who knew that fairy godmothers could have tattoos of a winding vine on their forearm, pink streaks in their otherwise white hair and wear a Frida Kahlo and pet monkey t-shirt. Amy was missing a wand but did carry a corkscrew which she deftly twisted into the cork of a bottle that was lemony-pale, translucent and cold.

“We have four varieties open to try. Have you wine-tasted before?”

“First time” they said simultaneously.

“My favorite kind of customer, but I must warn you, wine can change your life, like falling in love.” Her statement was punctuated by a resounding pop. She poured the narrow flute glasses a third full. “Now don’t swirl because that will release the very thing that makes it special. It’s a sparkling wine, cousin to champagne and it will find a way to get along with any food, event, or person. If you could bottle diamonds, this is what it would taste like.”

“Your first sip is an introduction, exciting like when you first have a crush. Your second is a longer conversation and your third is to see if it has a nice finish.”

“What do you mean by finish?” Cherie asked while holding it in front of the light of the window seeing how it captured the whole vineyard like a convex lens.

“Notice any change. A good wine has a beginning, middle and end, like a good book. It doesn’t disappear right after the introduction.”

“Citrus, grapefruit-y?” Quinn suggested.

Cherie appreciated his participation as no small thing. She had had enough dates with guys whose attention was diverted to the sports bar tv usually over her shoulder.

Amy left them with their last sips to contemplate.

“So Quinn, do you like to watch sports?”

“Actually I play. Tennis and sometimes basketball. I’ve got adaptive gear for downhill skiing. I have to get tied on to ride horses, but I never want to give it up.” He tipped his last drops into his mouth.

Did he think she assumed his chair made him a spectator only? She didn’t want to assume anything. It was an awkward moment Cherie wasn’t sure how to correct.

“I coach the kids at the school I teach at, so I guess that involves some watching.”

He didn’t appear offended. Maybe it was a conversation he was used to having, but Cherie considered how annoying it must be to explain what your capable of versus just what you are into.

Amy appeared with more glasses and another bottle. “I could tell you what to expect but the fun part is figuring it out, like a treasure hunt. If you give it a little swirl it will bloom like a flower.”

Yes, it was a first date, but Cherie was running a what if story through her head. What would it mean to share a life with someone who couldn’t do all that an able-bodied person does? What if they dated for a while and she found there were sacrifices she didn’t want to make? She could dodge that bullet today with a ‘Thanks very much, it was nice to meet you.’ Thoughts circled like the wine in her glass. Would she even have proceeded with the date if she had known?

Amy continued. “There is a quality you can look for called minerality. Its sometimes described as, like tasting a rock… hard to imagine that as a good thing but it’s how the terroir marks this wine as its own.”

Cherie closed her eyes and let the wine linger in her mouth. There it was, minerality, and the sense that it was somehow related to the ground it came from. She imagined having it on a hot day in the sun. When she opened her eyes, Quinn was watching her while savoring his own mouthful. There was something about experiencing the same wine together that felt intimate. She liked the feeling.

Amy placed the bowl shaped glasses before them. “Now we enter the realm of reds; wine of the Gods”. She poured the Pinot Noir while she talked turning the bottle slightly with finesse to avoid messy drips. “You follow your curiosity. Use your eyes, your sense of taste, smell and even feel it’s smoothness. You are getting what nature offered on a particular year with its specific conditions. Follow your curiosity like you would if you were discovering what is special about a person.”

They swirled, enchanted by the ruby liquid in the light. It was a bouquet of cherry and clove and earth. Cherie thought the aroma was so exquisite she could almost forego the tasting.

“Wow… makes you want to spend more time getting to know it.” Quinn comically raised his eyebrows and looked at Cherie.

Unused to generous flattery Cherie swirled faster and changed the subject. “I think it wants to be part of Thanksgiving dinner.

“You are a natural, Cherie.” said Amy.

“Yes, but the first thing I noticed was how beautiful she is,” Quinn added. “Just so you know I’m paying attention to the wine and my date. That was good advice Amy.”

Cherie blushed like a Provence rosé. Amy was her fairy godmother-cupid, or maybe her own personal Juliet Binoche from the movie Chocolat who’s super-power was finding people’s favorites.

Cherie noticed another couple who were trying wines. They were older, in that middle age range, successful enough to afford an understated calculated degree of casual style. Their eyes didn’t wander far from their phones. He tossed back his wine like it was a shooter while she disapprovingly rolled her eyes. Cherie wondered if Amy could work her magic on them. Any reservations about her own company were changing into feeling lucky.

“Finally, Merlot.” Amy poured them a generous glass.

“Juicy.” Said Quinn.

“Quaffable,” said Amy.

“Quaffable?” Quinn and Cherie asked in unison.

“Highly drinkable,” Amy clarified with a wink, then left them to themselves.

Cherie considered that wine came from stone, water, sap and sun; that it is skin, stem, juice and yeast; also, that a grape could smell like flowers and fruit but taste like a stone or cherries or herbs. Enjoying it was relative to your attention, curiosity, and patience while it improves with age, like anything. Amy was right to say that it could change your life.

“So, if you were a type of wine what would you be? “

“Funny question Quinn.”

Then he said the most romantic thing she had ever heard. “Because I see you like all these wines. Bright, like a fresh peach, and then rare but complex like a Pinot Noir, and quaffable like this Merlot.

Cherie saw her error in underestimating what Quinn could bring to the table. She didn’t care if he liked to watch sports on TV or that there would be challenges. What relationship doesn’t have them? She was interested, inspired, and awake as if she had been swirled in a glass and held up to the light.

They left with a bottle of each wine. The Merlot would be put away for a few years to acquire complexity, like Cherie and Quinn would acquire memories. When they finally opened it, they would time travel back to the wisdom of their fairy godmother and all the magic of their first date.