Cooler than yesterday. I don’t mind.

Make the coffee first. Do the dishes. Wipe down the countertops.

Am I still okay with this decision?

I remember that the cheapest place in town to get a cup of coffee is at the fancy market in town.

Bright sun. Light breeze. Clear sky. As he would say, “it’s always a beautiful day here.”

In all these years, no one has ever even offered him the opportunity? I am angry but not surprised.

He pours us samples from all of the tanks: Vine Hill Ranch, Beckstoffer To Kalon, Pure Magic, and Black Magic. That is special enough. But it’s the way he talks about the wines that is most special. This is an artist speaking. He anthropomorphizes the wines. He speaks of them as if they are people. It is mesmerizing. I want to try to remember everything he is saying, but I know I can’t because there are too many other things on my mind. “Wine is honest.”

We sit and each lunch with the bottling team and cellar crews: refried beans, rice, chicken, beef, chips, salsa, and guacamole. I pile everything onto my plate. It is uncharacteristic of me.

I hate the feeling of being late.

What day is it?

They are delightful. Our kind of people. The right ones. We are together for almost two hours, but it is worth it.

“It is time.”