Conner reads to me from the list of wineries outlined in the booklet the owner’s left for our use.

“I want to go to a boutique winery, one where they’re sustainably growing their grapes on site, and the vintner’s actually the person pouring the wines,” I explain. “Don’t give me that look. We’re in Sonoma, there has to be lots of nice boutique wineries.”

Conner leafs through the book. “I think I found what you want. Montemaggiore, it’s located only a few miles away. It says no drop-ins, you need to give them twenty-four hours and they only take reservations.”

“We can at least try, if not today then, tomorrow. What time do you need to be back?”

 “Twenty-one hundred.” I give him a blank stare. “Nine PM.”

“Oh, you’re using military time.”

It makes me realize that this wonderful little bubble is going to end all too soon. I run my fingertips down his chest, enjoying the feel of his rock hard body.

“Give me the number. Let’s see if we can get lucky,” I ask as I turn on my phone. I speak to whom I assume is the owner. “They have a small group coming at twelve thirty, if we can make it by then, they’ll fit us in.”

“That gives us an hour and a half. Do you want to eat now, or wait until after the wine tour?

“If we wait, we can buy a bottle to have with our meal.”

“How about we eat a little now, and then some after the wine tour, I think we have plenty of food.” His hands run over my naked body. “How quickly can you dress?”

“No hair, just a quick shower to wash away your smell.”

He moves close, real close, wrapping his arms around me. “I like when you smell of me.”

I laugh as I push him off. “I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

***

“It looks like a family lives at the winery we’re visiting. The husband manages the vines and the wife is the winemaker,” I read off of my phone while we eat. “The husband's family is originally from Montemaggiore in southern Italy, it says he grew up in Chicago and he’s a Cubs fan.”

“I already like their grapes.”

“You’re a Cubs fan?”

“I grew up about two hours from Chicago. My dad once took me to a Cubs game.”

“When was that?”

“About six months after I found my mom, about the same time we learned Laurie was pregnant.”

“You found your mom.”

He nods but doesn’t elaborate. He was fourteen when he found his mom dead? With no idea what to do with this new bit of information, I reach out and gently rub his arm.

***

It takes us about ten minutes to get to Montemaggiore. On the way I read more from their website, “They’re known for their Syrah, Wine Enthusiast just gave their Syrafina a 90. This should be fun.” I feel his attitude change as he slowly nods, “What’s up?”

“I’ve never really drunk wine before.”

“Think how lucky you are, your first introduction and the wine will be good. You’ll never have to go through the White Zin or Thunderbird stage.”

He shoots me a concerned half smile. I have a feeling my brave GI Joe who faces off with terrorists in the war-torn Middle East is feeling intimidated by wine tasting in Sonoma.

I navigate as we drive down a small residential road that narrows to single car width and heads up the mountain. When we get to the gate we call up, then continue on the road, up, up, up past hundreds of olive trees until the road ends in a parking lot near a large peach and green barn that looks like it was plucked right out of Italy. The wide metal doors are open.

 “Anyone home?” Conner calls out.

“Back here,” a women’s bright voice rings out from the back.

We walk past a number of two story chrome tanks to find a modern bar set up. Two other couples, who look to be twenty years older than us, are already there.

“It’s called the Three Diva’s after the three varietals of wine it’s made from, Viognier, Marsanne, Roussanne,” Lise the wine master explains as she pours the cool chardonnay.

Conner looks uncomfortable but pays close attention to what Lise says as she educates us on how she makes the wine. Next, she pours a rosé.

“We make it from our Syrah grapes. Since Syrah needs a higher skin to juice ratio, we make Rosé out of the siphoned off juice.”

“It’s cool and refreshing, with a slight hint of strawberry,” I tell Conner.

He cautiously sips the wine and nods.

“Before we drink the Syrah, let me show you our vineyard,” Lise instructs. She then takes us on a tour, where she shows us how they care for the grapes, and explains the practice of Biodynamic farming. “We recycle all of our water and use our sheep to keep the weeds down.”

 “I had no idea my grandfather practiced biodynamics,” Conner confides as we head back to the winery. “I always thought he was just cheap.”

Back at the winery, Lise opens the bottle of Rosé we purchased and lends us a couple of glasses. We head to a picnic table that looks out over the winery and the valley below. Conner pulls out a big Swiss army knife and uses it to cut the remaining bread and cheese. As we drink the wine, I watch him rolling it around his mouth before swallowing.

“I always thought wine tasting was some pretentious thing that rich people did. Well, I still think it’s a pretentious thing that rich people do, but Lise was interesting. What they do to create the wine, now that’s cool. I can see what she’s talking about.” He takes another sip. “This is good.” Taking a bite of cheese, “It does make the cheese taste better.”

“I was raised in a Mediterranean family, in the summer; this is how we’d eat and drink.”

“Wine not beer?”

“Wine, bread, cheese, fruit…this is what my mom always called a picnic.”

“When I was a kid, every Sunday we’d have a picnic after church. Everyone would bring a dish to share. In the summer…they’d have a couple of barbeques going. There were always hot dogs.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah…it was.”

 “Hey GI Joe, between the wine tasting and killing this bottle of wine…how about we head back to the cottage for a nap. I don’t even think I’m up for any more wine tasting.”

***

After another amazing session of sex, I find myself happy, satisfied, and laying in Conner’s arms.

“I’m going to remember this weekend when I’m in Jordan,” Conner says.

“When are you shipping out?”

“I finish my program in May. My orders have me shipping out a couple days later.”

I take a deep breath and kiss his bicep. “I guess we’ll need to rendezvous again before you ship out.”

“That will be nice.”

“We can still talk; when you’re in the Middle East we’ll use Skype.” He smiles and nods while I wonder what he’s not telling me.