If Notes and Bouquets was a class I could pass in my sleep, then Geography of Wines was a course I knew like the back of my hand.

It was unfair that I had been to almost every region of wine country in Italy, France and California, when most of the students in the sommelier program here had only dreamed of it, or watched YouTube videos on the subject.

I take a seat at one of the desks in the rare classroom in the small food science building on the outskirts of campus, located near the vineyards and orchards. It was actually kind of nice, having a major at the university that only a few dozen students were permitted into. It was also one of the select programs that allowed, with parental permission, students under twenty-one to enroll.

It meant that classes were small, I got to learn more about wine. And although, originally, I didn’t believe I’d be that educated here, there are some surprising things I’ve already learned. It also meant that the view from the building I was in had the best view, beautiful apple trees and the lake just outside the windows.

“If this class isn’t bullshit, I don’t know what is.” A girl dropped into the seat next to me, her black leather Michael Kors bag spilling onto the floor.

I snorted, I couldn’t help it. “If you don’t know the geography of different grapes or vintages, I’m not sure why you’d be studying to be a sommelier.”

“Exactly!” She turns to me, her dark brown hair twisted up into a bun and green eyes laughing. “I’m Blair, nice to meet you.”

“Eloise.” I nod, shaking her hand when she extends it. “So, you are going to snooze through this class as much as I am, then?”

Blair leans back, relaxing into her desk. “Lord, I’ve been here almost three years now and all of these theory classes just bore me. I’d rather be out tasting, or actually traveling to these places to test wines and processes. I spent a semester last year in Tuscany, it was incredible. How about you? You’re definitely not from around these parts.”

I motion to my mouth, accentuating my accent. “How could you tell? No, you’re right, I’m from London … I’m actually studying to be a chef at the Sorbonne but needed a change of scenery and thought I’d add wine expert to my résumé. Makes me more desirable in the industry.”

Blair leans in conspiratorially. “No shit, huh? You’re the real deal, Ms. Sorbonne. Now you have to cook for me. And you’ve probably been to every one of these places.”

I chuckle, liking this girl instantly. She reminded me a lot of myself, no holds barred, said whatever was on her mind. “I can definitely do that.”

“Good, you can come over on Thursday night. My roommate and I live off campus, in the Hill Apartments. We’ll supply the wine and games.”

And now I loved her boldness, her follow through. “You sure you don’t want to vet me more, first? I could be a serial killer.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “No serial killer I know would have a penchant for Tory Burch flats and that Donna Karan sweater.”

And she liked fashion. “I think I have a girl crush on you. Too bad I’m only staying for one semester, or we’d have to start dating.”

Blair laughs, the rich sound filling the room. “I don’t swing that way, but for you and that accent I might consider it. So you’re only here for a few months? And how do you like Vermont so far?”

Our professor walks in, greeting the class and setting up the computer screen on the white board from the overhead projector.

I drag my attention back to Blair. “It’s been nice so far, colder than I’m used to but very pretty. And I’m adjusting to your American college life.”

She nods. “So, you’ve been to a good party or two? I want to make sure we’re showing you the best of our beer pong and drunk streaking ways.”

“Actually, I haven’t done either of those yet, but I have met an interesting American boy or two, so there is that.”

“You’ll find those aplenty, just stay away from the ones who live on Greek row.” She rolled her eyes, and I could see history in that expression.

“Why is that?” My hackles go up for the fiftieth time since I’d learned more about the social clubs.

But before she can answer me, our professor starts the class, circling a part of France on her map and going into a discussion about the Burgundy wine region, and its classic Chardonnay and Pinot Noir grapes. I tune her out, scribbling gibberish on the notepad I’ve opened on my laptop. My parents and I vacationed in Burgundy twice, and I could trace those wineries like the back of my hand, not to mention their signature grapes.

It’s Blair’s half-off warning that rings in my head, and the way her eyes looked haunted as she’d tried to laugh it off. She wasn’t joking, that much I could tell … and for some reason, I trusted what she said. Perhaps I shouldn’t, I still wasn’t familiar enough with anyone here, or their motives, but inexplicably I did.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I dug deeper, I’d unearth a grave of secrets that no one wanted to come to the surface.