A Pairing to Die For (A Colorado Wine Mystery, Band 2) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kate Lansing is an award-winning short-story author. Her work has appeared in the Brave New Girls anthology and the Crossing Colfax anthology. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her husband, daughter, and a chair-napping tabby cat named Maple.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter

One

I should have brought flowers. A pacifying bouquet of lilies, hydrangeas, and daisies. Instead, foolishly, I brought wine, and left myself open to a world of criticism from my boyfriend's judgy family. Because the wine isn't merely some label I picked up at the corner store-pricey enough to impress but not so much to blow my budget-it's my own craftsmanship.

"Colorado wines will never be as flavorful as Napa's," Camilla, the matriarch, says in a superior voice.

She purses her lips in disapproval. With her perfectly styled coiffure and Jackie cardigan, she hails from an era of class and sophistication that apparently doesn't extend to present conversation.

"Everyone is entitled to their own opinion," I say, my cheeks aching from the forced smile on my face.

"My wife is right," Gary chimes in from across the rustic wooden table, his cable-knit sweater the same shade of burgundy as the pinot we're tasting. "If you had done your research, Napa would have been the smarter choice."

"Perhaps," I say. "But I love Boulder, and the market is just getting going here. It gives me the opportunity to carve a niche for my business." Which I've already done, I want to add.

My winery, Vino Valentine, is thriving. I can hardly keep up with demand thanks to a rave review from a popular food-and-wine blogger, monthly VIP parties, and, most recently, supplying varietals to the hip new establishment we're dining at now.

And while I don't own my own vineyard, the grapes I order from growers on the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains are chock-full of flavor. The higher altitude yields a deeper pigmentation and a more concentrated sugar content, making the fruit-in my humble opinion-ideal for winemaking.

Gary sniffs at his glass surreptitiously and says, his tone veering on mansplaining, "Red wine really ought to be aged in oak."

"Agreed," I say, and add, with relish, "which is why I aged it in oak for six months before moving it to steel."

Gary shoots me a look of utter distrust, clearly one of those people who doesn't believe what he can't see-or rather, taste-and Camilla not so subtly checks the gold-plated watch on her wrist.

I remind myself that I'm doing this for Reid, my boyfriend extraordinaire. I was honored he asked me to come tonight and more than a little curious to meet the family he hasn't spoken to in more than a year. That is, until Camilla pierced me with an icy stare and asked where I got my cute dress-the word cute sounding like an insult-and Gary's gaze drifted a few degrees south of my face.

And now I'm on my own for this t�te-ˆ-t�te with his parents since we're dining at Reid's restaurant, Spoons, where he's both the owner and executive chef. He claimed his sous chefs would be able to handle most of the cooking tonight, but then, as soon as we were seated, he dashed back to the kitchen to help with something or other. And his older brothers are conveniently MIA, one having stepped away from the table to take a "very important" business call and the other running late.

I take a large gulp of wine and desperately scan the spacious room for a neutral conversation topic, anything that might turn around this disaster of a dinner.

The chatter of happier tables rises around us, their carefree laughter filling me with envy. Spoons has been packed since it opened last month, and tonight is no exception. The decor is upscale with musical influences-glass lanterns painted with staves, old records that have been fashioned into coasters, trumpets repurposed into sconces, and a stage where local acoustic bands play on Friday nights.

"So are you going to do any hiking while you're in town?" I finally venture.

Colorado is known for outdoor sports-hiking, biking, and climbing in the summer, and skiing, snowboarding, and snowshoeing in the winter. The mountains are the perfect canvas for whatever alfresco adventure you want to try.

Camilla primly adjusts her cardigan. "I'm not sure we'll have time."

"Well, if you change your mind, I'd be happy to go with you," I say, perking up. "Chautauqua Park is especially beautiful right now with the fall leaves changing color, and you'd get an up-close view of the Flatirons."

The Flatirons are majestic geological formations overlooking Boulder, giant slabs of slanted rock that look like they've been expelled from the mountainous backdrop. Gazing at them always gives me a sense of perspective: that my troubles are small in the grand scheme of things. I could use that reminder now.

Gary tilts his head and sniffs at his wine again, apparently not deeming my offer worth responding to. It's okay, though, because Camilla answers for both of them.

"We don't hike," she snaps, attracting the attention of a neighboring table.

Thoroughly reprimanded, I stare at my place setting: navy napkin with copper flatware nestled on top and a simple white bread plate, my half-eaten roll forgotten.

Hurt, anger, and, worst of all, shame course through my veins and thrum loudly in my ears. My face flushes with heat.

Winemaking is littered with pitfalls-sluggish fermentation, stressed yeast, unbalanced sulfites. Most of the time, if you catch the problem early enough, you can course-correct by adjusting the temperature or adding fresh yeast. If only real life were as easy to correct.

I wanted so badly to help Reid heal whatever is broken in his family, and, fine, I'll admit, maybe dazzle them with my wit and charm. But instead, I'm only making things worse.

Luckily, Reid's older brother Tristan chooses that moment to show up. "Sorry I'm late. The last session ran long." Tristan just so happens to be in town for an anesthesiology conference and managed to squeeze in time for this family dinner.

He drapes his suit jacket over the back of his chair and takes a seat next to his father. He could be Reid's twin-they have the same build and thick sandy-blond hair, although Reid inherited his mother's green eyes while Tristan got his father's brown ones. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, a leather cord necklace peeking out, giving him a suave yet relaxed demeanor.

"Duty calls, son," Gary says, clapping Tristan on the back. I wonder if anyone else would receive that sort of response to being almost an hour late.

I reach my hand across the table. "Parker Valentine. Nice to meet you."

Tristan's smile holds a hint of mischief as he takes my hand. "Where are we in the interrogation?" he asks, pouring himself a generous glass of pinot.

"We weren't interrogating her," Camilla says. "We're simply trying to get to know the girl."

Reid's oldest brother, Ben, returns from his phone call, his client apparently appeased for the moment. He tugs at the tie around his neck, his shoulders so tense they might as well be attached to his ears. He has more wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and thinner hair than his brothers, but he clearly keeps himself in just as good shape.

This family certainly lucked out in the gene department. I'm not sure how I ever thought I could impress them. Or convince them of anything, let alone that Reid is deserving of their support, even if they don't see his profession as being as important as, say, a lawyer or a doctor.

Ben flashes me an encouraging smile and eyes Gary, eyebrow cocked. "Did you swear her in before you started...