Page 100 of Ice Me Out

“You’re not just flattering me because you want Hart’s business?” Vera asked, smirking softly.

Colin laughed deeply. “No. Mr. Myers came to us—not the other way around. How about a quick tour?” he asked, turning on his heels.

“Damn. He ate you up,” Vera whispered as we followed Colin to a golf cart underneath a carport.

“Right? I picked up on a little bit of shade. I should call it all off.”

“Don’t let your pride screw up my internship.”

“You can’t intern here, Vera.”

“Why not?” she huffed, sitting in the cart.

“Because you wouldn’t survive the ferry ride,” I answered, sliding in beside her.

“I’ll make it if I double patch up. But… also… you were paying attention?”

I braced my arm around her when the cart lurched forward. “Paying attention to what?”

“My research project.”

“If your lips are moving, then I’m paying attention.”

Vera looked away with a soft sigh and settled into me. “What am I going to do with you, Sweet Hart?”

Stay with me.

***

Colin pushed open a heavy wooden door, and a wave of cool, oak-scented air greeted us. The smell was sweet, sharp, and earthy. The room was dim, lit by rows of warm lights running above stacked barrels.

Vera stepped in first, and her eyes widened like she’d just walked into a cathedral with stained glass windows. I hung back a few steps with my hands in my pockets, pretending I wasn’t watching her take it all in.

“These are French oak, medium toast. We ferment our Pinot and Chardonnay here. We keep the temperature around fifty-five degrees year-round,” Colin explained. Vera ran her fingers lightly along a barrel.

“Do you inoculate? Or do you let the native yeast take over?”

Colin blinked, pleasantly surprised. “We start with native. If the fermentation stalls, we’ll introduce a cultured strain, but we try not to interfere unless we have to.”

Vera nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Native yeast gives you more complexity, but it can be unpredictable, especially with Pinot.”

Colin laughed. “You know your stuff, Miss Vera.”

“I try. What’s your average fermentation time?”

“About two weeks,” he said. “Longer if the temperature dips.”

“That’s fast for native yeast,” she commented. “You must have a strong colony.”

“We do,” he replied, sounding pleased with himself.

I watched Vera tuck a braid behind her ear as she kept speaking with Colin. She was the epitome of confidence and curiosity, and bright in a way that made me envious. I felt like I was just a meathead hockey player with a few concussions under my belt beside her. I wanted to discuss fermentation and molecules with her instead of dumbly nodding along while she shared a part of her world I couldn’t grasp.

“Miss Vera, you should consider our internship program,” Colin pressed.

“I’ll consider, but my heart is with beer.”

Colin shrugged. “It’s the same principles. Yeast doesn’t care if it’s grapes or grain.”