Grapes lined the vines that twisted up the side of the trellis, protecting the deck overlooking the vineyard from the sun. As I sat staring out into the vast field trying to think of anything but how bad the past year has been, I used the Veiled Valley Cellars house pinot noir to drown out my thoughts.

I had to get anyway from my apartment which I was forced into after I caught my dirt bag of a husband cheating on me. After 22 years of marriage, living in our beautiful house, in the foothills of the Cascade Mountain Range. I was left with nothing. Nothing but a dead end job as a secretary to a real estate agent, in a time when increased interest rates are keeping people from buying homes.

“You need a weekend away from here,” Scott, my boss, had told me a few weeks ago. “Why don’t you stay up in my cabin in the Willamette Valley, drink pinot and think or at least forget about Daren. Who knows maybe you will meet someone new, the wineries are always full of interesting people.”

It took some persuasion but I had finally come around to the idea that it would be a great chance to clear my mind and think of ways to move forward. The week before my trip I spent a lot of time researching and planning out where I would spend time losing myself in wine.

Veiled Valley Cellars was my number one choice, it was known like many wines of the Willamette Valley for its house pinot noir. They say the soil on the estate is what causes the beautiful flavors of cherry pie to come singing out of the glass. Others say that it is the grapes themselves that made Veiled Valley Cellars pinot so much better than any other pinots. Many other vintners have traveled long and far to try to steal seeds or sprout clones of the vines which held these award winning grapes. But most people think that it has something to do with the eclectic owner, Sebastian Ferrell the third, saying he has not only taken a great pinot but he has surpassed the wines his father and grandfather had created. All of this within the first 2 years of taking over the helm of the company.

Unlike his father before him, Sebastian III likes to keep out of the limelight that his wines cast, which makes his celebrity grow all that much more. So much so that there is usually a long waiting list to even get a single seat on the sprawling back deck of Veiled Valley Cellars.

Of course, Scott, knows one of the managers and was able to sneak me in off to the side of the deck hidden in the shadows. As I pushed my empty glass to the edge of the table to alert the waiter that I was ready for another glass, I noticed a strangely dressed man standing at the other side of the deck, staring off into the field. One of his hands was grasping a glass of red wine, presumably the highly acclaimed pinot, he looked at the contents of the glass, lifted it to his nose, gave it a sniff and tossed the wine over the edge of the railing. Turning with a disgusted look on his face and stormed off the deck.

“Wow, I can’t imagine anyone disliking this wine.” I thought to myself. My waiter had dropped off a fresh glass of pinot and cleared my empty glass from the small table. I lifted the glass to my nose, a symphony of red fruits enveloped me. Layers of earthiness, spice, and gentle wafts of vanilla, how could anyone waste such a fine wine.

I spent the next few hours staring and drinking, each glass brought me more happiness, along with forgetting about my shitty boring life. Before I knew it, I was all alone on the dark deck. The sun had set hours before, I had no idea what time it was or where my waiter was with my tab. I grabbed at my purse beside me to get up and go settle my tab, when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.

I gaspt and quickly turned around to see the strangely dressed man looking down at me with a slight smirk on his face.

“I am sorry to scare you,” the man apologized. “But, I wanted to let you know that your tab has been taken care of.”

“By whom?” I questioned, “I would love to thank them.”

“By me of course,” the man responded “I am the owner, Sebastian Ferrell the third, who might I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

I was so embarrassed, shocked and surprised that the famous Sebstain the third was not only talking to me but had paid my tab. “My, My name? I’m Amanda Spenc…sorry Amanda Martin.” I spilled out, realizing that I was a little drunker than I thought.

“Well Miss Martin, I can see you have been enjoying my pinot very much. Would you like to join me and my private cellar for a bottle of my favorite vintage; 2018, the year I learned how to turn my family's wine into a masterpiece?”

“I, I would be honored, to umm join you, Mr… Mr. Ferrel.” I stammered.

“You may call me Sebstain.” He responded while gently grabbing my hand and helping me out of my seat.

He led me through his now empty tasting room, only a few lights were left on which accented the enormous fireplace on the far wall of the room. We came to a stop in front of a huge iron door, as Sebstain pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He pushed open the large door which led to a stone spiral staircase. A gust of cold wind hit my face as we walked down to his private cellar.

The cellar was very cool and damp. The large cave-like room was filled with racks covered in cobwebs full of old dusty wine bottles. Two big arm chairs sat in the coroner separated by a small table with two wine glasses beckoning to be filled and a few unlit white candles. Sebastian eyed the racks and pulled out a bottle, set it on the small table and lit the candles.

“Please take a seat.” Sebastian said in a soft voice.

This is so romantic I thought as he pulled the cork on the dusty bottle of Pinot, I can’t believe Scott was right, there still is hope for me yet.

Sebastian poured two glasses of wine, handing me one and held the other out in front of him. “Cheers.” His smile and eyes lit up.

“Cheers.” I replied, clinking my glass against his. I took a sip and let the deep complex flavors take over my senses. “This is the best glass of Pinot Noir I have ever had, no this is the best thing I have ever tasted in my life. How? What is your secret Sebastian?”

“I have never told another living soul my secret.” He replied.

“Pretty, pretty please,” I said flirtily. “I swear your secret is safe with me.”

“Oh, I know my secret will be safe with you. People have been guessing for years what my secret is, and it's very simple. The soil.” He said his voice was a little colder.

“I read that most people think that is what it is. But if that is the case why are your vintages so much better than your fathers or grandfathers?”

“That's because I bury my victims under the vines.” He said with a crazy laugh, his eyes grew wider.

“That’s not very funny.” I said starting to feel a little dizzy. That was when I noticed Sebastain hadn’t taken a sip from his glass, he began rising to his feet and reached for something in his back pocket.

He pulled out a huge knife and the last thing I heard was him saying; “You will make a great addition to next year's vintage of Pinot.”