Page 52 of When Javi Dumped Mari

Mari

Now

Chloe, who’s standing beside me, takes one look at the person who’s running the wine tasting and gasps. “Fuck. Me.”

I pinch her elbow. She yelps, then dramatically rubs the spot as if it’s actually sore. “Cono, Mari, that hurt.”

“Behave,” I tell her. “He’s a professional and deserves your respect.”

She eyes him dreamily. “I’ll gladly kneel at his feet and call him ‘sir.’ How’s that for respect?”

“You’re growing on me,” Sasha says to Chloe, nodding in approval.

Brittany and I, the levelheaded individuals in this chaotic foursome, stare at each other and shake our heads.

“My name is Sebastian Price.” With his pale green eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, he’s a dead ringer for journalist Jorge Ramos. Honestly, I can see why Chloe’s smitten. “My family owns Crystal Canyon Farm,” he continues, “and I’ve been a vintner and sommelier here for just under ten years.”

Chloe leans over. “I’ll happily call him my silver daddy too.”

“Enough,” I whisper.

Sebastian paces the terrace as he shares the vineyard’s story, making sure to exchange eye contact with each person in the wedding party.

Every person who’s here, that is. Alex’s mother chose to abstain, and the men are apparently still sorting out last-minute alterations to their wedding attire with the tailor Alex hired.

I glance at my watch. Shouldn’t they be here by now?

No sooner than the thought occurs to me, Alex makes his way up the winding path overlooking the valley below. The members of his entourage, including my father, trot behind him single file. I scan the group, searching for Javi, and sigh in relief when I spot him bringing up the rear.

“Hey there,” I say to Alex when he reaches me. “How’d it go?”

“Great,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. “A minor snafu with Javier’s suit—a stain or something, I don’t know—but the laundry valet’s taking care of it, and it’ll be ready in time for the ceremony tomorrow.”

I pat him on the chest. “Thanks for handling all that.”

“Of course,” he says, tucking me under his arm. He turns his attention to Sebastian, who’s running through what to expect during today’s tasting.

“We’ll start here on the terrace,” Sebastian says, “where you’ll get to enjoy several of our white wines.

Two pieces of good news: The first is, although we’re technically calling this a tasting, your fine host, Mr. Campos, has arranged for an upgrade that will offer more wine than we usually provide. ”

Everyone whoops and cheers.

“The second,” Sebastian continues, “is that there was a request for nonalcoholic options, and you’ll be pleased to know that we have several: two whites, one red blend, and an alcohol-free IPA.”

Javi raises his hand.

“Yes, sir?”

“How does that work?” Javi asks. “Are they actually wines?”

Sebastian, who’s standing with his legs apart, crosses his arms over his chest.

Chloe moans, then whispers, “Jesus, that stance should be illegal in the continental United States.”

Brittany snorts.

“I’m glad you asked,” Sebastian tells Javi.

“We call them alcohol-extracted wines. Essentially, we develop the grape using our traditional winemaking methods, and then we use spinning cone technology to remove the alcohol. You’ll get as authentic a wine tasting experience as possible—the depth of the aromas, the fullness of the flavors, and the lushness of the fruits—without the alcohol. ”

“That’s dope,” Javi says. “I’ll definitely stick to that for the duration of the tour.”

Sasha nods. “Me too.”

Sebastian spreads his arms wide and motions for everyone to follow him to the tasting table. “Gather around, friends. Once everyone’s seated, we’ll bring out the flights.”

The group splits in two, the women drifting to one side of the table, and the men gravitating to the other. Oddly, Alex doesn’t sit across from me, but I’m happy to see that he’s engaging Javi in conversation at the far end of the table.

Javi catches me staring at them and waves.

“Behave,” I shout, playfully pointing my finger at him.

Just then, a dozen servers descend upon us, each holding two trays of wine flights, so I miss his response.

“Who’s getting the alcohol-free options?” one of the servers asks.

I hover my hand over Sasha’s head. “This one right here.” Next, I gesture to the far end of the table. “And that guy over there sitting by the groom.”

The server places Sasha’s flight in front of her, then strides in Javi’s direction.

Sebastian walks us through the selections, though Danila and Mirna are tossing back their glasses like they’re marathon runners snatching Dixie cups from volunteers along the route.

“Oh, this is good,” Sasha says. “You wouldn’t even know there’s no alcohol.” She raises one of her glasses in front of my face. “Try it.”

I take a sip and straighten my shoulders. “Wow, you’re right, that would have absolutely fooled me.”

Javi waves from his corner of the table. “Hey, Sasha, it tastes like the real thing, doesn’t it?”

“It does!” she exclaims.

I prefer reds, so I take dainty sips of the white, fully expecting to get to the good stuff later.

For now, though, I’m delighted that everyone seems to be having a great time.

And because there’s nothing on the schedule until tomorrow’s ceremony, we can all enjoy ourselves without worrying about going overboard.

I’ve planned this weekend perfectly, if I do say so myself.