It was all too perfect to be true. Cassidy had been transported by the magic of her father’s letters and the man beside her into a new world, and it was a world of possibilities. She’d aspired to be the next Robert Parker—the first female megastar of the wine-tasting firmament. To become the top of a very small world.
But the vineyards were breathtaking; that’s where it all happened. On their third day in Cinque Terre they found the winery in the small village of Corniglia where the Sciacchetrà was made—the wine that had fooled her at their disastrous first date. It was made underneath Carla Parrano’s home, a distant cousin of Angelo’s. They entered the winery itself through a narrow oak door at street level that had long since grown dark with age and been polished smooth by human hands.
