Free Rose's Vintage by Kayte Nunn

squirming Barnsie to take the flowers. She was really touched – even Giles at his best had never shown up with a bouquet as gobsmackingly gorgeous as this. ‘Really, it was nothing. I was glad to help out. Everything looked so magical. Such a big event to put on – everyone did a wonderful job.’ She meant it. She’d had a great time, had loved the energy of everyone involved and had relished seeing it all run smoothly.
    Barnsie was jumping up at the ute and barking at Charlie’s dog, despite the fact that he was a quarter of its size. ‘Quiet, Barnsie. Get down,’ she scolded him again.
    Just at that moment, Mark came down the path from the winery. ‘Not-so-secret admirer, huh, Rose?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow at the flowers she was holding, before going over to shake Charlie’s hand. ‘Great job, last night. Very impressive. Really liked your new shiraz, too.’
    â€˜Cheers, mate. Yeah, it’s coming along nicely. We’ll see how it does at Melbourne.’
    â€˜Melbourne?’ asked Rose.
    â€˜Melbourne Wine Show. Home of the Jimmy Watson. Trophy for the best one- or two-year-old red. Most prestigious wine award in the country,’ Mark explained.
    â€˜Oh.’ Rose went inside to look for a vase. Coming back outside again a few minutes later, she saw Charlie drive away, a cloud of dust following his ute.
    â€˜Have you got a minute, Rose? No-one’s properly shown you around and explained what we do here, have they?’ Mark looked surprisingly chipper given his tired state the night before, and seemed, somewhat miraculously, to be in a good mood for the first time since she’d met him.
    Excellent. She might find out something to report to Henry.
    â€˜Sure, okay, why not?’ she replied, trying to sound casual.
    Mark led her along the path to the cellar door: it was still shut up, just as it had been when she’d first arrived.
    â€˜We’ve had the cellar door closed over winter; we get a bit of business at the weekends, but not enough to justify staffing it year-round,’ Mark explained as he fished a large iron key from his pocket and put it in the lock.
    As they stepped inside the cool, dark space, Rose could see that a thick layer of dust had gathered on the rows of miniature glasses above the serving area. An enormous slab of varnished timber was balanced on top of a couple of old barrels at which she guessed the wines were poured for tasting, and silver buckets were balanced on stands at each end of the room. She looked inquiringly at Mark.
    â€˜Spittoons.’
    â€˜Ah.’
    â€˜Makes sense when you’re tasting anything up to a dozen wines. Not everyone spits though.’ Rose saw a brief smile flicker across his face. ‘We’ve got a few different vintages that we open for tasting, and we make a chardonnay, a cab shiraz blend, a single vineyard shiraz – Assignation – from a block at the far edge of Kalkari, and then I’ve been experimenting with some Spanish varieties: a tempranillo and an albarino. The majority of our wines are made from estate-grown fruit, though we do take some from other growers in the valley. It gives me more control over the whole process.’
    Having shown her the cellar door, they headed outside and took the path that led towards the big corrugated iron shed of the winery itself. As soon as they entered the vast space, with its rough concrete floor and towering stainless steel vats, Rose noticed the same yeasty aroma that the barrel room at Windsong had, and she breathed it in, loving the warm, almost alive scent.
    â€˜God, I love that smell. Reminds me of a bakery.’
    He gave her a wide grin. ‘Being here every day, you become pretty immune to it, but if I’ve been away for a while it certainly smells like home as soon as I walk back in here.’
    Mark began to show her around, explaining what everything was and how it worked. ‘We