It’s the hour after everything—when your heartbeat slows but your skin still remembers. Eau Fugitive slips between categories like fingertips tracing your collarbone: pale for a red, raw in all the right ways. All fresh-picked cherries, orange zest, and the faintest whiff of crushed thyme rising from cool Jura soil.
It drinks like a secret—delicate but feral, the kind of wine that never raises its voice but still holds you breathless. Whisper-soft tannins hum beneath the surface, and every sip feels like a shared memory you didn’t know you had.
Best with paper-thin charcuterie, roasted beets with goat cheese, or that long stretch of silence after laughter, when you don’t want to move in case it ends.
