It starts with a glance. Yours. Theirs. Neither of you looking away. One pours, the other tastes—and suddenly you’re both leaning in a little too close. It’s soft at first: white peach, chamomile, pear skin. Then the acidity lands like a whispered dare, and the whole thing tightens—fresh, mineral, a little salty. You smile. They bite their lip.
There’s no rush. No one's in a hurry to finish. The wine shifts and evolves, pulsing between silky and sharp. You’re teasing each other through every glass, trading sips, swapping moans about how "this part" is your favourite. Until it’s hard to tell where the flavour ends and your fingers begin.
Grilled squid with lemon and parsley, a wedge of taleggio on still-warm bread, and ripe green melon wrapped in jamón. Shared, of course. The wine doesn’t need a spotlight—it just wants to be in your mouth while you make someone else feel good.
