Kurt wouldn’t open the bottle in the conference room. He tucked it back into the box, grabbed a Bordeaux glass and rushed back to his suite. But as he picked up a corkscrew and prepared to open the bottle, a thought crossed his mind.

Every other wine was tasted with the winemaker or winery team available to answer questions. If Blaine Anderson was serious about entering Rhapsody in the Taste Challenge, he needed to be present when Kurt sampled the wine. There was just one problem: Short of a trip back to Rhapsody, which he surely couldn't find again, he had no idea how to contact him.

He picked up his phone, scrolled the calls and hit redial.

“Santana? I need some help. I think Anderson's on board — a bottle was delivered today — but I don’t know how to reach this guy and I need him present for the tasting.”

“He needs to be present for the tasting, does he? Oh, really? So you've decided our little winemaker's worth a taste."

Kurt's tone shifted, landing somewhere between the steely reserve of Dirty Harry and the groveling of a man pleading for is life.

“Don't. It’s protocol — you know that. Everyone has to be treated the same, and everyone is interviewed about the wine while I sample it. I can’t open this bottle — I can’t consider this bottle — if he isn’t here to answer questions."

The line was silent, and Kurt could picture Santana's cocked, well-plucked eyebrow.

“Santana, you’re right, OK? He’s what I'm looking for, what we're looking for, for the Taste Challenge, for the profiles, everything. He's young, and a new face, he's got an impressive background."

"And backside..." Santana muttered outside the reach of her phone.

"I did a barrel taste at Rhapsody. Those wines weren't anywhere close to ready — but they were good enough for that winery to be at the top of my Sonoma list. They were lively and inventive, unexpected. There were some future stars in those barrels.

"But there was one he wouldn't let me try — wouldn't even discuss it. Sotto Voce. Then he goes and sends me a bottle of it like he's lobbying for a spot in this thing. I really don't understand this guy, Santana."

"Do you really need to?"

Kurt paused, and momentarily considered the implications. He didn't need to know why Blaine Anderson had gotten under his skin the way he had. There was no reason why he should be concerned about the winemaker's manners. He'd certainly never been concerned about his own while writing a scathing review.

All he needed to be concerned about was cooperation, because both the wine and its caretaker were clearly destined to be a part of Kurt's project.

"I just need to know how to reach him, because I suddenly have this bottle I know nothing about, other than it's a Rhône blend.”

“Oh, it’s more than a Rhône blend, sweetheart. Blaine's given you something that's almost impossible to get your hands on.”

“And why’s that?”

“Low production. High demand, at least among the lucky few who are familiar with it.  Stellar reputation. The rest is a question for Blaine to answer. I'll send you his number, but give me a few minutes to give him a heads-up.”

****

4:45p Blaine:  He wants what??

4:46p Santana:  He needs you to meet with him while he tastes the wine.

4:46p Blaine:  Why?

4:47p Santana:  Because it’s protocol. It’s what everyone does. He wants to be able to ask questions while the wine’s fresh on the palate.

As much as he disliked it, Blaine had to admit it made sense. All tastings required precision and consistency, even if the he wasn’t crazy about the process.

4:49p Blaine:  What do you need?

4:50p Santana:  I gave him your number.

4:50p Blaine:  You did what?

4:52p Santana:  I didn’t trust you to call him, sweet stuff. Expect a call in a few minutes.

****

Kurt followed up quickly, calling Blaine shortly after Santana called him back to tell him Blaine would be expecting his call, and warn him in that I-know-something-that-you-don't tone of hers that Blaine might be difficult to pin down. Kurt wasn’t sure she was talking about scheduling conflicts. He wasn't sure he wanted her to be.

He took a breath, his finger hovering over the texted phone number. He knew he had to talk to this guy, perhaps talk him into working with him. But he wasn't sure he was ready for the conversation.

The meeting at Rhapsody had been so awkward, uncomfortable, so downright hostile that he paused before finally willing himself to make the call.

Blaine picked up on the second ring.

To Kurt's surprise, they exchanged pleasantries, or at least as pleasant as Blaine Anderson seemed capable of, Blaine asking him how his appointments were going and Kurt responding that there are many quality wines in the valley.

“I have to admit, I was surprised to see that bottle.”

“I was surprised to send it,” Blaine said curtly.

“I would probably have extended an invitation to the Taste Challenge based on what I’d already sampled.”

“So send it back.”

“You know I’m not going to do that, and I can't include wines that haven't even been bottled yet.”

Blaine was silent.

“But I do need information about the wine, and we have a protocol that a representative from the winery must be available at the initial tasting to answers questions. Sotto Voce’s special. I’d like to know why.”

He heard a sigh, an exhale, on the other end of the line.

"Fine. When and where?"

Kurt thought for a moment. His driver could certainly find the winery, even if he was helpless trying to locate it. On the other hand, appointments had him booked up in Napa most of the week.

Before he could speak, Blaine settled it for him.

"I'm already down the hill. We could meet in Santana's office, or I could come to you. Where are you right now?"

"Yountville. Bardessono," Kurt said.

Kurt could just make out a muffled, caustic chuckle.

"But of course. I'm about half an hour out, and I'm just getting ready to wrap things up here. I can meet you around six o'clock?"

"Have the desk call me."

"Why would I do that when I already have your number? I'll call you when I get there."

That arrogant, pretentious ... Shit, Kurt thought. I need my tasting room back.

"I'll see you then."

He called down to the front desk to make sure he could have after-hours access to the Harvest Room.

"I'm sorry Mr. Hummel, but it's booked for an evening event. Don't worry. All your supplies are stored and will be reset in the morning."

"But I have another appointment."

"I'm afraid we're booked solid tonight, Mr. Hummel. I could set you up with some space in the lounge, or I could have supplies sent to your suite."

Kurt did not like conducting these preliminaries in public. Too many interruptions, too many distractions, too many people trying to score a free drink. The suite, with its large dining table and private patio, would have to suffice.

"Let's set up here. I'll need glasses, four of each to be safe. And if you could have bottled water and crackers sent over. Let's make that a cheese plate. And please hurry."

OK, cheese plates didn't conform to protocol, but Kurt was hungry, and a little concerned about missing dinner.

He went to the restroom to freshen up, brushing his teeth, freshly sculpting his upswept hair, cooling the skin around his eyes with a dollop of Lab Series moisturizer. I could use a clean shirt, he thought.

His moment up freshening up for his evening appointment stretched into 30 minutes of styling and wardrobe planning. Finally satisfied, Kurt changed entirely, into dark wash slim jeans, a Hugo Boss shirt in the palest of blues, topped by a trim-tailored black vest. Casual, but professional, he thought, straightening his vest.

His thoughts were interrupted by his ringing cell phone. A 707 area code popped on his caller ID.

"Kurt Hummel."

"So, you want to drink some wine?"

"I don't drink when I'm tasting, Mr. Anderson."

"We'll see about that."

****

Kurt met him in the foyer, and made quick apologies for the improvised tasting space. This was all rather sudden, he said. The conference room's taken for the night, he said. They've been kind enough to set up in my suite so we can have a little privacy, he said.

No, he babbled. Babbled, and he had no idea why.

"I don't usually invite winemakers to my room," he added.

"Sounds like a pickup line," Blaine said, taking in the cut-stone lobby walls and paying little attention to Kurt. He stopped, and looked him square in the eye. "I know it's not."

He led Blaine outside toward his suite. The winemaker seemed to be quietly absorbing the surroundings: the Zen-inspired rock pool, the stylishly minimal landscape, the streams and ponds lining the parklike courtyard separating the two main row of guest rooms at the small resort. He did not appear entirely impressed.

The facility was sleek and rich — and Blaine had made it crystal clear to Kurt on their first meeting that the trappings of 'New Napa' were not, to put it mildly, his cup of tea.

No wonder he was silent.

"It's just up here," Kurt said.

He opened the door to a lush, light-filled suite, a glassed-in fireplace serving as a divider between living and bed rooms, a private courtyard pulled into the rooms through floor-to-ceiling glass, revealing a garden, a stone hot tub, an outdoor shower, and a well-organized selection of wine glasses, bottled water and cheeses on the patio table.

"Well, they're certainly taking care of you," Blaine said, thumbing through a copy of Napa Style on the coffee table.

"I didn't ask for this," Kurt snapped.

"And you didn't turn it down."

Kurt's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed.

"You don't like me very much, do you?"

"I don't know you well enough to not like you. Then again, I don't know you well enough to like you, either," Blaine said, nonplussed.

"Then what is it? What have I done to set you off like this, or are you just one of those naturally surly people? Because let me tell you, it's not nearly as hot as you seem to think it is."

The last remark hit its target. Finally. Blaine looked at Kurt in shock.

"I'm not surly. I don't dislike you. I just don't like what you represent."

"And what's that? Success? Is that what you object to? Because there's nothing wrong with succeeding, Mr. Anderson. It just means that your hard work has paid off. And if this is what you're doing for a living, shouldn't that be your objective?"

"You can define success in a lot of different ways," Blaine said. "And our definitions are worlds apart.

"And if we're going to have to work together, would you knock off this 'Mr. Anderson' shit and just call me Blaine, already?"

"What exactly makes you think it's OK to talk to me like this? Everyone else I've met with has been respectful..."

"Everyone else you've met with has sucked up to you to get into this... this contest... or get their winery profiled. You forget — I don't want to be here."

"Then why are you here, Blaine? Why'd you send that bottle that you refused to even talk about the other day? Why are you here?"

Kurt could see Blaine’s breath quicken, his eyes harden and his jaw set. Under most circumstances, Kurt wouldn't feel safe, but he felt emboldened by the conflict, like Blaine had thrown down the gauntlet and Kurt was more than willing to pick it up and throw it right back in his face.

This wasn't his usual professional fiestiness. He felt challenged, insulted, drawn out and confused by Blaine's churlish attitude, and if it took an argument to figure him out, Kurt was more than up for the challenge.

"Because I owe it to them."

"I don't understand," Kurt said, softening his tone.

"I know. That's kind of my point. Let's just get this done, OK?"

Kurt looked away and nodded.

He walked to the patio, carrying the bottle of Sotto Voce he had left in the living room and picking up a sommelier's corkscrew.

"Fine. Are you willing to talk about this wine?"

Blaine followed, and cast an exaggerated sigh, resigned to cooperating. "What do you need to know?"

"The blend? The vineyards? The story? What makes this your reserve? Something about this wine is special, and I'd like to know what and why, before I open the bottle. How about we start with the name? Why Sotto Voce?"

"An ode to Teddy Roosevelt?" Blaine said with a smirk and a shrug.

Kurt dealt him a withering glance.

"Fine. It's meant to be subtle. The strongest words can be said in the softest voices, and still be resonant. I made Sotto Voce in a way that should make a statement, but without being in-your-face about it. It should be subtle, interpretive. Look, I don't want this to sound like some marketing spiel. It should be soft and velvety to the palate, with subtle undertones, but it should also linger."

"Why is it reserve?"

"It's the usual: the best grapes, traditional fermentation methods, no additives."

"The entire wine?"

"Yes. I pull certain parts of the harvest for it, and its crush, fermentation and press — well, it isn't really pressed — are all handled separately from the rest of Rhapsody."

"How? What do you mean, it isn't pressed?"

Kurt could read the discomfort on Blaine's face, but he continued to press — more gently than before — for answers.

"How Blaine?"

"I do it by myself. By hand. An old basket press. And I only use the free run. Any juice off the press goes into other Rhapsody blends. It doesn't make for a lot of wine."

"You're kidding, right? No one does that."

"I do. I have."

Kurt opened the knife on the corkscrew and slit open the the dark burgundy sleeve topping the bottle, rapidly, carefully, exactly — displaying the skills he acquired during his restaurant years. He closed the knife and flipped the device over, pulling the worm out perpendicular to the handle. He slipped it gently into the center of the cork, and submerged it with a swift twist, never compromising the cork.

He flipped the device, pulled, and with a pop, the wine was open.

Blaine looked on passively as Kurt inspected the cork. It was still fresh, with minimal wine intrusion. He passed the cork under his nose and inhaled. The rich aromas of the wine had infused themselves into the cork just so, just enough to give a hint of what was to come.

Kurt looked at Blaine, pulled a second Bordeaux glass in front of him, and poured a small sample into each glass. He nodded, extending an invitation.

And then Kurt initiated his well-rehearsed ritual. He inspected the color, an inky maroon, more dark crimson than purple, the color of a deep red rose. He placed the wine on the table and swirled, then held it up to inspect the legs. The wine clung to the glass, slowly drifting back down into the depths of the bell. And then he plunged his nose deep into the bowl, breathing in the soft bouquet.

He concentrated on the wine’s subtle details: the sweet smoke of the lower vineyard, the richness of dark berries, layered with delicate hints of spring wildflowers.

It was unusual.

It was remarkable.

He broke from ritual, and looked over the rim of the glass at Blaine, who watched him intently.

Kurt refocused and raised the glass, tipped it slightly to Blaine, closed his eyes and allowed the slightest taste to caress his tongue.

He went still, eyes closed, and swallowed.

Then he reopened his eyes, wide and stunned, his mouth open slightly, and stared at Blaine in blank wonder.

"Good, eh?" Blaine said, the narrowest crease of a smile crossing his face.

"This is all... all from your vineyard. It's all estate grown?"

"It's all from Rhapsody vineyards, yeah. I keep it in the family, so to speak."

Kurt breathed in the rich Rhône red again, closing his eyes and exhaling.

"You're welcome to have some more, you know."

"This is a tasting, Blaine," Kurt said, opening his notebook and hurriedly taking down notes. "I need some more information from you. The blend, the racking period, the harvest..."

"I expected that. It's all here," Blaine said, pulling a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket that detailed the wine’s history, from first spring prune to bottling. "Knock yourself out."

"Can I just ask, why didn't you want me tasting this wine? It's stunning."

"Look, Sotto Voce isn't like reserves from the big wineries. I don't make enough of it to market it, not really, but there is a demand for it. It's very... personal. I make it for myself, to have a wine that's truly made by my hands, that's artisanal, that's unique. Something that lets me get in touch with the roots of winemaking, of all of this," he said, his eyes taking in the expanse of his surroundings. "Ultimately, it's about the vines, the grapes. It's not about technology or this yeast or that yeast. It's pure winemaking that goes back centuries."

"You don't sell it?"

"Well, I might sell some of it," Blaine said, finally picking up his glass, topping off the tiny sample Kurt had poured, then adding more to Kurt's glass as well. "And I give some of it away. And some of it gets donated..."

Blaine gave his glass the slightest hint of a swirl, inhaled lightly and raised the glass to his lips.

His eyes still closed, he smiled, the first real smile he had let Kurt see, like the sun was rising on his face.

"OK, have I answered your questions?" Blaine asked, earning only a nod as Kurt sipped at the glass. "Because I'd like to ask you something."

"Sure, of course," Kurt said. "What would you like to know?"

Blaine sipped at the wine and tilted his head back, looking up at the twilight sky before coming back to earth, to the quiet detente being struck over a bottle of rare wine.

"You gonna eat this cheese?"

****