The Harvest Office – Part 1: The Blend

"Nine days," said Sofía.

"It's not ready," said Gonzalo.

"The ship leaves Buenos Aires on the fifteenth."

"Then the ship will leave without it."

They stood in the barrel room of the winery in Mendoza, between rows of dark oak. The air was cool and sweet with the smell of wine and wet wood. Outside, the Andes rose white against a hard blue sky.

She was thirty-two, the export manager, brisk, in a sharp navy blazer, with a clipboard and no patience at all. He was thirty-six, the winemaker, in an old wool sweater with purple-stained cuffs, calm, bearded, infuriating.

"It needs three more weeks."

"We have nine days."

"It's a living thing."

"It's a contract."

They glared at one another. Gonzalo drew a sample from the barrel with a glass thief and held it out. "Taste."

She hesitated, then sipped. Her face changed. The wine was dark and layered, plums and violets and something like pepper, rough at the edges, wonderfully alive.

"It's not finished," she admitted.

"No."

"But it's... it's extraordinary."

"Then give me twelve days."

She looked at him. He looked at her. Something shifted in the barrel room.

"Nine," said Sofía. "Plus the weekend."

"Done."

He raised the glass in a salute. She laughed. For nine days, they worked side by side, tasting, adjusting, bottling, labelling. Late at night they sat on the winery steps with the last of the blend and watched the stars crowd the sky.

"Can I ask you something?" said Gonzalo.

"Yes."

"Why are you so worried about the ship?"

"Because everyone says no to me," said Sofía. "I wanted to say yes."

"Green?" he said, quietly.

"Green," said Sofía. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – First Shipment.