Author's Note: I'll admit this story is more of a self-indulgent tale than any of my other stories, because it's a great deal about wine and the wine making process. I realize this premise isn't every reader's cup of tea, so I won't be offended if you find it dull and choose to walk away. The thing is, I love everything about wine, so I decided to combine that with my love of all things Alex & Piper. If you've been meaning to learn more about the wine making process, you'll definitely appreciate this story as everything I've written about that process is accurate.

Big warning: Unlike my other work, this story is incomplete, and I'm posting the chapters having only written about 80% of it. I'm hoping that I get some positive feedback that encourages me to complete it sooner rather than later.

She'd always been a fan of tequila—margaritas, Palomas, matadors or just straight shots of Patron (earlier in life, the shots were mostly rot-gut stuff like Monarch or Jose Cuervo). Beer wasn't typically her thing, but on a sizzling summer day or while at a bar, cheering on a sports team she knew next to nothing about, she'd gladly suck down a pilsner or two. Gin was too floral, and vodka was masked by whatever juice or soda was mixed with it. She'd tasted her fair share of wine over the years—the boxed stuff when she was in college, generic red or white at weddings, and the occasional Chianti at Italian restaurants—but she hadn't appreciated the nuances of good wine until later in life.

Her friend, Polly, had arranged a wine dinner at Vinifera, a new Brooklyn Heights restaurant that had received raved reviews from the New York Times. They shared a six-course meal, each with its own wine pairing, and when Piper tasted the Cabernet Sauvignon with the New York strip, she was astonished at the elegance of the wine. It was like nothing she'd tasted before—a bold, viscous red with hints of vanilla, strawberry and oak. Piper hadn't wanted to move on to the next course; she would've gladly finished the bottle of Harlan Hurst cab on her own. She'd taken a picture of the label so she could find a bottle at the store but later learned that it was only distributed to restaurants.

She returned to Vinifera the next week to sip the bold red, and then four days after that, and finally, Piper found herself ponied up to the bar every other night, starting with a glass of the Harlan Hurst and allowing the bartender to introduce her to other interesting wines. She began researching wine on her own and even considered signing up for a wine sensory class at a community college.

"Do you have any other Harlan Hurst wines?" she asked after sipping a dry Alsatian Riesling.

Kent, the bartender and co-owner of Vinifera, peered high on a shelf. "Nothing here, but we might have something in the back."

Piper thanked the man as he shuffled into the back room and hoped he'd return with another bottle from the esteemed winery. She'd started her wine research by looking up Harlan Hurst on the Internet and discovering that the winemaker, Felix Whitaker, had been making Washington wines since the early 70s when the first Syrah grapes were planted in the eastern part of the state. He'd tooled around at several wineries until Harlan Hurst hired him in the mid-80s to run the ship at his label. Not only had Piper become fascinated by the winemaker, but she was also enamored by the grounds at the winery.

She'd seen hundreds of pictures of rolling hills covered with grapevines in magazines and books, but she'd never thought of Washington state as a wine-growing region—Washington, in her mind, was home to Seattle, and that was that. However, when Piper saw photos of the Harlan Hurst estate, she was blown away by the grounds and would put it against any Napa vineyard's grandeur and beauty. She'd also put their Cabernet Sauvignon against the more lauded California grape. What bothered Piper was that despite trying to find restaurants that served other varietals of Harlan Hurst, she'd come up empty handed.

"No luck back there." Kent shrugged. "Let me look something up for you." He typed a few phrases into the computer under the counter. "That's what I figured: Harlan Hurst only distributes their Cab in New York, no other wines."

"Why would they do that?"

He scratched his head. "Maybe their other wines aren't as good."

"I'd have a hard time believing that." She slid her empty glass towards him.

"You're sure they even make other wines?" He poured a glass of Gamay and set the bottle on the bar for Piper to read the label—something she'd done since she started frequenting Vinifera solo.

"They make a red blend, Merlot, Syrah, Riesling and Chardonnay—at least that's what it says on their website." She swirled the wine and took a big whiff. "I can already tell—this is going to be too light-bodied for my taste."

"Probably, but it's a nice red in the summer. Give it a shot." He flung a dish towel over his shoulder. "Have you ever thought of calling the winery?"

"No." She halted her movement before the glass reached her lips. "Why haven't I thought of that?"

"Because making a call is the last thing we consider—it's all texting and social media these days," Kent chuckled.

Piper set her glass on the bar and reached for her mobile phone. She scrolled through the website until finding a phone number. "Here's the number for the tasting room. Let's see if anyone answers."

After three rings, a woman picked up. "Harlan Hurst Winery, may I help you?"

"Yes, hello…" She looked up at Kent. "I'm calling because I live in Manhattan and love your Cabernet Sauvignon, but I can only buy it by the glass in restaurants and bars here. I'm sitting at a bar called Vinifera as we speak, where I was introduced to your wine, and I was wondering if you distribute your other wines in New York?"

"Oh, thank you." Judging from her gravelly voice, it sounded like the woman was older. "My husband took care of the national wine distribution before he passed, and I haven't gotten my brain around that part of the business quite yet."

"I'm sorry." Piper crumbled a napkin with her free hand. "I didn't mean to—"

"That's alright, dear," she said. "It's a good reminder that I need to tackle it sooner rather than later."

"I can only imagine that your other wines are as good as the Cab, so I'd like to think that a distributor would be willing to work with you." She gulped, hoping to get past the sensitive topic of the husband's death. "I'd love to get my hands on the Syrah."

"That's awfully kind of you," the woman replied. "Tell you what, why don't I take down your number, and if we're able to distribute more of our wines to New York in the future, I'll give you a ring."

She smiled into the phone. "That would be nice."

"You know, if you ever find yourself in Eastern Washington, you could spend some time at the winery," she offered. "Our inn has been completely renovated, and we'd certainly like to drum up more business from folks outside of the Pacific Northwest."

"I didn't know there was an inn." Piper raised her eyebrows, eager to learn more. "I'd love to visit."

"If you're on the homepage, it's the stone building on the center of the page with the spire in the middle," she said. "I know my grandson was having trouble with the reservation link a few weeks ago, but it should be fixed by now. It would be at the bottom of the homepage on the right."

"I'll check it out." Piper released her clutch on the napkin. "Thank you for talking with me."

"It's always nice talking to someone who appreciates our wine. What's your name, dear?"

"Piper Chapman." She gave the other woman her number. "What's yours?"

"Cecelia Hurst."

"Are you…was your husband Harlan?"

"Yes." She could hear the older woman smiling on the other end.

Piper grinned. "I wish I'd had the chance to meet him."

"I have the gift of people always remembering Harlan by his wines. That's more than most widows can say."

"It is." She lowered her eyes.

"If you ever make it out here, Piper, I'll make sure you get to know Harlan through the fields and the grapes."

"I'd really like that," she replied.

The call ended, and Piper relayed the full conversation to Kent until he excused himself when she started babbling about how she might get to Eastern Washington for harvest that Fall.

As she made her way home that evening, it dawned on her: she could take Polly there for her bachelorette party. Piper picked up her pace as she turned the corner and entered her apartment.

"Polly, are you home?" she called, tossing her purse aside.

Her roommate peeked around the corner, spatula in hand. "You were supposed to help me make soap tonight."

Piper glanced at her watch. "I lost track of time."

"Better late than never, I guess," Polly mumbled as she headed back into the kitchen that smelled like lemon and grapefruit.

She was on her roommate's heels. "I have the perfect plan for your bachelorette party."

Polly stirred the contents in a tall pot. "No stripers and no penis-shaped trinkets."

"I'm taking you to a winery!"

She stopped stirring and glanced at Piper. "I could get behind that."

"Good." Piper let out a long breath. "Now we just need to decide on a weekend and come up with the invitation list."

After spending almost the entire night making ten batches of soaps, Piper hit the bed hard, thoughts of visiting Harlan Hurst swirling in her head.

By mid-July the plans for Polly's bachelorette weekend had morphed into a four-night stay at the Harlan Hurst Inn during Crush in October. Although Piper kept the location secret, she let her friend in on a few of the festivities they'd partake in while they were away. Two other women had agreed to come along—Polly's 22-year-old cousin, Layla, and Camila, their mutual friend from college.

In the months leading up to their trip, Piper had read four oenological books, conducted bi-monthly tastings at Vinifera, and had stayed in touch with Cecelia Hurst about her upcoming visit.

As summer turned to Autumn, Piper learned that Felix Whitaker, the winemaker at Harlan Hurst, was planning to retire at the end of the year. Although she was sad to hear the news, it meant that she'd be coming home with cases of his prized wines after her trip. The loss would be potentially devastating to the winery, but Piper dared not bring it up to Cecelia, who was certainly aware of the situation.

"Who the fuck has ever been wine tasting in Eastern Washington?" Polly huffed. "Who even knew grapes grew here?"

"Washington is the second largest wine producer in the United States," Piper began, glancing at the screen on her iPad in the back seat of the rental car. "They have 14 AVAs and almost a thousand wineries."

"What's an AVA?" Layla asked from the front seat.

Piper tugged on a piece of red licorice. "American Viticultural Areas—the geographical wine grape growing regions in the United States."

"Are we going to have to listen to your 'fun wine facts' the whole time?" Polly's mood had been sour from the moment she learned they were headed some place other than California for her bachelorette party.

"I think they're super helpful," Layla offered with a smile.

Camila turned into a rest area. "Anyone else ready for a bathroom break?"

They filed out of the car, Piper stretching as she sucked in a deep breath of pine-scented air. She'd never been to Washington, but found the terrain and Autumn climate similar to that of Maine, where she'd spent quite a bit of time as a child.

Polly stood next to her, hands on her hips. "Did Napa ever cross your mind?"

Piper gave her a look. "If you don't enjoy Red Mountain, I promise to take you somewhere else before you and Pete tie the knot."

"I'll hold you to that." She lowered her sunglasses, and then followed the other women into the restroom.

"You love wine, Polly!" she called after her friend, and then mumbled to herself, "This will be worth it."

Piper endured jibes about Podunk Washington for the next two hours as they made their way to Red Mountain, but Polly's attitude changed for the better as the road narrowed and they drove through pastures of sheep and grapes. Piper was ecstatic about visiting all the wineries just east of Yakima and could hardly contain her excitement as they meandered to their destination.

Just as she'd imagined, rolling hills were dusted with red-tinted cheat grass and grapevines as far as the eye could see. Some of the grapes had been harvested already, but the ones that still hung low on branches looked thick and ready to burst. On top of one of those hills stood Harlan Hurst, and Piper's pulse quickened with every mile. Not only did she want the inn and winery to be spectacular for Polly's sake, she also wanted her expectations to be blown away after having set such a high bar for herself. If anything was not as she'd imagined, Piper would be disappointed.

Camila turned down a dirt road as Piper navigated from the back seat and pointed towards the top of the hill. "That's it."

Layla leaned forward as she gazed at the structure. "Wow."

Polly rolled down the window and took in the fresh air. "We're not in Manhattan anymore."

Camila drove another half-mile and parked in a visitor's space. "I feel like I'm in Italy."

There was a sign hanging on a post next to the small parking lot, indicating that they had arrived at Harlan Hurst Winery & Inn. The exterior was limestone, and there were distinct levels, each with a separate roof. A tall, wide tower with a balcony on the second floor stood at the eastern side of the estate, and the main level was framed by grapevines and maple trees whose leaves had already turned shades of red and gold.

"Welcome!" A young man with shaggy brown hair in Wranglers and a plaid shirt greeted them. "You must be the Chapman party."

"We are." She shook his hand. "I'm Piper, and this is our bachelorette, Polly."

She waved. "Hi."

"I'm Colton Hurst." He smiled, showing off his pearly whites.

Camila and Layla introduced themselves, and Piper could already sense that the women would battle for the young man's attention, though Layla appeared to be much closer in age.

"Can I grab your bags?"

Polly shoved her sunglasses on top of her head. "I'm assuming you work here."

"Oh, sorry, yeah." He grabbed two duffle bags and one rolling suitcase. "My grandfather is…was…Harlan Hurst."

Polly raised her eyebrows. "You're a little young to be running the place."

Piper shot her friend a look.

"I guess 21 is young." Colton began, walking towards the inn. "But I've got four younger sisters and brothers and have been helping out at the winery since I was old enough to walk." He stepped aside and allowed the women to enter the lobby before him. "I'll get my grandma to check you in, and then if you're up for it, give you a tour."

"Yes!" Camila and Layla replied a little too eagerly.

Ignoring the giggling women beside her, Piper soaked in the charming yet modern inn. There were four leather chairs surrounding a wine barrel table and a colossal fireplace that was begging to be lit. The slate floors and the stone walls made the space feel warm. It smelled like wine, which shouldn't have been a surprise to her, but it made her salivary glands work on overdrive as she thought about sipping their familiar Cab.

"Now, which one of you is Piper?"

She quickly turned around to see a smiling Cecelia Hurst. "I am."

The older woman reached for her. "I feel like we should hug."

"So nice to finally meet you." Piper released her. "These are my friends."

Cecelia greeted each of them with a handshake. "Welcome to our property."

"Excited to be here," Polly said with a more genuine smile than before.

She gave the women their keys—each having their own room—and handed them an itinerary of all the happenings at Harlan Hurst and the surrounding wineries throughout their stay. "My grandson will take you on a tour of the property if you're interested, and afterwards, I'll provide a light dinner on the back patio."

Piper glanced at her roommate, who smiled and replied, "Sounds good."

"I'll just follow and you can tell me who belongs to which bags," Colton said.

All the rooms were on the main floor except one. They all filtered into the first room, which happened to be Polly's, and ooh'd and aah'd over the soft, rustic décor. Even Polly had a wide smile on her face as she opened the curtains to see an unobstructed view of the vineyards that sloped down into a valley.

"This lotion smells delicious!" Camila opened two of the bath products. "Are all the rooms like this?"

"More or less," Colton replied.

Camila and Layla's rooms were also on the main level, so Piper ventured upstairs with Colton to her room.

"We couldn't all be on the same level?" She turned the key.

"I'm guessing my grandma would've put you all in the same wing if she could," he replied. "But all 12 rooms are booked pretty consistently through harvest."

Piper entered the room and her mouth hung open. Unlike the rooms on the main level, hers had vaulted ceilings, a stone fireplace in the corner, and a wine bottle chandelier hanging from the thick, wooden beams. If Piper had ever been in a fancy log cabin, this is what she'd imagine it would look like.

"I'm guessing this'll do."

"Yes." She glanced at Colton. "Yes, it will do just fine."

She handed him a $5 bill. "Thanks for carrying our bags."

"My pleasure. I'll see you downstairs in a bit."

"Oh, one more question." She walked over to the entryway. "Will I have the chance to meet Felix Whitaker?"

"Yeah, he's usually around in the mornings. I'll be sure to introduce you next time he's here." Colton shoved the money into his pocket. "See you in a few."

Piper shut the door and breathed in the sweet smell of charred wood and fresh linen. She walked over to see that the fireplace was a functioning one with a stack of wood next to it and a book of matches on top. She brought a small, splintered piece of wood to her nose and was treated to a more pronounced smell of cedar. Piper made a mental note to start a fire either later that night or one of the four they'd stay at the inn. She walked over to the window and opened the curtains more fully to see an even better view than Polly's of the multi-colored grapevines, skirting down the hillside. As she turned towards the bathroom, which featured an oversized tub without a wall so she'd have an unobstructed view outside, she noticed an envelope with her name on it propped against the wall.

Piper ripped it open and read the card:

Dear Piper,

Thank you for making all the arrangements to stay at our inn. I'm eager to show you and your friends the legacy that my husband left behind. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay.

Cecelia Hurst

She held the note to her chest and smiled, certain that she would enjoy her stay.

As she made her way downstairs, she heard the other women giggling and talking about how hot Colton was. She rolled her eyes, hoping that they wouldn't make asses of themselves during their stay.

"Ya'll ready for the tour?" Colton appeared with a bottle of wine tucked under one arm and four glasses in hand.

"I was beginning to wonder if this was really a winery," Polly replied, taking two of the glasses.

"We bottled this last week; it's not even on sale to the public yet." He poured the white wine in each glass. "It's a dry Riesling with less than 1% residual sugar, which you'll hear me refer to from here on out as RS." He passed the bottle around so that they could read the label, and then showed the women how to properly evaluate the wine.

Piper had studied enough about sensory evaluation to know what Colton was explaining, but she went along with it anyway for the sake of the group. On the drive up to Red Mountain, Camila and Layla had confessed that they'd never been wine tasting, and Polly had only been to a few casual tastings at wine bars in New York.

"Can we make a toast?" Layla asked.

They raised their glasses.

"To a wonderful weekend, celebrating Polly's upcoming nuptials," she said.

"And to drinking delicious wine with good friends," Camila finished.

"Cheers!" The women tapped glasses.

"Ready for the tour?" Colton clapped.

The women nodded and followed him to the main area of the lobby.

"We're standing in the original house that my great, great-grandparents built. That makes me the fifth generation of Hurst's." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Each generation added on to the original house, which was just two bedrooms, one bath. There have been four additions or renovations to the house, but the last one was by far the biggest." Colton walked towards the French doors on the West side of the house and swung them open, allowing the women to proceed.

Piper took in the stunning view, which was similar to the one from her room. There was another house about half a mile from the inn, and to the North, a large, stone structure that was almost the size of the inn itself.

"If you step a few feet back and look at the inn, you can see a slight variation in the masonry." He pointed out the oldest to newest parts of the building. "That whole section right there was added about 10 years ago when my grandparents decided to make their original home a fully functioning inn."

"Is that the wing our rooms are in?" Polly asked.

"Sure is." He nodded. "Wine tourism in Eastern Washington wasn't really a thing until then, and we've seen a steady increase in visitors as our region becomes more popular. My grandma could give you the numbers, but I think there's been something like a 400% increase in wine tourism over the past five years."

Piper sipped the Riesling and found it to be young, but still enjoyable.

"It wasn't until two years ago that my grandma urged my grandpa to invest a serious chunk of change into updating the rooms and all that frilly stuff inside that makes it attractive to wine drinkers who're willing to make the trek out here." He walked with them to the other side of the house. "We're going to talk a lot more about our grapes and the wine making process tomorrow, but if you have any questions you want to throw out there now, feel free."

Not that she needed to be invited to ask questions, but Piper plowed ahead. "When were the vines planted?"

"The Syrah and Chardonnay were planted in the early 70s, but my grandparents didn't bottle their first vintage until 1986." Colton went on to explain when the other varietals were planted on the estate and his family's role in growing and selling grapes to other larger wineries.

As he was talking, something, rather, someone, caught her eye. There was a woman with long black hair and a cowboy hat flopped on her upper back, a string around her neck holding it in place. She was as tall as the man across from her, who was holding a bundle of twine as the woman pulled and then cut it in small increments.

"Ready to see the barrel room?" Colton's question brought her attention back.

Piper whipped her head around as if she'd been caught staring. "Yeah…Sure." As they made their way to the front of the house, she looked back at the woman, who lifted her head and caught Piper's eye. Before she was able to take a better look, they'd already turned the corner, putting the woman out of view.

The barrel room was exquisite and quickly took Piper's mind off the other woman. It was in the basement of the inn and designed to look like a cave. There was one long wall line with used barrels, while the other was lined with bottles. A dining room table with seating for at least 14 people split the room in half.

"This is spectacular," Polly announced. "Will we be able to have dinner down here?"

"On your last night." He nodded. "It's kind of our send off to guests."

Layla and Camila took pictures with their phones and demanded that they take a few group photos.

At the end of the tour, the women were escorted to the covered patio that looked like something straight out of a magazine. Long, wooden beams formed a vaulted ceiling with antler chandeliers over a rectangular table. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace and six tall, white candles flickering on the mantle. Once again, the women commented on the opulence of the place, which made Piper happy. So far, it was everything she'd hoped it would be.

Although Colton wasn't supposed to join them for dinner, Camila and Layla insisted that he stay. Polly didn't mind and seemed perfectly content, sipping her third glass of wine and eating the golden beet salad with toasted walnuts. Cecelia invited the women to stay on the patio for as long as they wanted, indicating that other guests might meander out there after they returned for the night. There were at least 10 bottles of wine for the taking, and Cecelia explained that the wine was on the honor system—all they needed to do was add up the number of glasses or bottles they consumed, and their rooms would be charged accordingly.

"I think I'm going to enjoy this glass of wine from my bathtub," Piper announced, standing and stretching. It had been a very long day for all of them, and she could sense that they all wanted someone to pull the plug.

"Yeah, seems like we'll have a busy day tomorrow," Polly offered.

As they said their goodbyes to Colton, Layla hanging all over him and Camila giving her the eye, the dark haired woman Piper had seen earlier that day walked by. Her hat was in one hand and a longneck in the other. She took a swig of beer as she turned her head towards the patio.

Piper swallowed hard as she got a better look at the bespectacled woman, and before she had a chance to wave or even smile, she was gone. "Who was that?" She blinked twice, eyes still focused in the distance.

"Who?" Colton asked, unhooking Layla's arm from around his waist.

Piper swiveled her head and looked at him. "The woman who just walked by."

"Sorry, didn't see her. Might've been one of our other guests." He shrugged. "Ya'll sleep well in those comfy beds."

The women said good night to each other as they retreated to their rooms, but Piper was hung up on the woman she'd seen twice that day. She was determined to find out who she was the next morning, but until then, she would enjoy a soak in the oversized tub and try not to fall asleep.