- prologue -

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Just to take the edge off.

But even the smallest choices can ripple in ways you'd never expect.

Making wine is like that. A million little decisions. And every deviation in the process can change the outcome. Change the taste.

Like with white grapes. An Alsatian Riesling, maybe, or Rkatsiteli from Georgia.

Press off the juice, toss the skins—and the result is what you might expect: crisp, tart, refreshing. Straightforward.

But just a few days of skin contact transforms it into something more complex. Wilder.

Unpredictable.

I should've known—one taste would never be enough.


Author's Note: Welcome to Skin Contact! This story is my love letter to Portland's restaurant culture. The food porn will be gratuitous. The wine descriptions self-indulgent. The sexual tension (hopefully) delicious. Chapter 1 coming in November.

Bon appetit!