Those who know me best are aware of two undeniable facts. I can’t do math or find anything on a map.
So, way back in early summer (which feels like decades ago), when Miranda MacLeod asked me to accompany her to a vineyard in New Hampshire, I thought she’d lost her mind. To me, New Hampshire and vineyards don’t exist on the same plane.
During the entire car ride, I was convinced the destination would simply be a wineshop, not an actual place where grapes are grown, picked, and then magically turned into delicious vino.
When we pulled into the parking lot, Miranda pointed to a small fence with scraggly grapevines.
They weren’t convincing. How could anyone get a bottle of wine out of those?
I continued to gloat but did try being a good sport.
At no time did I say, “I told you so, sucker!”
But then Miranda told me to turn around. Low and behold, there were more grapevines. Rows and rows of them. I skirted around a building, and guess what. There were even more.
Instead of apologizing (something I’m loathe to do, even if the need arises more than I’d like), I opted to buy us two flights of wine samples. What else is one supposed to do on a vineyard?
As it turned out, there was a tour of the operation, but the only available time slots were after we polished off the samples, and since I wasn’t the driver, I had a lot more than Miranda.
By the time the tour started, I was tipsy, and instead of concentrating on what the woman said, I kept trying to get a photo of a cute bunny. I never quite managed but not for lack of trying.
Luckily, this research trip was for Accidental Honeymoon, Miranda’s latest release, and I didn’t need to remember any of the details. Sadly, the bunny doesn’t make an appearance in the story. Miranda doesn’t actually remember the critter since she was taking notes like a true professional, not trying to bribe a rabbit with a grape to get one decent photo.
Also, it wasn’t the last vineyard we visited together, because Miranda never holds my idiocy against me.
Sidenote: My skills with wooing a rabbit are right on par with getting a woman’s attention. The bunny sat on its hind quarters, gave me what I’m convinced was the rabbit version of the middle finger, and then ran for the hills.
Back to Accidental Honeymoon, I have to admit Miranda’s book is damn good, and hopefully she’ll still invite me on more research trips. Fingers crossed her next story involves a gin distillery, because this year is driving me to drink.