The vineyard is a dream.

Rolling green hills. Sunset sinking behind the grapes. Soft music drifting through the open-air pavilion.

Everyone looks elegant. Relaxed. Definitely more knowledgeable about wine than you.

But Jennifer Morrison… She fits in like she was sculpted for this place.

White blouse, sleeves rolled, hair shining in the fading light, swirling her glass like she’s judging the fate of the universe.

You walk up beside her with your sample of “Berry Breeze #7” — the sweetest, most neon-colored wine on the entire table.

She glances at your glass.

Her eyebrows climb.

“Oh,” she says slowly, “you chose that one.”

You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she says, trying not to smile, “I don’t know if I should tease you… or call for help.”

You take a sip, just to spite her. “It’s good!”

She watches you closely. “Does it taste like wine? Or like something a toddler would pick if they could drink legally?”

You snort. “Okay, wow, harsh critic.”

“Sweetheart,” she says, leaning in with mock seriousness, “that wine has the same sugar content as soda. Maybe more.”

You shrug. “I like what I like.”

Jennifer grins, shaking her head. “I can respect that. Wrong as it may be.”