“It smells scrumptious in here,” she said.

Another corridor brought them to a back door that opened onto a patio beneath a green arbor. Covered in thick, tangled vines, it was a cozy space with tiny white lights strung overhead. A long dinner table beneath a floral tablecloth held countless platters of food, vases of fresh flowers, and candles that burned in old straw-covered Chianti bottles.

“Anton, you’re late!” a man shouted in good spirits as he turned in his chair. “And who is this lovely creature you have brought with you this evening? Welcome.”

An older woman slid her chair back and stood. “I’ll get another plate,” she said before disappearing into the house.

Mr. Clark began the introductions. “Allow me to present Lillian Bell, our new American tour guide. Lillian, this is Domenico Guardini, the vineyard foreman, and that was his wife, Caterina. She’ll be back in a moment. You know Matteo, and this is Francesco. He’s a Renaissance man. He does everything for me.”

Francesco held his hand over his heart. “With pleasure, Anton.”

Caterina returned with a plate and utensils, which she laid out while Matteo leaped up to fetch another chair.

Lillian took a seat at the table. “It was very nice of Mr. Clark to invite me.”

“Lillian, please. You must call me Anton,” he said.

“I see you brought wine,” Domenico interrupted with delight, rising from his chair to investigate the labels. “Meraviglioso, Anton. Finally. Let’s enjoy it, shall we?” He turned and winked discreetly at his wife.

Lillian suspected they had been discussing, in private, the wine that had been locked away in the secret Maurizio room for decades—bottles no one was permitted to appreciate.

“Everyone, eat,” Caterina said, sitting back down and passing a large platter of antipasto to Lillian. “But save room for the roast duck,” she quietly added, leaning close. “It’s my special recipe.”

“I could smell it cooking when I came in,” Lillian replied, her mouth watering. “It smelled delicious, and this looks unbelievable. Thank you so much for having me.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Domenico said, raising a glass to her.

Lillian helped herself to an array of crostini—mini toasts with various toppings like bacon with caramelized onions and ricotta with fresh pesto sprinkled with red pepper flakes.

“What a lovely table you’ve laid out,” Lillian said to Caterina. “Is this a special occasion?”

Caterina laughed. “Every night with good friends is a special occasion.”

Anton, who was seated at the head of the table, poured himself some wine. “Lillian and I were just talking about that very thing earlier.” He spoke to her directly. “And you asked why I prefer Italy over my home country these days. I’m not sure if I ever gave you an adequate answer, but this is precisely why. Tuscans love to celebrate.” He turned to Caterina. “You have a food festival for everything, isn’t that right?”

She laughed. “Sì, we like to have fun, and what is more fun than enjoying delicious food and wine under the light of the moon at the end of a long day?”

“Cheers to that,” Anton said, raising his glass.

By this time, Mr. Guardini had already poured another glass of wine for Lillian, so she raised it and joined in the toast, then helped herself to a few more of the delicious crostini.

Next came a massive bowl of pasta—tagliatelle with fresh mushroom sauce—which was passed around the table until it was empty. Vigorous conversation and laughter filled the night, and no one was in a hurry to finish anything. Everyone at the table behaved like family toward Anton, as if they had known him forever, and they welcomed Lillian into the fold with questions about her life in America, her family, and her husband.

“You must bring him for dinner tomorrow,” Caterina said. “It’s never any trouble to set out an extra plate or two. He would be most welcome.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell him.”

As Lillian sipped her wine and devoured the flavorful pasta, she was astonished by the hospitality of everyone she had met at the winery so far. There was a delightful sense of joy in the daily routine of waking in the morning, working in the vineyards, then taking time at lunch to enjoy a delicious meal with a small amount of wine followed by espresso. Everyone seemed especially happy to go back to work after their long and leisurely riposo, and she was completely, unequivocally enchanted.

It was nearly eleven when Matteo pushed back his chair to say good night. Caterina began to clear the table, and Lillian stood to help. She and Caterina spent some time in the kitchen tidying up, until Caterina ushered her out because she had an early-morning shift at the hotel reception desk.

When Lillian returned to the candlelit arbor, Anton was standing and saying good night to Francesco, who turned and said good night to Lillian before entering the villa.

“Does he live here?” she asked.

“He has an apartment on the ground floor.”

“And the Guardinis?” she asked, curious.

“They live in a smaller villa on the property.” He turned and pointed in a southerly direction. “It’s just down the hill, about a five-minute walk. It’s surrounded by wild roses and fig trees.”

“That sounds charming,” Lillian replied.

“It is. And they have three very friendly cats.”

His description made her wish she could see the place for herself, but it was long past time for her to say good night, so she looked away. “I should probably be going.”

Anton removed his hands from his pockets. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I can find my way.”

“I’m sure you can, but it’s a beautiful night, and I could use a bit of exercise after two helpings of Caterina’s chocolate dessert. Indulge me, if you will.”

She laughed. “All right.”

Lillian waited while he went into the kitchen to fetch a flashlight, then followed him down the stone path and around the side of the villa to the driveway and main gate. He opened it with the keypad, and they passed through. It closed automatically behind them.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” she said. “The food was incredible.”

“It’s the least I could do after being so heavy handed in the tasting room. Do you feel better now?”

“Much better. Although I didn’t feel bad before. I felt quite good, actually. I was just hungry.”

He smiled and looked down at the ground as he walked. “I hope your husband won’t feel left out when you get home. He’d be welcome to join us tomorrow or any other night.”

“I appreciate that. But it’s not as if we didn’t try to invite him. I let the phone ring forever.”

They walked at a leisurely pace down the dirt lane between two rows of Italian cypresses. Not a single breath of wind moved the humid summer air, and Lillian marveled at the pine-scented tranquility of the Tuscan countryside.

“Earlier today,” she said, “when I asked why you preferred Italy to London, you told me it was a long story, and you suggested we open a few bottles of wine before we talked about it. But at dinner, you brushed it off. You said you liked it here because Tuscans have more fun.” She glanced up at him. “But I feel like there must be more to it than that.”