While slapping mosquitoes on the deck of an Augusta winery this summer, we promised each other we'd come back after the first frost. The mosquitoes would be gone; the crisp air would draw us closer together. But like autumn leaves, we drifted apart. And then it got cold. And the Missouri grape harvest was, like our love, just a memory. The sort of memory that makes you drink more wine. So since you and the summer are gone, my darling, I'm grabbing $20... More >>>