46. CAL
CAL
A life of free Wine and a Lumberjack
A few weeks later, we arrived back at Rossler Flats, the place that had started to feel less like a retreat and more like a promise. The familiar sight of the rolling vineyards and the sprawling family estate brought a strange mix of calm and excitement. It was the first time since everything with my mother and Edmonton that I felt like we were standing still, not running.
“Home sweet home,” I murmured as Wade parked the truck, the engine rumbling to a stop.
He glanced over at me, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That sounds suspiciously like you’ve already made up your mind.”
I shrugged, grinning. “Well, it has better views than your bar, and I can’t argue with the wine.”
Over the next few days, life settled into a rhythm. Mornings began with coffee on the porch, watching the sunrise spread over the vineyard, painting the fields in gold and green. Kaine joined us often, his presence both steady and a little surreal. Getting to know my father was like peeling back the layers of an intricate story—full of surprises, humor, and moments that felt like looking in a mirror.
“So,” Kaine said one evening, as we sat around the fire pit with Wade’s parents and siblings, “when did you realize you were more of a bossy perfectionist than a skater?”
“Hey!” I protested, nearly spilling my wine as everyone laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m not bossy—I’m just highly organized.”
“That’s what all perfectionists say,” Wade teased, his arm slung over the back of my chair.
Kaine chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like your mum, actually. She could organize an event down to the color of the napkin rings. You’ve definitely inherited that talent.”
It was strange hearing him speak of her without bitterness, but there was a quiet understanding in his tone. We’d talked about her more than once—enough for me to realize that while her choices had hurt him deeply, he’d long since made his peace with it.
Evenings like that made the decision to stay easier. Wade and I spent hours walking the grounds, talking about what we wanted for the future. The idea of setting down roots here, surrounded by his family—and now mine—felt less like a compromise and more like a beginning.
“We could renovate the cabin,” Wade suggested one night as we lay sprawled on the couch, his hand idly playing with my hair. “Make it ours.”
“Add a few rooms?” I asked, my heart speeding up. “For, you know, future plans?”
His hand stilled, and I looked up to see him grinning. “Pretty boy, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“Well, you’re not getting any younger,” I teased, earning a playful nudge. “But yeah. Let’s do it. Let’s become foster parents.”
The weeks that followed were a blur of plans, blueprints, and more trips to the hardware store than I cared to count. Wade, William, and Wylie dove headfirst into the construction project, while I took charge of the design. “Interior designer,” I corrected anytime someone called me anything else. “I’m here to make it pretty.”
One morning, I stumbled onto the back porch, groaning at the sound of hammers and saws. “It’s like you’re building a skyscraper, not a cabin,” I complained, holding my coffee like a lifeline.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” William called from the ladder, grinning. “Glad you could join us.”
“Don’t mind him,” Wylie added, smirking as he handed Wade a beam.
“He’s just upset he has to pick curtain colors.”
“Excuse me,” I shot back, setting my coffee down with a flourish. “Those curtains are going to make or break this entire project. Show some respect.”
Wade laughed, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made my heart skip. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. Your curtain expertise is duly noted.”
As the extension took shape, so did our life here. The cabin would soon have three new rooms and an extra bathroom, perfectly designed for the family we hoped to welcome one day. Wade’s parents, my father Kaine, and even Wade’s nieces and nephews dropped by often, filling the space with warmth and laughter.
One afternoon, as the brothers wrapped up for the day, Wylie leaned against the porch railing, a sly grin on his face. “So, Wade, now that you’re adding rooms for kids, when are you adding a wedding to your to-do list?”
Wade groaned, shaking his head. “You just got married, Wylie. Give it a rest.”
“Oh, come on,” William added, joining in. “You’re the last Rossler standing. We’re just saying, it’s about time.”
I leaned into the doorway, watching Wade as he tried—and failed—to fend off their teasing. He caught my eye, and I raised an eyebrow, unable to hide my grin.
“Don’t look at me,” I called. “I’m just here for the curtains.”
The laughter that followed echoed across the vineyard, blending with the sounds of a life we were building—one that was chaotic, messy, and full of love. Rossler Flats wasn’t just a place to live; it was home. And as I watched Wade brush the sawdust off his hands and make his way toward me, I knew it always would be.***
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the vineyard in hues of amber and violet. Finally, after hours of hammering, sawing, and endless teasing from Wade’s brothers, they loaded their tools into the truck and drove off with a wave and a few more cheeky remarks. Silence descended, and for the first time all day, it was just us.
Wade stretched, his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders and revealing a sliver of his toned, dust-covered abdomen. I tried not to stare, but damn if the man didn’t make it impossible. My restraint snapped like a twig.
“You know,” I started, stepping toward him, my voice low and playful. “It’s been next to impossible to keep my hands off you all day. Watching you with all that… builder energy.”
“Builder energy?” Wade raised an eyebrow, turning toward me with a smirk. “That’s what’s got you all hot and bothered, huh? A few nails and some wood?”
I flushed but didn’t back down. “It’s not just the nails and wood,” I shot back, grinning wickedly. “It’s the way you look doing it. All sweaty and commanding, tossing those beams around like it’s nothing. You’re like some kind of—”
“Careful, pretty boy,” Wade interrupted, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave. “If you’re about to call me a lumberjack fantasy again, I might start to think you’ve got a one-track mind.”
“Oh, I’ve got a one-track mind, all right,” I quipped, reaching up to tug lightly on the front of his dusty shirt. “And it’s currently thinking about how good you’d look out of this.”
Wade chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, as his hands caught my hips, pulling me flush against him. “You’ve got a real mouth on you today,” he teased, his fingers tightening slightly. “Might have to do something about that.”
Before I could respond, his lips claimed mine, firm and unyielding, the kiss sending a shiver down my spine. His hand slid up my back, fingers threading through my hair as he deepened the kiss, his other hand cupping my jaw to hold me exactly where he wanted me.
I broke away, panting slightly, my hands fisting in his shirt. “You talk a big game,” I murmured, my voice thick with need. “But are you gonna make good on it, or just keep teasing me?”
Wade’s grin turned feral. “Oh, I’ll make good on it, pretty boy,” he said, spinning me effortlessly and pressing me against the porch railing. The cool wood beneath my palms was a sharp contrast to the heat of his body as he pressed against me from behind.
His lips trailed down the back of my neck, his teeth scraping lightly, making me arch into him. “You’ve been running your mouth all day,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. “Time to see if you can handle what you’ve been asking for.”
His hands slid down my sides, tugging at my shirt until it was over my head. My breath hitched as his fingers traced along my spine, his lips following, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. When his hands moved to the waistband of my jeans, he paused, leaning in to nip at my earlobe.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of promise.
“Wade,” I groaned, pressing back against him. “If you don’t—”
I didn’t get to finish the sentence because he made good on his promise. His hands gripped my hips as he pulled my jeans and briefs down in one fluid motion, his body covering mine. One hand slid lower, teasing me, while the other pressed against my chest, keeping me steady against the rail.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. His touch was rough and insistent, but there was a reverence to it, a tenderness that reminded me this wasn’t just about the heat of the moment.
Ever the military man, he was prepared taking a lube packet from the wallet in his back pocket. He did what he loved most—stretching and preparing me until my words were incoherent. When he finally took me, it was slow at first, deliberate, like he wanted me to feel every inch of him. But as my body arched and I moaned his name, he lost his restraint. His pace quickened, his hands gripping my hips with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through me. The rough wood of the railing bit into my palms, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was Wade—his strength, his heat, the way he filled me completely, body and soul.
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against my back as he kissed the side of my neck, his movements becoming erratic as we both neared the edge.
“Cal,” he murmured, my name a prayer on his lips. “I’ve got you. Always.”
His words sent me spiraling, and I cried out, my body shuddering against his as he followed me over the edge. We stayed like that for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around me, our breaths mingling in the cool evening air.
When he finally pulled back, he turned me around, his hands cradling my face as he kissed me softly. “You okay, pretty boy?” he asked, his forehead resting against mine.
I nodded, still catching my breath, a lazy smile spreading across my face. “Better than okay,” I whispered. “But you’re still on cleanup duty. This was your idea.”
Wade laughed, the sound warm and full of love, as he pulled me into his arms. “Deal,” he said. “But only if you promise to keep talking about my ‘builder energy.’ I kinda like it.”
“Mmm, I can do that, Jack. How about you be quick to clean up, I’ll start the shower— you know the rules. Also I think it could use a look at, Mr. Handy Man, you know for structural integrity.”I watched his eyes darken, he still semi hard cock twitch, the piercings catching the light.
“Run, now, Pretty boy.”