Chapter 6
Chapter Six
They were near where Archer had stopped the ATV yesterday, on the sunny side of the slope among the higher altitude vines.
Pruning shears in hand, Elton stood beside Archer, who was untangling long, woody canes that grew from the crown of the grape trunk in front of them. “We’re gonna cane prune these blocks.”
“They don’t have the cordons,” Elton said, putting to use more of the vocabulary he’d learned that morning when spur pruning the lower-elevation vines.
“Ten cuidado,” Miguel said from a row over. He and his sister, Daniela, had met them at the barn that morning and ridden out with them. “Si te apuras mucho, va a terminar convenciéndote de que trabajes aquí.”
Elton laughed. He wouldn’t mind being recruited to work for Archer, and not just because Archer was hotter than anyone he reported to at Justice. “Sería mejor que mi jefe actual.”
“?Tú crees?” Daniela said.
Between shit talk and sports talk, she and Miguel had kept Elton in stitches all morning.
Archer, meanwhile, had done his grumpy best to keep them on track. “Váyanse al carajo,” the taskmaster grumbled even as he fought a smile.
If Elton hadn’t been charmed by Archer Scott already, today’s shy smiles and well-timed jabs would’ve done the trick. Not to mention his patience while teaching him to spur prune earlier—and now as he waited to teach him something else new.
Elton schooled his features but not his flirtation. “De acuerdo, jefe. A ver, dime qué hago.”
Archer bobbled his shears and blood rushed to his cheeks, the blush attractive as hell.
Elton was tempted to tease some more, but Miguel and Daniela were pulling ahead on their row. They’d had a sort of competition going all day, and Elton did not like to lose. He wouldn’t be the reason he and Archer fell behind. “You said we were ‘cane pruning’ these?”
Archer nodded. “Because of their age and the higher elevation.” He continued to explain how cane pruning enhanced air circulation and light penetration, reduced the risk of disease, and with these varietals, produced better fruit.
“So, what we’re gonna do is leave two canes.
” He selected two out of the several canes growing from the trunk in front of them and laid them along the wire lines that ran with each row. “Then we cut the rest.”
Elton appreciated the confidence but . . . “I’m not gonna be the one who picks the wrong canes.”
Archer chuckled. “I’ve got that part. You just cut the rest like this.”
He snipped the excess canes, showing Elton exactly where and how and explaining the why too. Making sure he understood. Elton repeated it on the next vine and more easily on each one after that until he and Archer were moving as fast as Daniela and Miguel a row over.
“Miguel’s only partially joking,” Archer said as they moved on to their third row. “You seem like a natural out here.”
“It’s nothing like this, but my parents always grew vegetables in our backyard. Taking care of the plants was part of growing up.”
“They local still?”
He shook his head. “Retired to Arizona a few years back, but they still own the house in Piedmont. Rent it for a mint.”
“I bet. So you grew up in the East Bay, and then . . .”
“Strayed all the way to Stanford for college.”
“You daredevil,” Archer teased.
“Was foolish in my youth,” Elton said. “Wanted less fog.” He waited for Archer to finish laughing, then asked, “What about you? You grew up in LA and then . . .”
“Davis for school, then landed in Lompoc until Ezra lured me away.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“At a party.” The smile that spread across Archer’s face was pure fondness. “He strutted over to me in red lace panties and told me his wife wanted to order us around for a night.”
It was Elton’s turn to bobble his shears, the scenario melting his brain. Not so much the idea of Ezra in red lace panties, though admittedly hot, but that Archer had been receptive to orders. And enjoyed it, judging by his rosy cheeks and glazed-over gaze, lost in the memory.
“Good night?” Elton asked.
He righted his gaze, the hazel warm and without an ounce of shame. “One of the best.”
Elton mentally traced over yesterday’s Maybe now, darkening the ink, the possibility solidifying. Every new tidbit he learned about Archer made that wild hair Elton had followed to find Archer after all these years not so wild after all.
“How about you?” Archer asked. “Anyone special?”
“Not since my divorce.”
“I’m so—”
“Don’t.” Condolences were everyone’s first instinct and sorely misplaced in his case.
He didn’t deserve them; only his ex did.
“Tanya moved home to Georgia, remarried, and has the life she always deserved.” The life he hadn’t been able to give her.
The decisions he’d made, the parts of himself he’d chosen to hide, the sacrifices they’d made for his career, were wrong to ask of her in the first place and increasingly felt pointless.
Like he was going to lose what he thought was important, regardless.
Like he’d maybe had his priorities completely wrong.
Maybe now . . .
Archer had moved on to the next vine, giving him the space he’d needed to wade through his regrets.
Elton caught up with him as he was laying out the two reserve canes, coaxing them to breathe.
He was talking to the vine—Elton had seen and heard him do it several other times today—but this time, Elton also inhaled, then let some of his regrets go on the breath out.
“When we prune the vines this time of year,” Archer said, “we say they sigh with relief. They don’t have to work so hard for a spell.”
“Just them or you too?”
Hazel eyes lifted to his and the understanding, the empathy in them, nearly sent Elton to his knees. “All of us.”