Seven Ben #2
David shook his head, smiling wistfully. “Thank you, but I’ve had plenty. God, the ’18 really was special, wasn’t it? Almost tasted like a Rutherford, with all that blueberry.”
Damn, David knew his stuff. Like, yeah, he was a master somm, so of course he knew it, but still.
“That’s what my dad said, too.” Ben chuckled. “He said we were doing Inglenook better than Inglenook, and he was waiting for Francis Ford Coppola to call and complain.”
“He sounds like a character. I didn’t get to meet him when I visited. I might’ve met your mom, though. Julie?”
“Judy,” Ben corrected. “Wow. Small world.”
“See? KC’s not so provincial after all.” His eyes twinkled. “Now, you want me to decant this?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
While David poured the wine into the swan-shaped decanter he’d been polishing, he asked, “So what else have you found in town, besides our humble establishment?”
“Not much yet,” Ben said. He was still getting settled.
There was one thing he’d been wondering, though… and something told him David would be a safe person to ask.
“Where’s all the queer life?”
David perked up.
“Well, there’s a couple gayborhoods… one on West 39th, sort of West Plaza–ish, the other around Hyde Park. But we’re all over, really. There’s even a queer kickball league, if you like to play. It’s super chill. My boyfriend and I are on a team. And our friend actually captains it.”
“Huh.” Ben had never played in a queer sports league of any kind, and he hadn’t played kickball since he was in, like, fifth grade. But that did sound kind of fun. “I might check that out.”
“Great.” David set aside the bottle, picked up the decanter, and gestured for one of the other servers to grab glasses. “Shall we get this to your table?”
“Sure. Thanks, David.”
After David poured the wine all around, he gave Ben one last smile and retreated. While Ben had been at the bar, their fries had come, and the smell had his stomach growling.
“These are amazing,” Ben said after stuffing a few into his mouth.
“Best in the city,” Ruta said, pouring ketchup all over hers.
Thomas tasted the wine, smacked his lips, and looked at Ben with eyes wide.
“Do I pass?”
“I think we might need to put you in charge of picking from now on. This is fantastic.”
“As long as I don’t have to pay every time,” Ben joked back.
Not that he couldn’t—he had savings, his parents would support him if he ever needed help, and the cost of living in Kansas City was way lower than it had been back in Oakland.
But still, he couldn’t go splurging on expensive Cabernet every day.
“We’ll see,” Thomas said with a laugh. “So, you ready for the meeting tomorrow?”
Ben bit his lip. The cellist he’d replaced had been on the planning committee for the Philharmonic’s annual charity ball, and so he was getting thrown into that as well.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. You sure someone else wouldn’t be better suited?”
He wasn’t trying to get out of work. He’d just legitimately never done anything like it before. What if he fucked it up?
Ruta leaned forward, nearly knocking over her wineglass before catching it. “Listen. There’s already an event planner. You basically just go and give your opinion on things. Oh, and make sure they don’t want the musicians to do anything outside our contract. Like play outside in the rain.”
“Wait, really?”
TJ gave a slow nod. “You’d be surprised what philanthropy types will do. Just remember, whatever you volunteer us for, you have to do, too.”
“Right.”
At the other end of the table, Connor leaned forward with his phone out. “Guys, guys. She finally answered.”
Connor was a white man in his thirties, with a square jaw and flat nose and the kind of intense freckles that Ben associated with farmers. He wouldn’t have looked out of place in overalls and a cowboy hat, rather than faded jeans and a KC Current sweatshirt.
“What does this even mean? Does she want to go on a date or not?”
Preeti took the phone and held it at arm’s length; she was a short Desi woman with a nose piercing, wavy black hair, rich brown skin, and her glasses stuck up in her hair. She finally slipped them over her eyes and looked at the phone properly.
Ben kept quiet, sipping his wine and eating his fries and laughing along. He was the last person on earth to offer dating advice, especially to a straight man. After all, his last relationship had imploded in spectacular fashion, and the last man he’d slept with had been an asshole.
David came by to check on them a couple times as they made their way through the wine, and even slipped Ben a list of places to check out in Kansas City: recommendations for barbecue, a record store, a chocolatier, museums and parks and the zoo.
He paused to ask Ruta about her daughter, and ask Thomas if his wife got some promotion she was aiming for, and even weighed in on Connor’s texting problem. Apparently he knew everyone.
Ben had liked his fellow musicians at the San Francisco Symphony, but they’d never gone out to wine bars where the staff all knew them.
They’d never traded dating stories or split french fries or bullied each other into buying wine for the table.
They’d been professionals, working together, getting along but never really becoming friends.
But this?
This was fun.
Moving to Kansas City might’ve been the best choice he ever made.