Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“How’s our visitor?”
Archer sank into his office chair and glanced across the barn to the empty lounge area, imagining the emptier guest suite behind it. “Gone.”
“Gone?” Ezra squawked from the phone screen propped on the charging stand. “What did you do?”
Archer scoffed to match his friend’s dramatics. “Why do you assume it was me?”
Silence.
“Okay, fair,” he conceded. Ezra knew as well as anyone that Archer was an acquired taste, but Elton seemed perfectly fine with his prickly flavor. “But this wasn’t my fault. He got called back to work. I don’t think it’s gonna be a good week for him.”
Elton hadn’t said a word the entire ride home from the restaurant, his focus on the executive orders he’d been scrolling through on his phone.
By the time they’d made it back to the barn, he’d been vibrating with anger.
Archer had suggested he wait until morning to leave and gotten glared daggers in response—the first time he’d really seen Agent Moore.
Archer had barely had time to make him another to-go coffee before Elton was peeling out of the gravel lot. He hoped he’d made it back to San Francisco safely. Had been sorely tempted to check the guest logs for his contact info but had restrained himself, barely.
“Was it a good couple days for him?” Ezra asked, hauling Archer back to the present.
“I put him to work.”
“How’d you do that?”
The leer in Ezra’s voice, the mischief sparkling in his eyes, made Archer laugh. “In the vineyard, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Yours went there too.”
Well, now that he’d mentioned it, Archer’s mind happily rewound to yesterday morning when he’d opened the door to long denim-cased legs, a charming smile, and stolen coffee, to later that morning when Venezuelan slang had easily rolled off Elton’s tongue, his words and laughter full of kindness and camaraderie for Miguel and Daniela, to yesterday evening when his snug Henley had shown off every defined muscle of his upper body, to the heat that had radiated off his arm when he’d stretched it behind Archer.
Claiming him.
That memory alone was enough to warm his cheeks.
Giving him away.
Ezra Mm-hmm-ed around a knowing smile.
“Shut it,” Archer grumbled, then deflected before Ezra could lead him farther down the path of mooning embarrassment. “How’s it going there?”
“Good to visit friends in Hanover.” His lips were still upturned, but the smile no longer reached his eyes.
There was a wariness there that Archer couldn’t remember ever seeing in Ezra’s expression or hearing in his voice when talking about the town the winery’s restaurant was named after.
Hanover was where he and Noah had reconnected several years back and where another of Ezra’s close friends lived.
“But?”
“A few too many yellow flags and leftover red and white signs.”
“Even there?” In a college town that played host to students nine months of the year and beach tourists the other three?
“Even here.”
That same brick from last night jostled around Archer’s gut again, heavier now, his protective instincts on high alert.
Yes, Ezra had been a corporate shark most of his life, yes, he’d survived a heart attack, yes, he’d survived just fine in New York City before moving west, and yes, he had Noah there in North Carolina with him too, but Ezra was as close to family as Archer had, and Ezra was all warm and squishy at his core, even more so these days.
And that squishy inside meant Ezra was thinking about more than just himself too, same as Archer had been, especially after last night.
And again this morning when Miguel and Daniela had swung by the office with a plateful of breakfast arepas.
“We need to talk when you get back about how to protect our people here.”
How to protect themselves too, as queer people, but they were most obviously white men with citizenship, connections, and money. They weren’t the most vulnerable population, at least not here in California.
“Noah and I were talking today about the same thing.” Ezra’s gaze sharpened, the shark swimming to the surface. “Already called Al. She and CC are looking into things. We’ll sort it when we’re back.”
“Stay safe while you’re there.”
“You too.” Ezra blew him a kiss, then ended the call, Archer’s screen going dark before the picture he’d snapped from the upper block the other day reappeared on-screen, his new wallpaper.
A moment after that, a text from Ezra popped up: In case you want to make sure he got home okay, together with Elton’s contact card.
Archer rolled his eyes. His best friend was sticky sweet all right—and too perceptive for his own good.
Archer grabbed his phone off the charger. He typed a dozen versions of how’s it going, each seeming inadequate and wholly unnecessary. Circumstances were different between his job and Elton’s, but he’d just been discussing with Ezra the need to protect their immigrant workers.
Anyone with an ounce of empathy knew how it was going—bad.
He saved Elton’s contact card, created a new message, and attached the photo he’d made his wallpaper. Sent it to Elton along with a message, the coping mechanism his life’s work among the vines had taught him. Remember to breathe.