Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Archer was checking the labels on bottles as they came off the line when Ezra appeared at the open barn doors, an insulated tote in each hand.
Archer raised his voice to be heard over the bottling machine. “Dinner break!”
“Ten to finish this run,” Daniela called back.
“We’ll set up,” Archer replied, then followed Ezra into the break room. “Thanks for bringing all this down.”
“Gave me a chance to get in the kitchen.” He shook his hips, a little happy dance, as he unloaded aluminum chafing dishes from one of the bags. “Those go into the fridge,” he said about the second bag Archer began unpacking.
Four more chafing dishes in addition to—Archer looked over his shoulder and counted—the four that Ezra had set on the table. “There are only six of us. Seven counting you.”
“Those are snacks for later.” He nodded toward Archer’s four. “You said cook for an all-nighter.”
Archer chuckled, grateful and amused all at the same time. The Rosins did not do halfway, and he loved them for it. Loved that they also took care of their team. “Thank you.” He put the last dish into the fridge and shut the door. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“It’s good for Noah to share the glory.” He threw a wink over his shoulder, then began pulling down glasses from the cabinet. “I take it you’re not going to James and Rocky’s tonight?”
“Meant to.” Sort of, not really, but also moot. “And then we had trouble with the bottler, and before that Pacchi called about the Cab Franc we were supposed to get from him—”
“Were supposed to?”
“Cutworms. Half his buds are gone.” Archer echoed Ezra’s sympathetic groan. “Dominique, down in Carneros, is gonna cut us a deal on her overage. We’ll have to designate the blend Sonoma County, not Sonoma Coast, but that’s not our biggest concern right now.”
Ezra, the second smartest person Archer knew behind Al, had already done the math. No doubt when Archer had called in the all-nighter SOS. “Seasonal workers were a no-show?”
“Seven of ’em.” He set a stack of plates at one end of the table. “I’d bet we’re up to ten by tomorrow.”
“The recent enforcement surge?” At Archer’s nod, Ezra raked a hand through his silver and copper curls. “Do you think they’re hiding or got picked up?”
“Don’t know. I spoke to each of our usual crew last month. Let them know this would be a sanctuary and that we’d do everything we could to protect them, but . . .”
Ezra grabbed a bottle of white out of the fridge, then sank into the nearest chair. “When is this going to end?”
Archer added utensils beside the plates, then lowered himself into the chair next to Ezra’s, feeling as weighted down in his soul as his friend had sounded. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Can we use our law enforcement contacts if anyone goes missing?”
“I already planned to ask Elton next time we talk.”
Except Archer couldn’t say when that would be, and he wouldn’t chance putting at-risk employees’ names in texts.
Which was all he’d had from Elton over the past six weeks.
A photo reel’s worth of the Ruby’s Other Farm magnet traveling the country, plus a ream’s worth of texted getting-to-know-you conversations.
What’s your favorite grape to grow?
Your least favorite?
What wine would you drink, what food would you eat for your last meal?
Audiobooks, yes or no? accompanied by a picture of the magnet being used as a bookmark in a paranormal gay romance novel a colleague had recommended.
Where would you travel if you could go anywhere? together with a picture of the magnet stuck on an airport departure gate sign.
Elton’s texts had turned decidedly more morbid that particular weekend.
The magnet by a fire and single glass of wine, asking Archer about his biggest regret, his worst day, a decision he wanted to do over.
“He the real reason you didn’t go to the party tonight?” Ezra asked, as if reading his mind. He slid a glass of wine in front of him. “Things getting serious with you two?”
“I think we’d both like more.” Archer held the glass of wine up to his nose, smelling the white blossom and pear notes of their estate arneis, his favorite wine they produced.
He sipped the chilled wine, remembering that winter morning six weeks ago that had been far from cold.
But that was six weeks ago—in a year that was flying by.
More than six months since Elton had wandered back into his life.
A life that was flying by. And every text, every photo, every question, made him like Elton more, which made wondering when he’d be back more difficult.
Made the partnership that Archer wanted seem further out of reach.
“But I don’t know how much more he can give, given his job, and I’m only getting older.
” Halfway to fifty-six already. “I saw what it was like for you and Al. How much you loved each other but how little time you spent together due to work. I like him a lot, can see myself loving him like you two did, but I can’t live like that.
Not at fifty-five. Not when I’ve only got time left for one shot at this. ”
“One, you’re fifty-five, not eighty-five.” Archer threw a balled-up napkin at him. Ezra laughed and batted it away, undeterred. “Two, have you told him any of that?”
“One,” Archer started, throwing the lawyerly counting back at him, “I’d prefer to have that convo in person, and two, that seems too heavy a convo for where we’re at.”
Ezra conceded the chicken-and-egg problem with wine speak. “Terroir or taste? But to your own point, do you have time to waste?” Fair question, and when Archer didn’t argue it, Ezra raised another couple. “Does he know you’re kinky? Is he okay with that?”
“Yes, to both.” They hadn’t said the words, hadn’t explicitly acknowledged the moment of shared past, of shared desire, but the implication had been clear the morning they’d been intimate.
But as sure as Archer was that they both wanted to act on those desires again, he couldn’t say with any certainty that they both could.
“But I imagine it’s also complicated by his job. ”
“There is always the private option.”
“Not sure if I’m ready for that yet, either.” While Ezra and Noah were happy to keep their kinks at home, Archer still enjoyed the Scene. He just wanted to enjoy it with a partner who didn’t need to put him in a designated box.
He moved to stand, to begin removing lids from dishes, but Ezra stopped him short, a hand on his forearm. “You need to talk to him, Archer.”
“I don’t even know when he’ll be back.”
“You know, there’s this device now called a telephone, old man.”
With his spare hand, Archer finished removing the lid, grabbed a smashed baby potato, and tossed that at his friend too.
Ezra snatched it out of the air and popped it into his mouth. No food went to waste around that man. And no opportunity for romantic reflection either, especially since he’d found love again with Noah. “How does it feel when he is here?”
Archer contemplated his answer as they finished removing the lids on the dishes.
The last one—a bright green asparagus and spring pea salad—reminded him of a feeling from his past that was surprisingly similar to how he felt about Elton.
“Like the first time I stepped into a vineyard. Right and hopeful, but apprehensive too, knowing the fragile future ahead of me.”
Ezra threw an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Good thing you’re the best winemaker I know.”