by Elle Keaton
“Morning,” Zach said.
“Hey boss,” Bennett replied. “What’s the plan today?”
Zach ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He was hot, but Bennett was hotter.
“Only a quarter crew today. But I’ve been watching the weather and they’re predicting a rain over the weekend. I’ve pulled out all the stops to get a full crew here ASAP so we can get the first grapes off the field.”
“I think the cab grapes can handle being on the vine for a little longer, even a week, but we need to get the Chardonnay and Sémillon grapes in,” Bennett commented.
Grapes were so fickle, a rainstorm or an unexpected change in temperature and the crop could be lost. The Brix, so carefully monitored, could change in a matter of days.
“Alright then, what are we waiting around for? As Zach always says, ‘the grapes aren’t going to pick themselves,’” Wyatt quipped.
Zach always made sure his crew was fed. A food truck trundled in at eleven and the crew swarmed it, hungry for the tacos and sopa. There was fresh lemonade and sparkling water too. Zach’s boyfriend Jeff drove out from town to say hi, but apparently he wasn’t allowed near any actual wine-making equipment.
“Jeff’s a numbers guy,” Zach said, after kissing Jeff in front of everyone. Jeff blushed but it was obvious by the way he leaned into Zach that he loved the attention.
Jeff had brought Jura, Zach’s yellow lab, along with him. Before Jeff arrived on the scene, Jura’d spent all his time with Zach, hanging out at the vineyard or winery, but ever since Jeff entered the picture, Jura split his time between his humans. Jeff joked that the dog thought neither of them could be trusted on their own.
Jura trotted over to where Wyatt was sitting at the picnic table next to Bennett (he couldn’t help it; the guy had his own Wyatt-specific gravity) and began sniffing his work boots.
Wyatt looked down. “He probably smells Wicket—Oh, shit! Wicket.”
“Who, or what, is Wicket?” Jeff asked with a frown.
Wyatt quickly explained how he’d found Wicket by the side of the road and asked Bennett to take care of him for a few days, wisely not mentioning he’d stayed at Bennett’s the night before, “Until we find him a home.”
“I think ‘ask’ is stretching things a bit. Wyatt showed up yesterday afternoon with this absolutely disgusting furball and demanded I do my part to save him. You would’ve thought he—the dog, not Wyatt,” Bennett clarified, “—had narrowly escaped Storm Troopers.”
“Regardless,” Wyatt broke in, “one of us needs to go let him out and love on him a bit—he’s just a baby.”
Bennett sighed and shuffled around. Lifting his ass up from the wooden bench so he could dig into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the keys to his truck and held them out to Wyatt. “You think you can manage the Chevy?”
Wyatt snatched them from his palm. “You are such an ass. I’ll be back in a few.”
Six
Bennett
From across the gravel drive Zach was staring at Bennett, eyes wide, as if he’d suddenly grown a second head.
“What?” Bennett asked.
“You just let Wyatt drive off with your precious.”
Jeff was gaping at him too, along with a couple of the other workers.
“So what?”
He knew what; he never let anyone drive his truck.
Zach’s eyes narrowed. Instead of answering, he crossed over to the wooden picnic table where Bennett sat, a small mound of waxed paper crumpled up on his paper plate. Jura sniffed around under the table, looking for scraps.
“Let’s go check the containers.” Zach said.
“They’re fine, I checked them when we got here.” Bennett purposefully ignored Zach’s tone.
Zach shot him the hairy eyeball again, so Bennett huffed out a sigh and extricated himself from the picnic table.
Inside the storage barn was cool and shady compared to outside in the sunshine, where it’d been in the high 90s and rising when last he’d checked the temps. All the extra barrels and random equipment stored inside had been pushed to the walls to accommodate the containers waiting for the grapes needing to be sorted before they left for the winery.
Zach turned to face him, demanding, “Are you sleeping with Wyatt?”
What was this? An inquisition?
And why would Zach leap from Bennett giving his truck’s keys to Wyatt to Bennett sleeping with Wyatt? And, even if the answer was a resounding yes, it had only been one time. Last night. Or this morning, but that seemed like splitting hairs.
Hell, he hadn’t even had time to process what they’d done. Bennet scuffed at the ground with the toe of his boot. He didn’t know how to answer this question—or why Zach seemed upset about it.
“Look.” Zach had his hands on his hips now, and a half pissed-off expression on his face. “Normally I wouldn’t interfere. Wyatt’s old enough, you’re old enough… but Bennett—Wyatt is into you. Seriously into you and has been since he first came to work for me. Wyatt has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve met. He would literally and happily give his last dollar to you if he thought you needed it. He’s been trying to get you to look at him for years. And you, generally, just treat him like a little brother. What gives?”
Bennett stared at Zach for a minute, trying to decide how to answer and what Zach was actually asking him. Narrowing his eyes at his employer he asked, “Are you questioning… my intentions?”
“Buddy,” Zach replied, “I wasn’t even 100 percent sure you swung our way. You keep things close to your chest, too close if you ask me. I don’t want you using a man I consider a good friend as an experiment.”
God, there was a fucking reason Bennett hated talking about shit. It was hard and painful and all too often he couldn’t find the right words. But here, in the relative quiet of the barn with dust motes floating down from the rafters, maybe he’d give talking a try.
And even though he wanted to say them, the words still seemed to get caught in his throat and he had to force them out.
“It’s not an experiment. I’m gay, I’ve always been gay.”
Something is his tone had Zach’s expression softening; he nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I guess I’m not surprised. I suspected. But since I’ve never hidden my sexuality, I thought you’d feel comfortable around me if you were gay, are gay.”
Bennett let out a sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Things are usually way less complicated than we think, just saying. Humans have a way of building stuff up in our heads until we can’t see over the pile of shit.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Is it your parents?”
Bennett nodded. “And other stuff.”
“Look, for what it’s worth, coming from me, I’ve always thought Wyatt would be good for you—but it’s been like three years?”
“I’m a slow mover?” Bennet replied. “Kind of glacial pace, I guess. He stayed over last night, one thing kind of led to another.” His pace had gone from glacial to tsunami.
He was about to explain further but at that moment the shed’s door burst open and Wyatt stormed in—or, since Bennett had his back to the door, that’s what he thought happened. Turning, he saw Wyatt standing there with Wicket in his arms, and he was furious. But his anger wasn’t directed at Bennett, it was toward Zach.
“Zach, I would very much appreciate it if you would remove your nose from Bennett’s and my business. I am perfectly able to take care of myself and communicate with him. If you’ve messed up years of groundwork, I’ll… I’ll quit!”
Wicket let out a sharp bark, squirmed, and jumped out of Wyatt’s grasp to race over to Bennett, whining for his attention.
Suppressing a smile at Wyatt’s protectiveness, Bennett leaned down to pet the squirming pup and receive happy licks in return. He glanced back up at Zach who was holding his palms out in surrender.
“I don’t think I’ve done any lasting harm. And with that”— Zach held both han
ds out from his body in a placating motion and moved toward the now open door—“I’m headed back to work. I’ll see you two in a few minutes.” Zach ducked through the opening and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Bennett and Wyatt alone.
Now that Zach had left, Wyatt’s expression changed from fierce to unsure.
“Uh…” he started.
Bennett closed the distance between them, stopping Wyatt’s words with a finger across his lips.
“You don’t have to apologize. I really appreciate you racing in here to protect me from evil Zach.”
Wyatt’s dark eyes were still wary.
“But I have to know. Did my truck arrive back in one piece?”
A wide grin spread across Wyatt’s handsome face and he barked out a laugh. “Only a couple dings.”
Bennett couldn’t resist, he let his hand slip around the back of Wyatt’s neck. Wyatt’s eyes widened in expectation, full of hope and want. Licking his lips, Bennett pulled Wyatt closer.
Their lips touched and Wyatt’s breath mingled with his own. Almost immediately, Bennett was so hard for Wyatt he ached. Wyatt’s mouth opened, plush, hot, and inviting him in for more. Bennett’s tongue swept inside, tangling with Wyatt’s, chasing the addictive taste—a bit like tacos but also cola, the barest hint of coffee, and Wyatt’s own special flavor—the flavor Bennett was beginning to crave.
Wyatt groaned and pressed his body against Bennett’s, Bennett could feel Wyatt’s cock against his hip, and it ramped him up even more.
Someone banged a fist on the door. Zach’s deep voice penetrated Bennett’s haze of lust.
“Harvest isn’t going to wait for the two of you to get your rocks off, the grapes aren’t picking them damn selves.”
“Damn,” he muttered against Wyatt’s lips.
Wyatt pulled away. “We need to get back to work.”
“How come you’re the one being logical?” Bennett asked as he adjusted himself in his jeans.
Grinning, Wyatt answered, “I do not want Zach to give us crap for the rest of our days. It’s going to be bad enough today.”
It seemed like once Wyatt was in Bennett’s house, in his bed, the world was a better place. Harvest went well, the rains held off. No one got hurt or sick, even the fruit flies didn’t seem as bad as past seasons. Wyatt still had shifts at Demeter’s, so once or twice a week he left the vineyard early to shower and change and then, like clockwork, he was back at Bennett’s after closing. He’d strip down and slide in between the sheets where Bennett waited. Wyatt’s scent was enough to make Bennett’s dick hard. And that was taken care of almost every night, too.
The Saturday after harvest began, the two of them took a few hours to take Wicket to the vet, where he was declared fine and given several shots. Wicket was not impressed. Then the three of them piled back into Bennett’s truck and headed back home.
Wyatt started bringing Wicket’s crate to the vineyard so they didn’t leave him cooped up all day. After a week or so of that, Wyatt arrived home one night with a leash, one end of which was wiggle-proof. When Jeff and Jura arrived at lunch time, Wyatt clipped Wicket to the patient Labrador.
“There, dog sitter.”
Bennett was skeptical. He was sure the two dogs were going to get tangled up and instead of working, he’d be spending his time untangling and trying to figure out where the hell they were. Wicket was only a puppy; the vet had thought he was about four months old.
Amazingly, Wyatt’s solution worked. Wicket quickly learned to stick by the older dog’s side, and since Jura never went anywhere that Jeff or Zach weren’t, Wicket was safe. When it was too hot, they lolled in the shade together. Jura seemed to actually like the ridiculous puppy and when he arrived with Jeff, he would immediately go find his partner in crime.
It wouldn’t last, Bennett knew. There was no way Wyatt was going to stick around with a communication-challenged boyfriend. But it felt right, so Bennett didn’t say anything about Wyatt still being at his house long after Wicket was crate-trained, long after the posters they’d put up around town were ignored and then faded into obscurity by the harsh sun.
Bennett worried about Wyatt’s mom. He worried that he was keeping Wyatt from spending time with her. He hadn’t met her yet, but Wyatt’s voice was full of affection and love when he talked about her.
Wyatt assured Bennett that Mariah Reeser did not need him hanging around all the time. She had a tight-knit group of friends who visited her, brought her food, and sat with her if she was having a bad day. And Wyatt visited her every day he could manage; she was on a new medication that seemed to be making a difference.
Bennett didn’t know how Wyatt did it, how he managed to work eighteen-hour days, sometimes longer, and still be this cheerful, thoughtful guy who lit up Bennett’s world.
The early fall days bled into late November. Zach’s goal, the goal of all the valley’s winemakers, was to have the grapes in by the Thanksgiving holiday. For once Bennett wasn’t looking forward to the end of harvest because it meant Wyatt, and Wicket, would be leaving. Why would they stay? Sure, it looked like much of Wyatt’s closet had migrated to Bennett’s house, co-mingling with his clothes in the laundry basket, but that was merely convenience. Harvest would end, Thanksgiving would arrive, and Wyatt would leave.
With the winter barrel-tasting coming up right after the holiday, Bennett already knew Wyatt would have full-time shifts at Demeter’s as the multitudes of wine tasters rolled into town from all over the country wanting a first taste of whatever barrels the wineries were tapping for the first time. Zach already had orders for several hundred cases of Caesura wine, and he and Jeff would be swamped with pouring tastes and selling even more.
The thought was depressing. Bennett was depressed. Life After Wyatt would be difficult. Even if Zach was right and Wyatt had been “into” him for years, he was bound to have realized the truth about Bennett in the last six weeks—whatever Wyatt had been attracted to was a mirage. He’d come to his senses.
Then, the Thursday before Thanksgiving, Bennett’s mother called. Bennett hadn’t talked to his parents all summer; he’d completely put the holiday and anything Meyer family related out of his mind.
Wyatt had a shift that night at Demeter’s, so Bennett was on his own. He was tossing a miniature tennis ball across the living room, trying to tire out Wicket. Spoiler: it wasn’t working. When his phone buzzed, he didn’t check the screen, just answered on the assumption it was Wyatt, or maybe Zach.
“Bennett, your brother will be home Saturday. We’ll have the family dinner Sunday evening; we expect you to join us.” She never said ”hello” or asked how he was doing, as if she felt she was doing him a favor by calling at all.
He could hear clinking sounds and soft chatter in the background and wondered where his parents were—at home, or more likely, eating dinner out. Nancy Meyer didn’t cook and neither did Bennett’s father.
Wicket brought the little ball back to Bennett. When Bennett didn’t take it, he dropped it on the floor and watched it roll under the couch.
Taking a deep breath, Bennett said, “Hi, Mom. How have you been?”
“You’d know how your father and I have been if you bothered to keep in touch.”
“The phone lines go both ways, Mom.”
He didn’t know why he was antagonizing her; it would only make the Sunday dinner even more excruciating. And then there was Thanksgiving to dread.
“Your brother calls once a week, sometimes more.”
Ah, yes, Elliot, Bennett’s younger brother. The perfect son, the one who didn’t hate college, hadn’t dropped out, didn’t argue with their parents about what program he should focus on. Didn’t show up back in Hollyridge after only two years at college, having failed most of his classes.
His brother also wasn’t gay, as far as Bennett knew. Elliot, who could’ve gone to the exclusive West Coast Ivy League college in Hollyridge but was offered a place at an even more exclusive Ivy-of-the-West college and was now in his la
st year. Bennett and Elliot didn’t talk much, not ever actually, not since long before Bennett left and came back. He’d heard from his mother that Elliot was applying to grad school at the UW. Great, another thing for her to crow about and hold over his head.
“Dinner will be at six, don’t be late.”
Click.
Seven
Wyatt
“So,” Jaime began, her bright eyes sparkling, “how’s it going with lover boy?”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. Jaime seemed to think she was responsible for Wyatt and Bennett getting together. Wyatt was willing to concede she’d hurried the pace, but he would have broken through Bennett’s defenses, eventually. And Wyatt had a sneaking suspicion he hadn’t fully destroyed them just yet.
Harvest had been insanely busy; the crew put in long days and Wyatt and Bennett fell into bed every night too tired for much more than a blow job. Way too tired for any of the talking Wyatt knew they needed to do. They’d gone from Bennett ignoring him or treating him like a little brother to incredible sex on a daily basis, but he feared it ended there.
“Good, I think,” he replied.
Jaime cocked her head, asking, “You think?”
Wyatt leaned against the tasting bar. He was tired, exhausted actually, but the wage and tips he earned from these shifts at Demeter’s went to help pay for the meds his mom needed that weren’t covered by her insurance.
“He’s a quiet guy, hard to read. And this past week he’s been quieter than usual.”
“Well, you’re both working hard,” she mused.
“I don’t think that’s it.” Wyatt let out a sigh. “It’s a different level of quiet. I keep think he’s going to tell me I can’t stay but then… he doesn’t.”
“Hmm. So, you guys haven’t made everything official yet?”
Wyatt laughed, “Hah, no. I jumped his bones and basically haven’t left yet. Plus, Wicket.”
“But he hasn’t asked you to leave?” she confirmed.