Page 74 of The Difference Between

He cocks his head and smiles like that was clever before buttoning the single button at the collar of the shirt. The fabric splays open and only accentuates his bare chest and belly instead of hiding it. He looks like a roofied Amish man.

I could argue, but I know it won’t get me anywhere. And maybe one button is a start.

I kick my Louboutins off and put my feet in the thick grass, blades poking the soles and the space between every toe. “Harmonious enough?”

“That’s between you and the vines, little lady.”

Then, true to his word and with us sans shoes, Banyan leads me down the first row of vines, explaining as he works.

He removes some leaves and not others to prevent fungal disease. He snips shoots without fruit to redirect the energy. He lightens the vine’s load by getting rid of under-ripened or excessive bunches of fruit. Despite the overuse of sex analogies, he knows the grapes.

“Pruning is the foreplay.” He winks then swirls his hips. “Harvest is the big finish.”

We stop at the end of a row. “Are you dangerous?”

“Banyan a danger?” He laughs. “I’m a vegetarian. Buddhist. I live with the sole mission to do no harm.”

“Psychos can be vegetarian Buddhists,” I shoot back. “Can I trust you around people?”

“You’re kind of . . .” He rubs his crooked nose. “Intense. Like a—” He bares his teeth. “Beast in a cage.”

This man is worse than Sylvia.

“Answer the question.”

“Is this about the misunderstanding?”

“The arrest?”

“I was nude in my backyard,” he says.

“So?”

He waves his hands like white flags. “So I’m not dangerous. I’m a lover.”

That might be worse. That might be a PR nightmare. Or a lawsuit. “Why were you nude?”

“Air bath,” he explains. “Fresh air on the naked body refreshes the soul. Stimulates circulation.” He points the shears at me. “Ben Franklin did it.”

I don’t give a rat’s ass about Ben Franklin.

“How can you get arrested for being nude in your backyard?”

“Oh.” He drops his head back with a laugh. Far from loud, it matches his laid-back tone. “I lived in a van by the river. Private dwellings on public land is a grey area. This whole concept of land ownership.” His weird face contorts into a can you imagine? face. “Cops don’t get it.”

I saw my teeth across my bottom lip. He has a strand of colorful yarn tied around his neck—I’m sure that means something I don’t care about—but he knows his shit when it comes to the grapes.

“Where do you live now?”

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward Gavin’s shop. “Gav lets me park by the shop. Put a full hookup station in for me.”

Of course he did. Of course Gavin couldn’t finish the place for himself but made space for this lunatic.

“Does he charge you?”

He scoffs. “The Heater?”

Whatever that means.