Page 5 of Sigh of Relief

“Them, yes. Me . . .” His features pinched, but only for a blink-and-miss-it second. “I’m in DC more than I like these days.”

“But San Francisco’s home?”

“Bay Area born and bred. You?”

“LA born and bred.” Elton wrinkled his nose, and Archer couldn’t catch the needling that fell from his lips. “Go Dodgers.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Elton said with a dramatic roll of his eyes that made Archer laugh. “Definitely don’t say that to any of my lot.”

“You all seem tight.”

“Could say the same about you RH folks.”

“Family,” Archer said, smiling fondly.

Elton returned the same. “Family.”

As if on cue, a brogue-laced “Hey, El!” boomed down the hallway. “You in there?”

“Coming, Talley,” he called back before offering his hand to Archer once more. “It was nice to meet you, Archer Scott, even if you are a Dodgers fan.”

His parting wink knocked Archer’s world off its axis again. Freezing him in place and stopping him from following his fantasy out the door. But it didn’t stop Archer from noticing what was missing when Elton pushed the door open with his left hand.

There was no longer a ring on his fantasy man’s finger.

Chapter Three

January 2025

Elton parked his SUV and closed his eyes, listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the Defender’s roof. Imagined it washing away the stress of the past few months, at least temporarily.

Wine country in winter had always been good for that.

Growing up, his family had rarely ventured farther than the amusement park in Vallejo. It wasn’t until his ex had insisted they spend his twenty-first birthday in Sonoma that he’d visited this time of year.

He’d been a January regular ever since.

Sure, the wild mustard in spring was beautiful, the vegetable bins brimming over in summer were impressive, and the inescapable smell of fermenting wine in the fall was one of a kind, but nothing and none of those other times beat drippy, deserted winter wine country in Elton’s book.

Especially this year when the last thing he wanted was to be reminded of reality, of the coming upheaval he still wasn’t sure how to navigate. He needed to escape and recharge, to get some clarity before developing a plan to survive the next four years.

He opened his eyes and stared out the windshield at the sprawling stone residence he’d first visited last fall. He’d considered staying someplace else, but he hadn’t been able to shake La Montagna Nebbiosa from his head.

Or its silver fox winemaker.

The front door swung open, and a different silver fox appeared. Umbrella held high, Ezra Rosin splashed through the parking lot puddles to meet Elton by his car. “Assistant Director Moore. Good to see you again.”

Blue eyes bright, the former venture capitalist radiated warmth and hospitality. Elton could see why he’d been one of the best dealmakers in New York. Ezra would be the sort to win you over with a flirtatious smile and fool you into giving everything away. Elton knew more than a few politicians with the same superpower.

But he wasn’t thinking about them this week.

“Please, just Elton,” he said, shaking Ezra’s offered hand. “I’m off duty.”

“Come in and relax, then. We’ll come back for your bags when the rain lets up.” They hustled inside, just beating another downpour. Ezra dumped the umbrella in a bucket by the door and hung his jacket on a corner coat rack next to two others. “Excellent timing. Noah’s putting the final touches on lunch.”

A waft of harissa-tinged goodness punctuated Ezra’s words, and Elton’s stomach gave an interested grumble. Warm and spicy would be perfect on a cold, wet day, but he didn’t want to impose. “I can come back⁠—”

“Little secret,” Ezra whispered conspiratorially. “My husband doesn’t know how to cook for only two.”