Page 7 of Sigh of Relief

“North Carolina,” Ezra answered. “To visit some friends, and then Noah’s cooking at a charity event in Raleigh.”

“I can go,” Elton said, starting to stand. “I didn’t mean to⁠—”

Ezra laid a hand on his forearm. “Stay. Archer knows this place and the area better than any of us. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

Beneath the table, Archer’s knee bumped his and a bolt of heat seared through Elton. Burned hotter when the winemaker turned a devilish grin and playful wink on him. “I can handle it. Promise.”

Chapter Four

Elton stood on the ATV’s bench seat, soaking up the incredible view and enjoying another sip of the velvety estate red Archer had poured for him before they’d set out on the promised tour.

Archer had driven them from the main house, past the distillery and commercial winery building, through vineyard blocks, and up to the highest point on the property. Less than half the winery’s acreage was planted, according to Archer, but from this vista, all Elton could see were rows and rows of spindly stalks disappearing into the misty post-rain horizon.

“It’s gorgeous up here.”

“You NorCal people and your fog,” Archer muttered from behind the wheel.

“Mist today, not fog.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Smiling, Elton held the glass of wine to his chest, tapping it right over his heart. “Either way, gets me right here.” This calm, quiet beauty was the opposite of his daily reality; it was exactly why he came to wine country in the winter. Especially this winter, when his world was louder than it had ever been.

Also loud—Archer revving the ATV’s engine.

Elton tipped out of his peaceful bubble and into the roll bar, wine sloshing in the glass, nearly a direct hit to his shirt. “Hey!”

“Hold on,” Archer belatedly warned, brows waggling above the silver rims of his aviators.

“Before you hit the gas would’ve been nice.”

“Get down, then, before I hit it again.”

Laughing, Elton lowered onto the bench beside him, and they took off down the hill, winding along another gravel road through a mix of vineyard blocks and oak groves, this side of the property steeper and more wooded. As they rounded the last bend, the familiar medicinal smell of bay laurels tickled Elton’s nose. If he’d learned anything growing up in the Bay Area, those trees meant water was nearby. Soon enough, a weathered fence and small lake appeared, the water surrounded by the broad-leafed evergreens, and at the far end sat three buildings. Archer aimed the ATV down the narrow road toward them.

“What are those?” Elton asked, pointing at the structures.

“The original farm buildings.”

Unlike the smooth fieldstone walls and honey-colored wood of the residence, distillery, and commercial winery buildings on the other side of the property, the fieldstone at the base of these structures was rough and irregular, and the wood siding was dark and weathered, as if the buildings had emerged from the lake and grown right alongside the trees. “How old?”

“Several generations before the prior owners.”

They bumped along the uneven gravel, Elton admiring the cozy setting while finishing the rest of his wine, taking the last sip just as Archer swung the ATV in front of the largest of the three buildings. It was long and narrow, with a pitched roof and wide double doors inset every few feet along the exterior wall, like in a stable. “The barn?” he deduced.

They climbed out of the vehicle, and Archer led him toward the middle of the structure where the barn doors were open wide. “Guess you earned that FBI badge.”

Elton’s scoff morphed into a gasp when he stepped inside. The bones of the building were clearly old, but the insides were thoroughly modern. Engineered lumber and steel struts reinforced the structure, state-of-the-art machinery spoke to a sophisticated operation, and an elevated platform hinted at something special brewing in the attic. “This is not generations old.”

“Like I said, we renovated. We use this area for processing during harvest and for aging and bottling the port.” He gestured toward the line of small barrels along the back wall, then to the glassed-in areas on either side of the open space. “Offices on one side, kitchen and lounge area on the other, with two guest suites taking up the rest of the space behind the common area.”

“And up there?” Elton asked, pointing to the raised platform.

“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll show you,” Archer said with a wink before he disappeared back out the door.

Lingering inside, Elton pretended to be engrossed in the machinery while mentally replaying each of Archer’s winks, each of his smiles, each of his many grumbles from that afternoon. In the vineyard, it had been easier to stay focused on the stunning views and not on the stunning man beside him. But left alone with his thoughts, Elton couldn’t distract himself from the rugged winemaker and the buzz of flirtation between them.

Fuck, what was he doing? And what did he expect?