The Vineyard free porn video

It was in the massive white walls, track lighting, and spotless, glittering objects of Williams Sonoma that Henri’s world stopped.   

His eyes had caught on a crystal sconce perfect for the cozy, romantic eating area in the wine cellar of his family’s bed and breakfast.  He turned to survey the side of its rope-like motif when he heard two men murmuring to each other. They meandered up the little hallway between the bedroom area he was in and the dining area near the window.  

“…gonna buy me a few things, sugar Daddy?”

Henri glanced up and froze.  Averted his eyes to the wall, then the gleaming laminate floors.  The faint halo of the couple’s shadow crossed just in front of the square toe of his brown leather Kenneth Cole loafers.  A throaty laugh accompanied it.

“Let’s not get carried away.  But if you see a piece you like, we might be able to work something out.”  

He didn’t need a second glance.  Salt and pepper hair, dark brows, chiseled jaw, mouthwatering stubble.  Broad shoulders for his 5’10 frame and a body fit but easily overlooked in a gym of Hollywood wannabes.  

Understated but unmistakable.  

Clint Cohen. Son-in-law to the owners of the biggest supermarket chain in the northwest and one half of the couple that was to tour Henri’s B&B/winery this weekend.  The man’s wife, the owners’ daughter, was Colleen Rydell, who would decide during their visit this weekend if they would begin to carry Henri’s family’s wine in their stores.  

Impossible.  This just can’t be.  He took a shallow breath.

As he ran his finger inside his suddenly itchy collar, Henri glanced up.  Saw the couple near the window just as Cohen’s gaze met his own, those chocolate colored eyes making Henri’s stomach drop to his toes.  The man flashed him a smile, white and straight.

Perfect.  

Expensive.

Christ.  Henri felt sweat at the dead of his back.  Be discreet.  Be professional.

Managing a terse nod in response to the smile, he refocused on the exit.  Stepped into the gleaming walkway and followed it toward the door. It felt like spotlights beat down on him the closer he got to the couple.  Every step, his heart hammered harder. As if any moment Cohen would talk to him, making Henri memorable enough to bankrupt everything his family had worked toward for generations.

“Oh, stop!”  The younger man laughed, batting Cohen’s forearm.

Henri felt the other man’s eyes on him as he passed but didn’t look back.  Fought the urge to break into a sprint as he pushed through the glass door and stepped into the blinding afternoon light.

***

“What time are those people from Rydell’s arriving?”  Jabbing his shaking fingers onto the squares of gauze on his arm, Henri’s dad turned his droopy gaze to him.

Henri dropped the needles into the red container with a hollow thud.  Tried to look past the way age had gnarled his father’s eyes with tiny red vessels, replaced the white with a brownish tint.  This was the man who’d taken care of the vineyards his entire life, the man who’d give him everything Henri wanted if he could.  A hard ass, but really just a softie.

He cleared his throat.  “Any minute.”

“What?”  His dad leaned forward, fingering the white gauzy curtains back from the window.

Henri tried not to stare at the way his dad’s skin hung from his frame.  The thin white hair curling from the neck of his white undershirt. Wrinkles and sags, all the signs of an old man, a cliche that would never fit his stubborn, strong father.

“We should’ve skipped my treatment today,” his dad said.

“No, Dad.  We haven’t waited until the last minute.  We’re ready.” Henri bent down to tie the red biohazard bag.  “And we don’t skip your treatments. They keep you alive.”

“What’s alive?” his father grumbled.  

Henri straightened.  Sucked a deep breath through his nose and pumped Purell on his hands from the dispenser at the side of the bed.  Rubbing it in, he lifted his chin and leveled his gaze at his father. “Don’t start, Dad.”

“If your great-grandfather were alive….”

But Henri tuned his dad out.  A sleek black sedan slowed on the road at the entrance to the house.  Turned and nosed toward them, then ambled up the driveway pavers.

He exhaled.  Felt his shoulders tense as he moved to the window.

The car eased to a stop in front of the house.  

After a moment, the doors opened.  A man stepped out of the driver’s side.  Short, salt and peppered hair. Broad shoulders stretched out his powder blue collared shirt.  Pressed khakis.

Cohen.  Heat flamed Henri’s face.  

Chestnut brown hair, pin straight, was the first thing he saw from the passenger’s side.  Then a tiered, short sleeved white top. The woman stood, looking out over the sprawling vineyards.  A beat passed and she turned around. Surveyed the home and windows.

He felt like his heart could burst.

It’s not my place to tell her.  Just please, God. We need this account.

“What are you looking at?” his father asked.

Henri’s gaze traveled to the husband.  His shoulders, back, ass. Wondered if his lover had pushed inside or if those taut hips had thrust into the younger man’s tight knot.  He felt his cock grow.

Forget it.  Forget yesterday.  He focused on the wife.  Cleared his throat.

“They’re here.”

***

All Henri wanted to do was disappear.  

Two hours of showing the couple around the vineyards on the golf cart, then the distillery and the cellar.  Dinner followed in the arms of the sunset, the mountain’s hulking shadow reaching for them on the patio.

He bid the couple adieu until the next morning.  Left them in the care of Marguerite, the associate manager of the house.  She gave him an inquiring eyebrow, but was professional enough to refrain from verbalizing it in front of their guests.

Henri walked to the little house next door to check on his parents before he went to bed.   When he opened the door he saw his mother in the rocking chair next in the living room, reading the Bible under lamplight.  She looked over her glasses at him.

“Hey, baby.  Dad’s asleep.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to be awake,” he said, stepping back into the hallway and inching the door shut.

“Did you expect me to be dead?”

He froze, skin prickling as quiet soaked the air.  

When he remembered to breathe, he opened the door again.  

A smile floated upon her pressed lips.  She shut the book and leaned back in the chair to look at him.  The light beamed through her thinning hair, making the bald patches more prominent.  “In case I am next time, we need to talk. We’re overdue. Come in.”

He stepped inside, moving to the right, and shut the door.  Felt like the world was upside down.

She sighed with a wheeze.  “I’ll be blunt to save time.  Your father... well, he’s a prude and a hardass, Henri, and it’s high time I said it.  He’s a good man but he’s always been a bump on a log. Doesn’t know how to have fun. He let go for awhile, when we met, then doubled down when we had you.  Just scared to lose you is all. But we’re dying, baby.”

“I… Mom.”  No other words would come.

“Just… live a little.  Do things that scare you.  That’s what life is about. That’s what bravery is.”  She fingered open the battered Bible again, the gold edges flashing.  “Now, go on. Let your dying mother study up on God, before I have to meet him.”

A moment passed.  She didn’t look back up.

Unable to look away, he felt behind him for the doorknob.  Opened it and stepped out, grabbing it with two hands to pull it shut, then stared at the door.

A muffled sound tinkled through the door.

Did she just laugh?  

***

As Henri locked his parents’ door, his walkie talkie bleeped in his pants’ pocket.  In the soundless vineyard, it might as well have been a freight train. Fumbling with the wires, he managed to grab the earpiece tangled next to the walkie and hooked it around his ear, pushing the earbud inside.  

He took a shaky breath and looked out into the darkness.  Tilted his chin up at the vast sky and the thousands of twinkling stars that looked back in silent peace.  Closing his fingers around the bulky walkie talkie, he raised it to his lips.

“Go ahead.”

“Sorry to bother you, Sir.”  Marguerite’s precise, level voice.  “There has been a complaint about a light in the upstairs balcony being out.”

Colleen Rydell and her husband were the only guests.  

Henri felt his face flush.  “Are both guests still on the patio?”

“No, sir.  Mrs Rydell has retired to her room.”

“Thank you, Marguerite.  I’ll take care of it.” Stomach twisting, he snatched his earbud out and slipped it in his pants pocket with the walkie talkie.  As his hands drifted up, they found his red silk tie. Scissored it with his first two fingers and ran down its length.

He exhaled.

Correcting his slumped posture, he grabbed the hem of his suit jacket and tugged it down to straighten any wrinkles.  Then he walked up the grey stone sidewalk toward the guest house.

He recognized me.  Of course, he recognized me…

Maybe he doesn’t.  Maybe the light is really out.  

We need this account.  The gravity of the thought made his muscles relax, his vision focus.  I can do this.  Whatever it is, I can do this.  For all of us.

Just before he reached the wooden steps, he slowed.  Stopped and turned, gravel crackling under his feet, to see the river between the vineyards and the northern mountain.  Watched moonlight lick silver on the boulder’s breaks. Listened to the continuous rush of water, like traffic in a city.  

Nothing, nothing else.  

For generations, men in his family had seen this exact sight.

Love for the property swarmed his blood.  The land lived in his bones. Gathered strength in his heart.  

I will not fail you.

After a moment, he twisted away.  Marched up the wooden steps to the bigger house on the hill.  Stopped short of throwing open both French doors and pulled one.  Warm air rushed his face, reminding him of the homey atmosphere the bed and breakfast were supposed to provide.  

Shaking his head, he looked down at the threshold of the door.  Being possessed by passion is being possessed by fire.  It brings only ash. Be its creator, its guide, but not its tool.  

He let out a breath and stepped forth.  Crossed the inside dining area and looked up at the second section of stairs reigning over him.  Strode forth to ascend each, thighs burning, then headed to the sliding doors of the grand back porch.  

The outside area on the second floor was dark, barely illuminated by the light on the building surrounding it.  Henri felt his shoulders drop.  All that build up, and it wasn’t a ploy.

Opening the double doors, he stepped into the cool open air.  Reached into the light fixture. Tried to screw it in tighter, but the balcony remained dark.

“Do you really think I’d unscrew a lightbulb to get you out here alone?”

Cohen.  Henri closed his eyes, retracted his arm to his side.   This can’t be happening.

The other man chuckled.  Henri heard the doors shut.  He opened his eyes to see the milky shadow of the man walk to the edge of the balcony.  Propped his forearms on it and looked out into the vastness of the vineyards.

Following his gaze, Henri heard the gentle splash of the river’s little rapids between the property and the hazy outline of the mountain in the soft moonlight.  The night stole a moment from his breath, problems melting into the vast space of the world.

“I don’t know why anyone would want to go back to civilization when you have this.” Clint’s voice was lower, somehow.  Calm. Reverent.

He stared at the other man’s silhouette and the way the house lights glowed at his untucked blue shirt.  Made his khakis seem brighter than the rest of the world. This city-paced, cheating on his wife, emotion-detached man… if he understood the serenity of this place…

There’s more to him.

Henri felt the curve in his lips.  He took a moment to soak in the sound of the river’s soft dribble, the swirl of the wind, the house’s low hums.  Sounds even his grandparents surely heard as they stood on this very balcony.

“It’s akin to a secret, though discoverable at a whim.”  Henri walked to the edge and looked out. Moonlight iced the edges of the mountains.  

He felt Clint’s gaze.  Ignored it.

“Most of those in ‘civilization’ don’t want to venture this far out, but when they do they don’t want to return to their lives.  City life… it’s like wet newspaper—easily destroyed by a force out of your control. Here, we see our journey from conception. We understand the land, the water, and the sun.  Nurture our grapes to thrive and work hard to make the best wine in the region, beginning to end. We are grateful for our guests and those who enjoy our product but you’re right.  The city isn’t for us. This is home.”

Feeling like he’d said too much, Henri pressed his lips together.  Glanced to his right.

Clint sighed, rubbed the back of his neck before meeting Henri’s eyes.  “Why were you in the city yesterday?”

“E-excuse me?”

“You’re a ginger.  And you’re adorable.  It’s not like you didn’t catch my eye.  Were you following me for some reason?”

“No.”  The word felt impossibly short for how much he wanted it to say.  “We’ve been anticipating your visit, as I’m sure you’re aware. I will often go to the city to make sure we have the best for our guests.  Yesterday was no exception.”

Clint straightened, an inch taller than Henri.  A grin plastered on his face. “Except for when you saw me with someone you weren’t expecting to see, right?”  

“That… that’s none of my business.  

“You’re right.  Except I’m sure you judged me anyway, didn’t you?  I’m married, all that?”

“It’s not my place.”  The words felt like a ghost from his lips.  For some reason, his gaze kept getting drawn to Clint’s mouth and the space between them seemed to diminish.  Made it harder to breathe.

The other man nodded.  His smile softened as his eyes looked over Henri’s body.  “My wife knows I’m bi. Always has. One of the reasons I love her.”

Henri closed his mouth.  There was nothing of value to reply.  

A moment passed between them.  Something different in his eyes.

“I love her.”  Clint stepped back to the balcony and looked down at the vineyards.  “Sometimes I don’t know why I do what I do. I held back for a long, long time.  Then I thought, ‘Why?  Life is short.  Shouldn’t I explore this, not close the door?  It’s a part of me.’”

Henri followed his gaze and thought of his own parents.  Decades together, bickering over little things but bonded by their vows.  By their values, loyalty, and mutual appreciation. Two very different people, their lives magnified by each other.  She read trashy romances, his dad watched porn on his iPad. Imperfect. Human.

He let out a breath.  Thought about the connection he’d never had.  “We’re all attracted to others. But marriage is a bond.  A promise to yourself and someone else.”

“Have you ever been married?”  

“No.”

“Ever been bisexual?”

Swallowing hard, Henri gripped the iron rung of the balcony.  Sucked in a breath through his dry mouth, his dangerous truth a whisper away.  “No.”

“Ah.”  

Something in the lack of language made Henri’s dick harden.  Clint glanced at his mouth, the hooded eyes as effective as a deep kiss.  Henri closed his lips. Looked back at the valley before them and tried to think of something professional to say.

“You’re beautiful, you know.  Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Beautiful.  A powerful statement from someone like Clint.  Someone sexy, rich, cultured, confident. Someone who undoubtedly knew real beauty in his life.  

“You’re different.  In a refreshing way. You’re a romantic, but a realist, aren’t you?  And yet… Are you… a virgin?”

The more he prodded, the thicker Henri felt himself become.  “I’m sorry, Mr Cohen, but my personal life is inappropriate to discuss, as I am your host here.”

“Right.”  The vowel was longer, man smiling with the word.

Don’t look at him.

“Life is short, Henri.  Do you want to stay celibate forever?”  

“Mr Cohen…”

“Did you judge me yesterday or were you jealous?”  His words were sharp. Commanding.

Henri straightened.  Looked the man square in the eyes, even as his heart raced.  Clint faced him, his chest mere inches away. Heat blew off his body, sweat like condensation under Henri’s collar.  

“My apologies, Mr Cohen, but I’ll have to ask you to go back to your room.”

“Do I scare you, Mr Bianchi?  Are you afraid my sexuality might expose yours, or are you just attracted to me?”

The dew between them suddenly seemed uproarious.  Felt like he inhaled tension he couldn’t function through.  Every second hung on a precipice he’d never encountered, like a seductive life unlived on the edge of the stranger’s lips.    

“Mr Cohen—“  

Henri’s protest was engulfed by movement.  Clint’s face to his. Softness and warmth on his mouth.  Hands on his jaw. Hard dick pressed into his pelvis, slightly smaller than his own.  But God did Henri’s cock galvanize!

He leaned into the other man’s body.  His lips opened with the insistence of Clint’s, his tongue sparked by the existence of the other man’s, and he felt like he never knew hunger until this moment.  

But he broke away, sucking in dangerous air.  Took a step backward. “You and your wife are a guest in my home.”

“Yeah.”  Clint’s gaze was on his mouth, fingers stroking his jaw.  He stepped toward him, his strong cock pressing against Henri’s once again.  Hips flexed, the bulge in his pants stroking Henri’s own. “Your parents are probably around here too, oblivious to the fact that your dick is hard for a man.”

Henri felt his tenuous resolve crumble, the words an aphrodisiac.  Shame niggled somewhere inside him, but his body was practically on fire.

Clint’s hands traveled down his chest, grazing his aching nipples until they found purchase on his hips.  It was so alien, so debased. So wrong. He backed him up until Henri’s back bumped against the wall behind them, and suddenly everything in the world besides this man seemed to evaporate.  

Leaning forward, Clint’s lips grazed his own.  “Ever felt another man’s cock? Ever felt a man’s capable hands on yours, or his finger in your tight ass?  Or maybe even his dick, stretching out that little asshole more than you ever dreamed it could?”

“No.”  Henri’s voice broke.

“But you crave it, don’t you?  More than almost anything, you need to be someone’s bottom bitch, don’t you?”

The words were harsh, his voice was soft.  Henri swallowed, digesting the shock hearing of them and the fact that they made him press his hips into Clint’s in response.  

What am I doing?

“I’ve never been a first for anyone before.”  Clint’s hand trailed down Henri’s throat, making him swallow against his touch.  He tugged his tie loose, trailed his fingers down his chest. Rubbed his nipple, making Henri gasp, before he slid further south and grasped Henri’s cock.

The heat, the touch.  Unbearable. But when he squirmed it just made it worse.  

He heard himself moan.

Clint pressed his upper body to his, that hand stroking Henri’s dick over his pants.  “I’ll be good to you. No pressure… except my hands and mouth. I’m going to suck you off, Henri.  Going to let you cover my tongue with that classy jizz and maybe, just maybe, I’ll slip my finger in your ass while you do it.”

Henri cleared his dry throat.  Shook his head and opened his lips.

“No, no.”  Clint pulled back to look him in the eyes as he pressed his index finger to Henri’s mouth.  His other hand found Henri’s belt, unthreading it from his pants. “Don’t think. Just give yourself over to how right this feels.”

An arc of pleasure bloomed through Henri’s body from the nexus of his cock.  Clint’s finger broke his lips apart, making him gasp as the digit slid over his tongue.  

“Close your mouth around me.”  Clint’s breaths came quicker.

He abided.  

“God.”  Clint slowly pulled his finger out, Henri never letting up on him until his finger broke free.  “You are going to be fucking delicious.”

Married.  He’s married.

Clint shifted his weight, his magnetic gaze never breaking from Henri’s.  Then lowered, fingers prying through Henri’s gaping front zipper. They brushed his skin before curling at his underwear and pulling down quickly, exposing his buoyant cock.

“My, my,” Clint murmured.  He ran his tongue up Henri’s shaft and swallowed.  “With a dick this big, I should be the bottom bitch.”  

“You don’t have to—oh.”  The other man’s mouth closed around his dick.  Warmth. Wetness. Suction. Henri’s hands found Clint’s fine hair.  Mussed it as the man sucked up and down, each stroke bringing Henri further to the gates of bliss.

He felt his balls contract.  Dick like volcanic, galvanized steel.  

The other man’s eyes rolled back.  His mouth surged forward again, engulfing Henri’s cock, tongue beckoning his sperm until Henri felt his hips kick, knees buckle.  He leaned back into the stone wall for balance as both of his hands gripped Clint’s head.

Then he felt the finger in his ass.

“Oh!”

Cock kicking, body coiling and firing with every spurt, he was helpless to the talents of the more experienced man.  Every sexual desire he’d dreamt of blurred through his mind with each pump. The taboo, the fear, the elation of being in the throes of orgasm with another man.  

Henri sank back, gasping through his gaping mouth as he felt like he’d given his energy to the man on the ground before him.  His hands slipped off Mr Cohen’s head, arms like limp noodles against the rough wall as he stared into the dark vineyard he'd hoped the other man’s wife would save.

His next breath was cold.  What have I done?

He felt his pants pull tight at the waist, zip and button.  

“I know you’re new to this.  So that’s all I’m going to give you for now.”  Standing, Cohen leaned forward, until Henri felt his lips brush his ear.  “You have my number. When you’re ready, I can give you much, much more.”

Henri didn’t move.

***

Daylight crept over the mountains like a criminal.  

Henri’s feet crunched over the gravel sidewalk as he walked toward the big house again, wanting nothing more than to stay in his bed until the store representatives were back in the city.  But the vineyards, the winery, the employees, and all his ancestors weighed on his soul.

He took the steps slowly, feeling the burn creep into his thigh and gluteal muscles.  Looked at the patio on the edge of the big house from the corner of his eyes. Paused and turned his head toward it when he saw but one person sitting at the table.  Petite. Brunette, short bob. All in black.

Colleen Rydell.  

His heart took on guilt like a dirty sponge.

Swallowing, he forced himself to climb the last ten steps and strode toward her.  Envisioned himself to be regal and kind, the professional he strove to be.

“I trust you had a restful night.”  He clasped his hands behind his back, pasted a smile on his face.  

Her head bowed.  Finger snaked around the handle of the coffee mug and lifted it as she looked out over the vineyards.  

“Ma’am?”

“I…”  Her voice was so slight he could barely hear it over the river.  “I don’t know what to say.”

No.  No no no no no.  

The mountain ingested their secrets.

She motioned to the seat next to her, the empty ceramic mug and saucer.  “Have coffee with me.”

Henri pulled out the chair and sat.  Poured a cup from the carafe and lightened it with a dash of cream and sugar as if he had nothing to hide.  

“Your winery is a family business, like mine.  My great grandfather started our stores almost a hundred years ago.  By the time he retired, there were five of them in town. My grandfather didn’t back down from the price tag of the supermarket possibility.  He gambled, and it paid off. We had the highest grossing supermarket and grocery stores in the city and ventured into neighboring counties. My father brought us into different states.  You know what I want to do?”

He shook his head.  “What’s that?”

She glanced back at him, a smile pulling at her pale lips.  “Pull us back a bit. Don’t let us be the Walmarts of the world, make sure we have room for the smaller sellers.  Organic farms, everyone’s grandmother’s favorite teas.”

“Wine grown from Washington’s own backyard, from a family vineyard that’s been around for ages?”

Nodding, she lifted a shoulder.  “And one that may just be wiped out by the big bad corporations if we don’t reach out.”

“I … see.”  He looked out at the vineyard, unable to shake off her comment.  “Noble.”

“Something like that.”  She took a sip of coffee.  

“It’s… an approach we can appreciate, though we may not like the circumstances.  I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, well.”  Shaking her head, she put down her mug.  Pulled off her sunglasses and looked at him.  Brown eyes swollen. No makeup. “Forgive me. I don’t usually speak so rudely.  I’m hurt and lashed out by insulting your family’s business. You have a beautiful place here and truly, I’m jealous.  I’d love to get lost out here for awhile.”

“Ma’am?”

“Don’t call me ma’am.  Jesus. We’re the same age and my husband took advantage of you last night.  We should really be past the pleasantries.”

Sweat immediately soaked his brow.

She sat back, stared at the river.  “Misplaced anger. It’s not your fault he outed you, that he twisted your vulnerability into a turn on.  He’s good at sales. That’s why he heads up that side of our business. You’ve probably never told anyone in your life that you were attracted to men, but he knew.  He always knows.”

And just like that, she’d summed him up.  

Outed.  

Vulnerable.  

Gay.

Henri wrapped both hands around his mug.  Stared into the light brown mixture. Coffee.  Watered down with sweets but in the end, just coffee.

“He was diagnosed with leukemia a year ago.”

The words were foreign.  Wrong. He blinked. Raised his head and looked at her, but she faced the vineyards.  

She shook her head.  “We met in college. Not a lot of people knew he was bisexual, but I did.  I wasn’t stupid; we talked about it and brought in extra partners when we needed to. We addressed his needs.  But then… I don’t know. Cancer.”

“I’m so sorry.  I had no idea.”

“Don’t be sorry.”  She glanced back at him.  Lifted her mug and took a sip, looking at him over its brim.  “It’s chronic. They found a medication that seems to work and as long as he takes it everyday and continues to follow up with his oncologist like he’s supposed to, he’ll live a full life.”  

“It sounds so simple.”  

He thought of his mom.  Her good spirits, even when her face was pale and tired, her body thinning.  The devastation cancer and chemo wreaked on her body.

“After a few months of not being simple, that’s what they found.  But it’s changed him. I don’t know. I thought being here, in your beautiful home with this amazing scenery, where even cell phones don’t work… I thought it’d force us to communicate.  To find our way again. But you know what? He found another way to leave me. With you.”

“I apologize for the indiscretion, ma’am.  I’m mortified by what I allowed to happen.”

“He’s been sleeping around for awhile.  I haven’t wanted to believe it, but I can’t deny it now.  The marriage…” She pressed her eyes shut and rolled her head, stretching her neck in all angles.  “It’s time to call it what it is. It’s been over for a long time.”

Her voice broke on the last word, the definitive crack her demeanor.

Henri took a sip of coffee to fill the silence.  Put the mug back down and stared into it. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Like he’s dead.”

“No.”  He looked up, a match striking somewhere in his soul.  “Because you love him and he betrayed your trust and the promise he made to you.  Marriage should be more than that. He made that vow to you, and broke it. It’s a loss.”

She stared at him.  “Yeah.”

He thought of his parents.  How one day, he wanted that commitment.  How he may never have it.

“Look, let me put my cards on the table,” she said.  “We were always going to buy your product. It’s a unique taste.  You are sure to require we keep it at a certain temperature and in darker bottles and whatever else… we’re prepared to go along with most things.  I just bargained my way over here to try to save my marriage. Which failed. So, please, tell a girl something that’s none of her business.”

“What?”  Flustered, he didn’t know whether to be happy or trepidatious.  

“Why is a beautiful man like you still in the closet?  You want that happily ever after marriage, don’t you? Why not get what you want?”  

“I…”  He bit his lip.  Sat his mug on the table and leaned back.  Let her words settle in.

'We were always going to buy your product.’   

“You’re prepared to carry our wine in your stores?  Even now, after…”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay.  The only way I can answer your question is to do it frankly.”  Henri stood, in a daze. Walked to the edge of the patio and let the breeze caress his face like a thousand kisses of freedom until his soul felt light.  Almost cried.

Get ahold of yourself.

He turned back to her.  “You were in a marriage you knew was over.  Why didn’t you end it?”

“Fear.  Of what my family would think, or investors or vendors.  And to admit to the world that I’ve lost my best friend.”

“Do you know what scares me?  Losing my parents, who are my best friends.  Losing the land and the business that has defined my family for generations.  Losing investors and vendors. Who knows, maybe even a hate crime of some sort.”

She snorted a laugh at the same time her eyes filled with tears.  “You’re saying we’ve both been in the closet.”

The heaviness in his heart lightened, the sudden buoyancy making a laugh burst from his mouth.  He threw his hands out. “In a way, yes.”

“Jesus.”  She sighed.  Shaking her head, she looked out over the vineyard.  Then back at him. “Working is more than a full time job for me.  I don’t have a lot of friends and my husband is a whore.”

“My mom is dying.  Lung cancer. I’ve been helping my dad with dialysis for four years. My only friends and family are those that live and work here with me.”

She shrugged.  “I suppose we both need to get out more then, live a little.  Could you use a new friend?”

Live a little.  

‘Just… live a little.  Do things that scare you.  That’s what life is about. That’s what bravery is.’  His mom’s voice rang back in his memory.

“Do I have to keep calling you ma’am?”

“You better not.  I hate that. Colleen.  And by the way, you have a really nice cock.  Are you sure you’re really gay?”

The vulgarity from her perfectly mannered mouth struck him hard.  He side eyed her.

She sipped her coffee.  Raised an eyebrow.

Henri shook his head.

“Say it.”

“I’m gay.”

She raised her mug in salute.  “Good. Now we’re both out of the closet.”