Step by step, window by window, Kurt witnessed a dizzying array of glittery sameness, all destined for rejection.

The gilded glass grapes? Nope.

The tiny decorative wine bottles? Absolutely not.

The copper corkscrews? A bit different, perhaps, but they wouldnt pass the Blaine test.

It stunned Kurt to learn that Rhapsody had never been decorated for the holidays. Blaine Anderson, artisan winemaker and resident Grinch, had never bothered to put up a tree, and couldnt fathom a reason why he should string lights that only he and the dog would see. And even now that he was married, he had proven himself a hard sell for holiday cheer.

A vineyard-themed tree was a natural, Kurt had reasoned, and strands of white lights in the vines closest to the residence would set it off beautifully. But Blaine had been adamant: "If youre going to go out and buy Christmas decorations, please for gods sake dont turn our home into a winery gift shop." 

Yet every store on the Sonoma Square offered exactly that: ornaments that were more vacation souvenir than holiday bauble. The selections on the Napa side were no different, with the exception of the inflated price tags.

"This is hopeless," Kurt muttered, drawing an end to a fruitless afternoon of strolling the sunny shopping district.

"Theres always Target," Santana said, her eyebrows arched with wicked inference. "You can buy your balls there."

He shot her a sideways glance, caught her crooked smile and narrowed his eyes just enough to say, Im on to you, Santana Lopez, and youre a pain in the ass, but I kind of love you anyway.

"Yeah, thats not happening, is it?" she laughed, wrapping her arm around his elbow. "Then how about you buy me a drink, and you can tell me all about your husbands sexual quirks."

Kurt stopped dead in his tracks, turned his head and shot Santana a glare.

"What? A girl cant be curious?"

Kurt took a breath, shutting his eyes momentarily.

"Why do I tolerate you?"

"Because you love me. Im the yin to your yang, Hummel, your breath of deliciously polluted city air in the middle of the bean patch."

He began walking again, a slight smile cresting his face, steering her toward the Girl and the Fig, their favorite watering hole.

The room was half full of stragglers from lunch, and Santana snagged the corner couch in the bar, waving the bartender over with a flourish.

"This must be a day for good dish if you two are tucked away back here," said Patty, giving Kurt a hug. "Will it be wine or wine?" 

"Not wine," Kurt said. "Mojito."

"Mojito? You?"  As tender of the restaurant's bar and keeper of secrets, Patty knew Kurt's poison, and it wasn't rum laced with lime and mint.

"Its warm out and you can only drink so much Syrah," Kurt said. Santana nodded, the universal sign for "Make it two."

"You know, itd be nice to add some new labels to the wine list," Patty said, stalling. "Maybe like that wine of yours that Blaine refuses to sell."

"Appoggiatura," Kurt mumbled, catching Santanas attention.

"Yeah, the one no one can pronounce. You tell your man to change its name and sell us a few cases, okay?"

"You betcha," he said, nodding slowly, to no one in particular. What Santana, and Patty, and the dozens of spirits distributors who had reached out to Blaine after hearing rumors of a new wine, a vintage that might even surpass the celebrated Sotto Voce, was that there was no way Blaine would market that wine. Because selling Appoggiatura would be like cutting off a corner of his heart.

Patty left to make their cocktails, and Kurt shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"He still wont sell it?"

"Nope."

"Didnt he make enough?"

"It was a small run, but that would just drive up the price. Hes got enough of it to sell, if he wanted."

"What gives?" Santana said. "Ive had it. Its good shit. It needs to be entered in your Taste Challenge next year."

"Its not my Taste Challenge, Santana. I dropped out."

"Not going back?"

"Nope. It would just consume my life — just like it has the past two years. And Blaine cant compete if Im involved."

"He wont anyway."

"True, but at least now he doesnt have an excuse — other than he still hates it."

"So what gives?" Santana said. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Theres no trouble in paradise."

"And thats why you have me doing circles around the Square, rejecting Christmas ornaments before your husband does it for you?"

"Hes picky."

"Hes a pain. Dont get me wrong. That surly man of yours is good people. The best. But when he feels like it, hes a complete pain in the ass. And its not like you two exactly took your time with the engagement."

Kurt took his drink from Pattys tray before she had a chance to set it down, and took a deep slurp.

"What engagement?"

"Exactly."

Kurt looked Santana square in the eye.

"Were solid. I dont regret marrying Blaine for a second."

Santana was largely right, of course, though Kurt would never acknowledge it. He and Blaine had moved from new couple to shacked up to broken up to reconciled to married in about eight months. It felt like a flash. But it also felt right.

As miserable as he had been without Blaine over the few weeks of their break-up nearly a year ago, Kurt didnt expect to take him back, let alone make a lifelong commitment to him. The differences seemed insurmountable: Kurt would be headed back to his New York home; Blaine was committed to Rhapsody, and facing rapidly increasingly demand for his vintages since winning the inaugural Taste Challenge.

It didnt add up, or make sense. But the moment that Blaine finally took that leap, and delivered that bottle of wine...

Appoggiatura.

It was the first time Blaine had ever used the word "love" with Kurt, at least to describe anything other than an aged Scotch, or a delivery of new medium toast French Oak barrels, or his damned truck.

But there it was, encased in green glass, 750 ml of love, created solely for Kurt. Created out of love, for love, to put into wine what Blaine hadnt been able to put into words.

Kurt met with Blaine that day on his hotel room patio expecting coffee and closure, and instead found himself drawn back to the man he had planned to say goodbye to, once and for all.

Blaine had struggled for words, had leaned on music terminology to try to explain what was happening in his heart. It was in chemistry and in music where Blaine was his most articulate. And, ultimately, in Kurts arms.

It took one sentence on the wines back label for Kurt to know what was in his heart:  For K, my grace note.

He had stared at it for some time, tears building in his eyes, until he set the bottle down, and simply stood up, taking Blaine by the hand. He had led him into the room, then pulled Blaine close, bumping noses and foreheads, breathing him in before touching lips.

They didnt say another word, not until hair had been tousled and shirts unbuttoned and hands began their delicate dance dotting vertebrae down, down, down. Not until then did the slightest hint of a breathy "Blaine" rush from Kurts lips.

What followed was slow, and careful, delicate as if rebuilding a framework that had been compromised, but never dismantled.

They had spent a good hour simply touching, tracing lines on skin — pads of fingers outlining stressed muscles, pebbled nipples and tiny crows feet. It wasnt until Kurt had thoroughly mapped Blaines body with fingers, lips and sighs that he rolled Blaine on to his back and leaned in for a deep, hard kiss. 

His tongue prodded and searched, until it elicited a moan from somewhere deep in Blaines chest.

Blaines touch was still tenuous and careful, so Kurt had taken charge, clambering down Blaines body, leading with his mouth, until he reached that sensitive spot where hip met thigh.

"Kurt."

With that, Kurt took Blaine into his mouth while reaching up to take Blaines hands in his. 

****

"I dont want to wait," Blaine had said, staring at the ceiling.

"Hmm? About coming back to the house? My reservation here is indefinite. I could check out today, if you want."

"Thats a start, but its not what I meant. Youre going to stay, right?"

"Yes," Kurt said. "Im not going anywhere."

"Good."

Blaine set his coffee aside, and rolled over to face Kurt.

"I know it sound impetuous, and Im not an impetuous person, but when you know what direction you want your life to take, you just want to get yourself there as fast as possible."

Kurt squinted with confusion, trying to puzzle out Blaines words.

"Marry me."

"What?" Kurt said.

"I want to marry you. I want Rhapsody to be your home, and I want to marry you."

Within a week, they stood in a courthouse office in the county seat, saying "I do" in front of a judge who was also a Rhapsody wine club subscriber. Theyd said nothing about it, and weeks passed before anyone noticed the rings.

Was it rushed? Yes. Would it have been prudent to have waited? Undoubtedly. Did they make a mistake? 

Absolutely not. 

And Kurt told himself this, almost every day. 

He had given up so much — a career he loved, and a city and pace that fit him like Hugo Boss.

And he didnt care. Not at all.

Not usually.

He had found, without question, his mate. A day didnt go by when Blaine didnt intrigue him, challenge him, inspire him and yes, sometimes vex him, but in the very best ways.

At Blaines side was precisely where he belonged; this much he knew. And he could work from almost anywhere, whereas Blaine couldnt exactly pick up a 25-acre vineyard and move it to Manhattan. 

Kurt had already put in nearly a year on the West Coast before resigning from most of his daily duties at Taste Magazine, not just to marry Blaine Anderson, but to adopt his lifestyle and adjust to life on a working vineyard, learning the wine trade from the soil up, while still keeping a hand in evaluating, critiquing and writing about fine wines. With time, he filtered off the columns entirely, despite Taste publisher Quinn Fabrays repeated requests for more.

He didnt dump his entire career to be with Blaine, and he certainly didnt have to. He walked away because he had the chance to be not just husband, but partner — in the office as well as the bedroom.

Nearly a year had passed since he let the wine world know that hed exchanged professional title for a lifestyle change and a hyphenated last name — Hummel-Anderson —  and he hadnt looked back.

Not really.

And it was a wonderful life, by anyones assessment: a smart and handsome husband who loved him unconditionally, an exquisite home in the scenic hillsides overlooking the Carneros hills, a wine cellar to die for. 

And sex. Great sex. The best sex of his life. On the regular. It wasnt just that they were compatible; they were still very much in honeymoon mode. A year and a half after first getting together, and nearly a year after their marriage, absolutely nothing about their sex life had begun to feel routine.

Yes, when he thought about it, Kurt Hummel had the life a lot of people dreamed of.

It was just, sometimes, he really could use that little hit of adrenaline that he once got daily, running for the subway or juggling appointments with wine promoters clamoring for his attention.

While their relationship was still charged with a sense of newness, the somewhat tempered pace of life in an agricultural zone was something that he wasnt sure he would ever quite fully adapt to.

"Santana, you know what we need?"

"I always know what I need, and I really doubt its the same as you," she said, clinking their glasses.

"A day in the city. Im not going to find anything Blaine wont raise hell about here. What do you say you and me head in to San Francisco tomorrow for some retail therapy?"

"Again? Wont your man take you shopping?"

"Not unless were shopping for new filtration pumps."

"Killjoy."

"Tell me about it. Besides, hes still getting everything put away and sorted out for winter. With this weather, hes not about to leave the vineyard."

"Thats why you hire people, Kurt."

"He got Diego replaced, finally. But its just taking a while, and you know how he is."

"Micro-manager."

"He likes to have a hand in everything."

"He cant let go."

"He doesnt run it like a big vineyard."

"But its getting bigger, Kurt, and theres more demand. And theres more demand for him."

"And thats a topic youre wise to stay away from with him, Santana. Hes not interested."

Kurt was cut off by the sound of Elton John blasting from his phone — The Bitch is Back.

"Well, what do you know?" Santana said with a smirk, leaning back into the couch.

****