Kurt carefully maneuvered around the soft sand at the front gate of Rhapsody, remembering all too well his first visit to the vineyard, and how his tiny rental car had become stuck in what he now not so lovingly referred to as The Pit of Doom.

Pouring gravel near the gate, Blaine tried to improve Kurts chances of successfully navigating the treacherous entrance. And when they decided to purchase a car together, he wanted to make sure it could handle the rigors of country driving.

Blaine had suggested a truck. Kurt turned up his nose at the idea and mentioned something about cold days in the underworld.

Blaines ancient International Scout was more than enough truck for the two of them, Kurt said. A car that they could use for evenings out or weekends away or just times when they didnt want to be blown to bits in the oversized, roofless jeep was more in line with his priorities. And before Blaine could utter the initials S, U and V, Kurt put the kibosh to it by refusing to “look like a carpool mom on her way to soccer practice."

They settled on an Audi A6 Quattro — enough luxury to keep Kurt happy, with a proven all-wheel-drive system to satisfy Blaine, who rarely drove it.

To Kurt, it was six cylinders of heaven. He hadnt driven a car of his own since high school, and the German sedan served as his personal bubble where he could tune out the world and go from farm to central city in about an hour, traffic and the California Highway Patrol willing.

It was his heads-up-displayd, satellite-radiod, British-accented navigation systemd slice of civilization that could eat that damned dirt road for lunch.

He knew that Blaine would be off in the vineyard somewhere and decided to keep driving past the house in search of him. The weather had not yet recognized the date on the calendar, and a lingering warm spell simmered over Sonoma — cool enough to wrap up the last of the late season harvests, but too warm for the vines to finally settle into hibernation, their dormant tendrils awaiting a winter prune.

It was just autumn enough that the foliage had turned colors in vineyards across the region, and the vines in the lower, shaded sections of Rhapsody were starting to drop their leaves. But as Kurt drove deeper into the vineyard and higher up the hill, the leaves were just starting their shift from green to yellow to brown.

He could also see small pockets of fiery reds and vibrant orange foliage, but he had learned not to wax poetic about the colorful metamorphosis, as all it meant to Blaine was more work fertilizing vines that were showing colorful signs of needing nutrients. In the world of viticulture, Kurt had learned, ugly was the new pretty.

At the vineyards most remote edge, just beyond the vines, Kurt could see Blaine alone, swinging a heavy-handled pickaxe into the earth.

With the rainy months ahead, Blaine had decided to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to prepare the small, rocky corner for planting.

Only the rocks were winning.

Kurt pulled up in time to see his husband, sweaty and swearing with every swing of the axe, declare war on the dry hillside.

"Fuck!"

Kurt just stood back and smirked, flinching slightly with each exclamation.

"Damn it to hell, goddamn fucking dirt..."

"Um, Blaine? Arent there machines to do that sort of work?" Kurt asked, handing him a water bottle from the car.

Blaines fleeting acknowledgement was little more than a glare, then a grudging acceptance.

"The Bobcat needs repair, and this wouldnt be such a big deal if it wasnt for these god—"

"Yes, yes, I understand. The goddamn fucking rocks.' Keep that language up and youre going to end up right at the top of the naughty list, mister," Kurt said smugly.

Blaine rolled his eyes and took a swig from the bottle. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his t-shirt and let the pickaxe fall to the ground. "Real funny. You try it for awhile and well see how well you abide by the rules of etiquette."

"Not necessary," Kurt said. "You know I have absolutely no interest in getting dirty."

Blaine peered over the water bottle and grinned.

"Now look whos going on the naughty list."

"What? How?"

Blaine stepped in close, reaching around Kurts waist and nuzzling at his jawline, going to great pains to share a smudge of gritty earth from cheek to neck.

"You and I both know youre lying," he murmured. "I have it on good authority that you happen to love getting dirty."

"Youre going to get me filthy," Kurt said, angling his face for a kiss.

"Thats what showers are for," Blaine responded, licking at Kurts lip until he was granted entrance for a deep, grimy kiss. Then he lingered for a moment, dusting baby kisses across Kurts lips and finally to the tip of his nose before pulling back.

"Have fun with Santana today? Is our home about to look like Macys Santaland?"

"Alas, theres no Macys here. My only options were the decorations-that-shall-not-be-named."

"Ah. No luck, then. Too bad," Blaine said, trying to hide his mirth behind a petulant pout.

"No luck, my ass. This has the feel of a set-up."

Blaine let go of Kurt and began collecting his tools, clearly done for the day.

"I have absolutely no idea what youre talking about," he said, sauntering toward the car.

"Dont think for a minute I came home entirely empty-handed," Kurt said. "I got strings of little white lights for the vines near the house."

Blaine grimaced. Kurt ignored him.

"And the hardware store had fresh evergreen garland; so the trunks loaded. And dont think for a second youre putting those dirty tools in my car."

Blaine flipped the heavy tool axe-side up as a brace to lean against.

"Oh, dont give me that look. You carried it up here, you can carry it back down, too."

"What about the tree?"

"Well pick that out, together — in your truck."

"Tomorrow?"

"I meant to talk to you about that. Santana and I are heading into the city..."

"Of course."

"I would invite you."

"No need."

"But if you get cleaned up, we can go pick out a tree and get some dinner."

"Then it would be in your best interest to drive me to the house," Blaine said, satisfied that he at least could flip Kurts logic to score a ride down the hill.

****

Normally quick to shower unless otherwise distracted, Blaine gave Kurt little time to make progress on his project. Kurt moved quickly to lace fresh evergreen garland up the bannister and across the fireplace mantle, and found enough time to thread a few strings of tiny white lights along a row of Syrah vines near the house.

I really should hire someone to light the house, he thought, tucking the idea away when Blaine emerged from the house, tossing his keys to himself.

It was an eventless evening, at least to start. They drove to downtown Napa, where a service club had opened a Christmas tree lot in a mini-mall parking lot.

After nearly an hour of comparing Noble to Douglas to Frasier firs and fielding surprisingly few complaints, Kurt convinced Blaine to purchase a girthy nine-foot-tall Grand Fir. He had wisely reattached the Scouts roof for the evening, allowing a secure base for the sizable pines transport.

They stayed in Napa for dinner, stopping by Brix, where they shared tamales and soup, but parted ways on the wine-versus-beer discussion. After a day in the field, Blaine was in no mood for wine.

"Santana wants you to call her," Kurt said, peeling away a corn husk. "She says youre avoiding her."

"She knows where I am."

"And Patty asked about Appoggiatura again."

Blaine eyed him over his soup bowl. Hed answered this request enough times.

"I know, " Kurt said, humoring him. "But I promised her Id ask."

"Kurt, its your wine. If you want to sell it, sell it."

"You make it sound like I want to get rid of it."

"I didnt mean that."

"I know, and its sweet, but you and I both know what you have there. And as special as it is to me, words gotten out..."

"Im not allowed to make something just for us?"

"Of course you are. But its a prestige wine, if you ever decide to release some of it."

"Everybody wants something," Blaine said, almost mumbling to himself.

"Hmm?"

"Distributors want a new wine. Santana wants me to head up the Bureau, and some of its members are pressuring me to open up a tasting room..."

"Thatll never happen," Kurt interrupted, laughing lightly.

"True. And your former boss wants me back in that damn Taste Challenge."

"What do you want?"

Blaine stirred his soup, watching the drizzle of truffle oil swirl into the butternut squash purée. He smiled to himself.

"Ive got what I want."

Kurt bit his lower lip. Blaine may not be the most loquacious man on the planet, but his few words had a way of making Kurts heart melt.

"What else? Theres got to be more."

"There does? Kurt, think about it. This past year I fell in love. I got married. I won that ridiculous contest of yours..."

"Hey — if it wasnt for that contest, we never would have met."

Blaine laughed. "Okay. Ill give you that. And I nearly doubled the size of my vineyard."

"True."

"But Ive never had any ambition to be the next Mondavi. Rhapsody is small by design. Its private for a reason."

"So we can skinny dip whenever we want?"

"Im serious, Kurt," Blaine said, then smiling to himself.

"Okay, fine, that too."

Kurt wore a look of victory, the borderline haughty expression he had whenever he convinced Blaine to lighten up a little.

"I dont want Rhapsody to become some kind of destination, Kurt. Its our home. And yes, Im glad the business is growing, but I dont ever want it to get so big that it becomes impersonal. Thats never what it was meant to be."

Blaine reached across the table, taking Kurts hand and gently rubbing circles around his knuckles.

"So really, no, there isnt anything I want right now, because so many things I wanted happened so fast, and some things I hadnt even thought about."

"So what youre saying is that you are hopelessly in love with me," Kurt said.

"Yes, hopeless would be a good word for it."

"And youre happy with the condition of the vineyard."

"Except for the rocks, and the condition of the Bobcat, yes."

"But its no to Santana, and to the Bureau, and to Quinn."

"Something like that, yes," Blaine said.

"Fair enough," Kurt said. "By the way, speaking of Quinn..."

Blaines thumb suddenly stopped its rhythmic pattern.

"She called today."

Blaine pulled his hand back, picked up his spoon, and returned to stirring his soup in mindless swirls.

"Doesnt she take no for an answer?"

"Um, in a word, no," Kurt said. "But that didnt come up."

Kurt knew he could dance around the subject or dive right in, and neither option was especially palatable. At least, sitting in the middle of a familiar restaurant full of familiar faces, they were unlikely to argue. So he chose Plan B.

"Shed like me to come to New York."

"What?"

"Not like that, Blaine. Just for a visit, some time in the city. Shopping and shows, and a little business."

"There it is," Blaine said.

Quinn had made no secret about wanting Blaine back in the Challenge — and Kurt back at work. They had both had consistently turned her down, and Kurt gradually eliminated his responsibilities at Taste Magazine in favor of learning the ropes at Rhapsody.

But it had become increasingly clear that while Kurt was a stellar wine critic, he was not a winemaker. His refined palate could distill the tannins, the acids and the body of wines with little effort. But the winery office and its collection of pipettes, beakers and hydrometers reminded him far too much of the high school chemistry classes he'd desperately tried to avoid.

He was fascinated in the results, of course, but the process was something that eluded him. It was, simply, Blaines job.

He had found ways to make himself useful, of course.

He had learned and gradually assumed much of the responsibility for the marketing of Rhapsody, though there was little outreach that needed to occur. Most of it was the need to respond to requests for time, product, interviews — the things Blaine would rather avoid and Kurt excelled at.

Blaine did not enjoy his newfound celebrity, but Kurt saw opportunity in it.

He developed a website and started a Rhapsody blog, discussing new vintages and expansion efforts at the small winery.

From there, he branched out to his own online column, in hopes of keeping the Kurt Hummel brand alive even after leaving Taste.

But truth be told, it didnt quite feel like a career, and it seemed that Quinn had sensed that.

"Yes, she wants to talk business, but she knows Im committed to the west coast," Kurt said, taking Blaines hand back in his. "Youre invited, too, you know."

Blaine nodded.

"Ill pass," he said. "You know Im done with New York."

He glanced down at the table, released a slight sigh and rubbed his temple.

"When exactly is this extravaganza?"

"Shed like to fly me out next week."

"For how long?"

"A week maybe."

Blaine signaled the waiter for the check.

"You should go."

"What?"

"You should go to New York, Kurt. See your friends. Visit Quinn."

Kurt was floored. He didnt necessarily expect a fight over the plan, but he certainly didnt anticipate this simple acceptance, either.

"You dont mind?"

"Am I crazy about it? Not really, but realistically, I think you should go. I think itd be good for you."

Blaine paid the bill and stood up to go.

"Shall we? Theres a tree out there with our name on it."

****

They began the drive back toward Sonoma in relative silence, Kurt looking over to Blaine from time to time. Sitting at a stop light near the county line, Blaine returned the glance.

"What?"

"I just expected... more, I guess," Kurt said.

"More what? A fight? No, Kurt. Im not going to fight this."

Blaine didnt sound angry or hurt. More than anything, he just sounded a bit resigned to the inevitability of it all.

"Kurt, you think I dont see whats going on here? These trips into the city with Santana? The wagers where if you win, we go to San Francisco for the weekend?"

"Its not just a weekend in the city..."

"Yes, yes. A weekend and a blow job. I know the bet," Blaine chuckled.

"For the record, I think you lose those bets on purpose."

"Over and over," Blaine said.

Kurt leaned his head back against the seat and smiled.

"This isnt the same thing, though. And after last year..."

"Youre right. Its not the same thing. Kurt, some time in the city would be good for you. You think I dont see it? You miss it. The pace is slower here, and youre not working the way you used to."

Kurt reached over and touched Blaines knee.

"You could come with me. You could visit Cooper."

"He was just out here for Thanksgiving, and Id just be holding you back. Theres nothing in New York I want to visit. And I have work to do here — especially if youre leaving me with this holiday mess."

"It wont be a mess, I promise."

Blaine took his right hand off the steering wheel and reached down towards his knee, taking Kurts hand.

"Just be home for Christmas this year, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said softly. "You know, for a guy who doesnt want to decorate, you sure do put a lot of stock in the holiday."

****