Blaine awoke in the thick of night — anxious, alone and unbearably hard.

As soon as he finished talking to Kurt, he filled his time with busywork. He tried to inventory the wine cellar, but soon gave up. He washed dishes. He scrubbed the sinks. He finally turned on the TV, but with 280 channels of satellite and nothing worth watching, he shut it off, turned on some music and poured himself a Scotch.

When the glass emptied, he switched off the lights and climbed into bed a good hour earlier than usual.

His body said rest, but his head refused, and drifted to thoughts of Kurt, and New York; of ice rinks and small mittened hands clutching hot cocoas; of visiting Santa Claus at Macys and mass at St. Patricks.

Four hours in bed had finally resulted in maybe an hours worth of sleep when his mind and body conspired to end his slumber. 

He reached for the cellphone cradled on the nightstand, opened an eye and concentrated until the screen pulled into focus: 2:14 a.m. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"Shit."

He couldnt kill time by calling Kurt. It was too early even on the east coast for anything other than an emergency call — and Kurt certainly wouldnt consider Im lonely much of an emergency, especially in the pre-dawn morning.

So he gave in to it, raising his hand to his neck, his fingers grazing his collar bone. Then he let his other hand drift.

*****

Achy and bleary-eyed, Blaine dragged himself through his morning routine. He felt catatonic in the shower. He slurped half a pot of coffee, brewed extra strong. He groaned as he loaded cases of Rhapsody wines into his truck for delivery to a local tasting room. He would rely on the cool morning and the open air of his Scout to fully roust him awake.

The Sonoma Community Tasting Room left a lot to be desired. Off a side alley from the town square, it was run on the lowest of budgets, with small local winemakers kicking in their share of the rent in exchange for a cut of the possible exposure and sales from whatever foot traffic stumbled through the door.

It was a far cry from the better tasting rooms of the valley, designed to fit the image, character and budget of each winery. Some were classic estates, built of stone and mahogany or oak. Others were sleekly modern, with light wood floors and minimalist furnishings. Others harkened to old world villas or chateaus.

But none of them looked quite like the 1200-square-foot Sonoma Community Tasting Room. 

And none of them wanted to.

Where classic wineries boasted knotted wood floors, the SCTR featured stained linoleum. Where major wine centers served drinks on polished wood burl or brushed stainless steel countertops, the SCTR purloined an old display case from a long-since abandoned department store for use as its bar.

But it did have stemware, and lots of it, chunky glass wine glasses purchased bulk from a party supply store that was selling its old stock to make room for newer, better materials.

Blaine had never offered Rhapsody wines at the storefront because he had never needed to, but he had offered to help from time-to-time when the group needed an extra hand. They had asked for his wines, many times in fact. Each time, he had politely declined.

But with the pressure he was receiving to open Rhapsody up to guests, Blaine decided that offering a few cases of Mezzo and Allegrezza for tasting and sale in the co-op might not be such a bad idea after all.

So he found himself surrounded by dark green and amber bottles, his back to the door as he knelt, one hand on the floor to steady himself, setting bottles in low racks cleared especially for the centers newest — and most prominent — tenant. 

He heard the door open, but paid little attention.

"Ill be right with you," he said, unpacking the last of the bottles.

He heard a breathy exhale and what sounded like a muffled chuckle.

"You just keep doing what you do best," said the familiar voice that dripped with innuendo. "It wasnt much to look at from the outside, but the view is vastly improved in here."

Blaine stopped dead, then set the last bottle in the rack and rose to his feet.

"Sebastian."

****

Sebastian Smythe was slumming it for the afternoon. The chief winemaker for Dalton Wines had crossed the valley to visit supply centers, and stopped by Sonomas city center on a whim on his return back to Napa County.

He headed directly for the SCTR.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded across the placket of his Brooks Brothers Oxford shirt, an eyebrow raised, a grin on his lips.

"Hey, Blaine. Joining the hospitality industry?"

"Just helping out a bit," Blaine said. "What brings you over here?"

"What? No, How are you, Sebastian? No, Its been awhile?"

"Its been awhile. How are you? Why are you here?"

Sebastian circled the small storefront, inspecting the cheap wooden racks, occasionally pulling a bottle and turning it over in his hands.

"If this is what you get for winning the Taste Challenge, you may want to rethink your strategy," he said, eyeing the water stains on the acoustic ceiling tile. "Really, Blaine. You can do better."

Blaine stepped behind the counter, putting a barrier between himself and his Napa rival. It had been a few years since their brief affair, but Blaine hadnt felt comfortable around him since. On the rare occasions they found themselves alone, Sebastian never failed to hit on Blaine, and remind him – aggressively – of their brief tryst.

"Actually, I was wanting to talk to your better half. We need to talk business."

It was not what Blaine expected to hear.

"Hmm. We finally agree on something," he said. "But you wont find him here. Hes back east."

"New York?"

Blaine nodded.

"Interesting."

"Nothing interesting about it. Hes away on business, and visiting some friends."

"Hes working? I thought hed thrown it all away to be some kind of hausfrau. Actually, thats what I wanted to talk to him about."

Sebastian stopped at the Rhapsody display and reached down, grabbing a bottle of 2012 Mezzo.

"Thisll do," he said. 

He circled around to the back of the bar with Blaine, fished a sommeliers corkscrew from a drawer and opened the bottle. 

"Grab a couple of glasses," he said.

Blaine looked at him a little suspiciously, but complied. Sebastian poured.

"Im assuming that little patio table out there is yours?" he said, nodding at a cafe table and chairs sitting in a patch of sunshine just outside the door. It had seen better days. 

"Grab your glass."

Sebastian led the way, bottle and glass in hand, waiting for Blaine to open the door for him. 

"Quite a view you got here," he said, looking out over the alley and an asphalt parking lot.

"Give it a rest, okay? Not everybodys got your budget," Blaine said, propping the door open on the off-chance the phone rang.

"You do."

"I dont have Daltons budget. Not even close," Blaine said.

"You can do better than this. I know you, Blaine. I know your background, and I know how well youre doing. You can afford to do it right."

"Maybe I am doing it right."

"You really are committed to this whole artisan thing, arent you? I thought maybe that was all just a phase back when you took those internships with the big guys. Not so. Though I did hear you finally expanded."

"I bought a few more acres," Blaine said. 

"I hear you doubled up. But twice the size of small is still small, isnt it?"

"It works for me," Blaine said, sipping at his wine.

"And how about the other Mr. Anderson? Does it work for him?"

Blaine eyed him over his glass and kept mute.

"I see," Sebastian said. "Thats kind of what Id like to talk to him about. I have a proposition for him."

"I bet you do," Blaine said.

"Been there, tried that," Sebastian said, smiling. "No, theres talk that the big boss would like to host his own tasting event over at Dalton, a big VIP deal, and we thought that he might be an asset. And I want to talk to him about getting back into writing."

"You want him to..."

"... to write. He hasnt been doing it lately, at all. Dont think I havent noticed. I thought he was going to do something with that little blog of his, monetize it. If he doesnt do it fairly soon, hes going to lose some of the brand value he built up working for Taste."

Blaine knew he was right, of course, but he wasnt about to admit it. When Kurt finally announced that he was done with the magazine, it was like hed put his business life on hold. Hed tried to help out around the winery — and had, to some degree — but he had done little to retain his personal cache in the world of wine, not that Blaine thought that was necessary.

Sebastian droned on, and Blaine listened, at least intermittently, to his plans to fend off social media-savvy competitors by convincing Kurt to get back in the game. What Kurt needed, he said, was an active online presence based on a subscription model. And since Kurts demographic was already accustomed to paying for quality content just as they paid for quality vintages, they wouldnt hesitate to follow their favorite wine writer to a new, online, subscription-based home. 

And Daltons parent company would be delighted to underwrite it, if it could be used to slow their competitors progress into the online world.

"I just hope that Ms. Fabray hasnt beaten us to the punch," he concluded, looking for a reaction.

Blaine just stared at his glass. 

"Theres no telling," he finally said. "Shes been trying to get him back pretty much since the day he left Taste."

"You know, Blaine, Kurts a lot like me."

Blaine looked up, and shook his head. 

"Im not kidding," Sebastian said. "I live here out of necessity. Do you really think I belong on a farm? Im glad were only an hour or so from the city, otherwise, Id go mad. You know I got an apartment over there? Half the time, I commute, just to get out of this place."

Blaine looked at him incredulously. 

"Youre a winemaker, Sebastian. Youre from a family of winemakers. Why would you live in the city?"

"Thats just my point," he said. "Im here because circumstances dictate it. 

"And so is Kurt."

Blaines face went blank.

"I do this for a living because its what I was groomed to do — to take over the family business. And it turns out Im pretty good at it. But Im no country boy. And it doesnt matter whether its New York, or San Francisco or LA. When Im in the city, I feel alive. Now, tell me thats not your man."

Blaine bit his lip for a moment, letting the words sink in. On the surface, he would say that Sebastian and Kurt had nothing in common. On the surface, hed say that he had nothing in common with Sebastian.

But he knew that wasnt true at all.

Sebastian chuckled. 

"You think this is about missing the city? About being homesick?" he said. "Youre wrong. What he misses is his life.

"Your man wasnt born into this. Neither were you, for that matter. You were supposed to end up in finance, or pharmaceuticals or something, right? You had a course charted out for you, just like I did. I have an inheritance and a winery waiting for me some day. You just found something else that works for you. Lucky you. But Hummel? His connection to wine is through restaurants, not farming. Hes about product, not process. His connection to this place is you. Period."

Sebastian, clearly delighted with his moment of inspiration, sat back in his chair and took a prolonged sip at his Zinfandel.

"You just hate it when Im right, dont you?" he said, refilling his glass, and topping off Blaines.

Blaine said nothing. He sat there, absorbing the words, resting his chin in his hand.

"Let your man know I have some business prospects for him, okay? Something to keep his engine revving."

"I know all about you and your engines, Sebastian, and so does Kurt."

"Hummels a big boy. As I recall, he knows how to say no — better than you, as a matter of fact. And contrary to popular belief, I do have some scruples. I never bother with married men. Theyre boring, and more trouble than theyre worth."

"Thats good to know," Blaine said, a wisp of sarcasm accenting his words.

Sebastian couldnt help himself. He stood to leave, and gave Blaine a knowing smile.

"You know where I am when this thing collapses under the weight of its problems,"

"Theres the Sebastian we all know."

"And love," he said with a wink.

 ****