"We could work on it now, if you like."

They stood on the veranda, marking time, saying nothing, looking over the vineyards until Blaine dug deep, and found the voice that had largely escaped him since Kurt's arrival.  

"I've made a list, we can go through it, shoot off some email, make some calls... If you like."

Blaine knew he was confusing Kurt. He could see it on his face. But he was confounding himself, as well. He felt like he was on some sort of pendulum, swinging from one emotional extreme to another, all because of some wine critic who had moved into the region and inexplicably, into his life. 

Kurt remained silent, face pinched in concentration. 

"You came up here to get help in Sonoma, right? So why are you looking at me like you're not sure you want it? I said I'd help you, and I've started working on it," Blaine said. "You still want help? Here I am. Use me."

"You are upset," Kurt said. "I had to set the stage with that first column, Blaine. It may be a little... colorful... but it's not a lie. Nothing's inaccurate."

"You think I'm upset about your column?"

"Santana seems to think so."

"Kurt, I already told you, I'm not angry. I'm not enthusiastic, but I'm not angry. And I don't give a damn about that column. It's not like the rest of the world doesn't see us exactly the same way. But I do want to get on with this."

Blaine let his voice rise without even thinking about it, letting tension pepper his words. He shut up, bit his lip, took a breath, and regained control.

"C'mon. Let's take this inside. I've got some things pulled for you in the office."

"But the driver," Kurt said, flustered. "My ride..."

"Send him home. I'll drive you back."

Kurt stood on the edge of the veranda, momentarily silenced, and more than a little  dumbfounded.

"Why are you doing this, Blaine?"

"I already explained that. I've got an obligation to meet, whether or not I think it's in my best interest. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. C'mon. Send the driver back and let's get this done."

Blaine didn't mean to make it sound like he was sending Kurt off for a root canal, but at times, this experience had certainly left him feeling that way, too.

He waited by the front door while Kurt sent the driver away, holding it open for him with an exaggerated bow, earning a sideways glance in return. It was quickly replaced with a look of wonder as Kurt walked over the threshold.

The foyer was an unexpected hybrid of rustic and modern, clean and bright, but with dark, masculine touches — richer in tone and texture than a country cottage but with a lighter and decidedly more subtle touch than a hunting lodge. Kurt absorbed his surroundings like a small town tourist seeing Times Square for the first time.

"Drink?"

"You're drinking?"

Blaine rolled his eyes, and smiled, finally breaking the ice.

"Arnold Palmers, Kurt. It's a little early to be hitting the bottle, don't you think?"

"Well, I am a professional." Kurt checked himself, and added simply. "Yes, please." 

****

Blaine could see Kurt looking around while he poured lemonade, then tea, into iced glasses. The large gourmet kitchen, all stone and stainless, airy with windows overlooking hillside vineyards and natural cabinetry of knotted alder that stood in stark contrast to the dark reclaimed wood flooring.

His trust fund had served him well, and while his winery may be small, it had also been successful. Blaine didn't intend to be a Mondavi, but he had methodically built a business plan early on designed to keep him comfortable for years to come. Just because he had rejected a life of Manhattan apartments and summers in the Hamptons did not preclude him from carving out his own brand of success. He just intended to do it on his own terms. 

At the turn of 21, he'd claimed and invested his trust fund across a mix of stocks, bonds and real estate. Specifically, he'd bought 15 acres of hillside land in Sonoma County, about an hour from the UC Davis campus where he would spend the next two years studying for his Master's Degree.

That time was concentrated in classrooms, labs and vineyards, but he spent his weekends planning, then planting, the first of his Syrah vines. By the time he turned 24 and completed his education, he had a small but mature vineyard of his own, and a trailer to live in while he worked with a friend designing a home where he intended to live out his life.

He knew exactly what he wanted — certainly not the mansions he grew up with, nor the faux-this and re-imagined-that he'd seen in so many wine country estates. He wanted a classic home, large enough to raise children in should that ever be a consideration, and classic, with modern flourishes. Most importantly, he wanted something that would fit into the landscape, that when you stood in a room, you were still surrounded by the beauty of the rolling Sonoma hills.

The resulting 3,600-square-foot farmhouse may have been larger than he had first planned, but it incorporated an office for winery management; a large kitchen for entertaining, if the whim ever hit him; and an attached guest apartment for those rare occasions when his brother dropped by — and stayed. He had learned his lesson about letting his loud, night owl brother stay in a neighboring bedroom when he had to be up daily at 5 am or earlier during harvest.

Blaine carried their glasses into the office, but it was really more of a family room with corner space dedicated to a desk, monitor and cabinetry. The decor had the look of a music studio, with two guitars resting against stands and an upright piano in the corner. Winery touches also dotted the space, with polished barrel plank shelves and lighting constructed from sections of small, outcast wine barrels.

He set their drinks at a large wooden coffee table and grabbed a file from his desk.

"This is every professional vintner in Sonoma," Blaine said, handing Kurt the folder. "Santana may have given you a copy. I've gone through and divided them into three categories. Small is 5,000 cases or less. These are the wineries you'd consider 'boutique'. Rhapsody's one of them. The medium-sized wineries produce up to 15,000 cases a year. The ones that aren't highlighted are the big guys, and they sell anywhere from 15-to-50,000 cases. The ones that I think you ought to talk to I've highlighted. Small is yellow, medium pink. If there's an 'X' by the name, I've reached out to them already for you."

Kurt looked at the pages. They were rainbows of pink and yellow dotted by flurries of Xs. 

"Will that work for you?" Blaine asked, without a drop of insincerity.

They spent the next hour scouring the list, one-by-one, Blaine detailing the vintages and character of each winery. He knew his neighbors well.

Kurt took notes while Blaine dialed, schmoozing and cajoling in ways he knew would surprise Kurt. He soon had a short list of vintners who would be willing to meet them on the square later that day, wine in hand.

Blaine made one last call before suggesting they get moving. 

"Patty, is there any chance that back room is available this evening? We need a little space for a tasting."

He grinned and winked at Kurt. Sonoma was on board.

****

Settled into the back room at The Girl and The Fig, Blaine set up a tasting that had none of the formality of the rounds in Bardessono's opulent conference center. Winemakers arrived without entourage, lugging a case of Pinot, or Syrah, or Viognier, or whatever blend they had come up with. They all settled into the small private dining room, a smug-looking bartender greeting them all, most with hugs, then taking the bottles off their hands.

And they never left. 

The winemakers, who all clearly knew each other well, hung out, drank a lot, and spent considerable time heckling each other.

"They do talk some good smack," Blaine whispered to Kurt after the owner of Rosedale Wines landed a series of one-liners at the expense of his counterpart at Addams Family Winery, most variations on an "Uncle Fester" theme, before buying him a peace offering of whiskey.

By 8 pm, the room had cleared, and Kurt had sampled nearly 20 wines, interviewed half as many winemakers and had appointments with another 15 vintners. All of this was largely due to the efforts of Blaine, who spent much of the evening on the phone, or on Kurt's iPad logged on to his Rhapsody email, cultivating a list of prospective contestants for Kurt. 

Blaine would look up from his papers and email from time to time, watching Kurt employ the same studied motions he had exercised with the bottle of Sotto Voce. Each move was precise, deliberate, practiced and performed with purpose. Blaine still couldn't say honestly that he was yet to be won over by this Taste magazine falderal, but he found himself drawn to the sight of Kurt's fluid movements.

He hadn't given Kurt much credit when they'd met. Blaine realized that was he was watching a professional easily as well trained in his craft as he was. Kurt might not understand organic chemistry, but his knowledge of the markers of quality wine was undeniable, and his process almost poetic.

Kurt sniffed and swirled and absorbed the essence of each wine, followed by rapid-fire questioning and detailed note-taking. Blaine couldn't take his eyes off of him.

"And... done!" Kurt said, slapping his notebook shut and snapping Blaine out of his reverie. "For now, at least. And I'm starved."

"Dinner?"

"That was the idea, Blaine. How's the food here?"

"It's good. It's good," Blaine said, nearly squeaking his response. "Patty can get us a table out front..."

"Can we just eat back here, where it's quiet?"

Blaine blinked, trying to keep his thoughts in check. "Yeah, of course. I'll grab a couple of menus and let them know."

They lingered over the dinner, Arctic char for Kurt, flatiron steak for Blaine. 

"You know what that will do to your arteries, right?" Kurt scoffed. 

"I work it off, every day," Blaine said, contentedly slicing into the meat. "And I like steak."

"You know, we have all those barely-touched bottles," Kurt said, nodding toward the abandoned tasting table. "What should we do with them?"

"This, from the guy who doesn't swallow when he tastes?"

Blaine noticed a decidedly wicked twinkle in Kurt's eyes.

"You're not going to let that go, are you? I'm just saying, it's sad to see such lovely things go to waste."

"Maybe we can donate them to charity."

"Bottles of wine are not used televisions, Blaine."

"Maybe Patty could use them behind the bar."

"I don't see these vintages on the menu."

"And what would you suggest, Mr. Hummel?"

"You do have a wine cellar?"

"Of course. But those bottles are unopened."

"It would be a shame to pour them out. Such a waste."

"Somebody really should drink them."

"Is there a corkage fee here?"

"They're already open."

With a knowing grin, Kurt rose and sauntered toward the table, perusing the selection, and grabbing a bottle and two clean glasses.

"The identity of this bottle is to remain top secret."

Blaine felt borderline giggly. "Yes, sir," He said.

And they slipped into it again, that same ease they had felt eating burgers at Mustards, and sipping Rhapsody's finest at Bardessono. It was more lighthearted this time. They talked about their childhood crushes, their favorite music and absolutely the best movies, ever. They talked about everything and nothing, prodding with little jokes and listening with deft ears.

Blaine couldn't help but stare. He sensed Kurt was doing the same.

He also knew that if he drank much more he wouldn't get Kurt back safely to Yountville.

"It's getting late," he said.

"This has to end?"

Was it an invitation? A suggestion? Blaine would only know if he took a calculated risk.

"You can always stay out here tonight."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up.

"I have a guest room. And we have... all these orphans to care for," he said, gesturing to the open bottles.

"It would be a pity to leave them all alone," Kurt conceded.

****

Blaine carefully nosed the truck through the winding roads of Glen Ellen back toward Rhapsody, with Kurt in the passenger seat and two cases of some of Sonoma's best partially-consumed wine in the back. 

He would glance over from time to time and see Kurt leaning back in the seat, looking skyward.

"What are you thinking?"

"Well first, that this topless truck of yours is going to be hell on my hair," Kurt said. 

Blaine bit back a laugh. "Volume, Kurt. It adds volume. What else?"

"And the stars," Kurt said. "I just noticed them. I mean really noticed them, for the first time. You don't see them in the city."

Blaine allowed himself to briefly take in the sky, as he had done so many times from the rocking chair on his veranda. Overhead, a crystalline tableaux, punctuated by a shooting star.

"Look," Blaine said. "Did you see it?"

"A shooting star!"

"Did you make a wish?"

Kurt paused, closed his eyes momentarily and sighed.

"Yeah, but I'm not going to hold my breath waiting for it to come true."

Blaine soon pulled to stop in front of his home, and looked back to the cardboard cases in the truck bed.

"Are we going to want these?"

"Oh, yes," Kurt replied. "Yes we will."

Blaine grabbed a case and headed toward the house. "C'mon. We'll get you situated, then we can take these in the study."

He gave Kurt the short tour of the house, grabbing extra towels and a new toothbrush from the linen closet, pointing out the rooms: den over there, wine cellar down there, a couple of extra bedrooms that were never used.

At the end of a long hallway, they arrived at what looked like a secondary foyer, smaller than the one at the front of the house, with two doors: one to the outdoors, one to a small apartment that had been built into the far side of the house. 

Blaine opened the door and turned on the light to reveal a room that looked a bit like a hotel suite, with a small living area, kitchenette, and a master bedroom and bath suite.

Kurt whistled. "Fancy, Mr. Anderson."

"Necessity, Mr. Hummel. I have a brother. He visits. He's, um, lively. I learned my lesson when he stayed with me for two weeks before the house was built — and added it to the design immediately. It's saved me countless hours of sleep. Plus it makes a nice guest room. Anyhow, there you go: bedroom and bath over there. There's tea and coffee in the kitchen. Um, I should have a T-shirt and sweatpants you can change in to, if you'd like."

Kurt set his things down on a small sofa in the living area, taking off his jacket, folding and setting it carefully on the back of a chair.

"So this is your brother's nicely-appointed dungeon, eh? And are you locking me away for the night?"

"There may be a few people out there who think wine critics are better off locked up," Blaine said, smirking. His voice turned serious. "I'm not one of them, not any more."

"Well, I guess that's progress. And good thing, because I really wanted some more of that 2009 Rosedale Pinot."

****

It didn't take long for Blaine to find the right bottle, grab two glasses and carry it all into the den, settling into a weathered leather couch and pouring two glasses of the plummy vintage. Kurt followed, joining him on the sofa.

"So, did it help? Today?" Blaine asked, handing him a glass.

"It was great," Kurt said, shaking his head. "I didn't expect... that. I didn't expect so much."

"You expected me to be angry."

"Yes."

"About your column."

"Yes."

"You thought I wouldn't help you because of your column?"

"Um, yes," Kurt said. "I'm sorry, Blaine. I underestimated you. I jumped to conclusions. But when you didn't respond..."

"You weren't entirely wrong."

With that, he had Kurt's full attention.

"The last couple of weeks, the time we've spent together... It felt like... maybe... but then," Blaine didn't normally stutter, but Kurt just seemed to have that effect on him. He took a breath, centered himself, and forced himself to continue. "But then a handshake, and a speech about ethics, and that column. Maybe I misinterpreted. Maybe I'm out of practice. If you're gay and single you don't exactly move here to meet people, and maybe I'm not very good at it when I do... meet someone." He paused. "I just needed to step away for a few days, Kurt. I just wanted to stay up here and focus on work."

Kurt looked like someone had knocked the wind out of him. He leaned back into the couch, looked at nothing in particular on the ceiling, and let out a deep exhale.

"Do you know what it's like, this job?" he said. "I have to get close enough to people in this industry to legitimately be considered an insider, but I have to be distant enough to be a critic of it, too. Friendships? Complicated. And relationships? Impossible. This job makes it impossible, at least with someone else in the wine industry, and most of the people I meet are in the wine industry. 

"So what do I do when I meet someone through work that I really feel a connection with? Someone like you? I ignore it. Because if I acted on it, and people found out, it could be over for me. It's seen as a conflict, and it compromises my reputation as unbiased. That, or I'd have to keep it a secret, and that's a little too close to being back in the closet for me."

Blaine's mind hit the brakes right around "someone like you," and and he blinked and nodded, trying to get his head to catch up with Kurt's words.

"I don't know what to say."

Tension furrowed his brow. Blaine couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't function. All he could do was focus on Kurt, and follow his instincts.

He leaned in slowly, closed his eyes and brushed the lightest of kisses to Kurt's lips. He lingered for a moment, hovering close, waiting, uncertain.

Then he opened his eyes, and pulled back.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"No. Don't apologize, Blaine. I can't. But it's not that I don't want to."

Blaine bit his lip and looked Kurt square in the ear. He couldn't meet his eyes.

"What do we do?" he said, his voice weak.

Kurt took Blaine's hand, and bit back the sniffle building in his breath.

"I don't know how this happened. I've only known you a couple of weeks. But you're important to me. I don't want to lose that."

"But..." Blaine said, anticipating what was to come.

"But I can't. I can't do this," Kurt said, waving his hand as if building an unseen bridge between them. 

Blaine nodded. He already knew.

"I understand."

"Blaine, your friendship means a lot to me."

"But you can't..."

"I can't be more than friends with you. But I also can't not be friends with you. I can't ignore this. I may not always be able to show it, but it doesn't mean it isn't there," Kurt said, doing his best to will his face into a smile.

"Even though it's complicated?"

Kurt gave Blaine's hand a squeeze, and set his glass on the coffee table.

"It's late, and I should really get some sleep."

****