Page 1 of No Rhyme or Riesling

Chapter 1

_________

JOHN

JOHN CUNNINGHAM stomped on the brake pedal, threw the gearshift intoPark, and flung open the door, barely remembering to kill the truck's engine as he got out. He put his hands on his hips and paced, stomping down the short weeds and grass that grew between the vines.

He stopped, took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and let out a sigh. After a moment, he opened his eyes and turned to face east, putting his back to the fence. The setting sun burned on the back of his neck. It was only late May, but it was already uncomfortably hot outside. John snorted a humorless laugh. Almost a decade in California, and he still wasn't used to the weather.

Slowly but surely, despite the heat, a smile took over his face as he lost himself in the view. This was his favorite part of the property. Even with all the hundreds of acres that Vista Robles Vineyard covered, this section was the most beautiful. Something about the slope of the land. Or maybe it was how the majestic oak trees stood guard amongst the vines that stretched off as far as the eye could see.

This was his solace. The place to which he came when he needed to reset after dealing with people.

Christ. Fucking people. John took another deep breath. The past week had been intense. The Paso Robles Wine Festival kicked his ass every year, and this one had been no exception. It was the one part of his job that he hated. Most of the time, he could focus on tending to the grapes, coordinating with management and distribution, and diving head-first into the intricate process of turning crushed fruit into a bottled sensation. But Wine Fest?Ugh. For that, he had to be social.

John understood the point of it, of course. People wanted to meet the winemaker, the person responsible for creating the vintages they loved. But John found the whole thing so utterly exhausting. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to answer their questions any differently than the tasting room staff might have done. Hell, that was their entire job: pour wine and answer questions. But for four days every year, John had to be front and center. Constantly present and available to the customers.

And that day—the final day—was the worst of it. They'd all gone over to the Paso Robles Event Center, a facility that covered the space of several city blocks. Initially, the land had only been used by the California Mid-State Fair, which was held every July. Now, though, the Event Center also hosted the Wine Festival's Grand Tasting. Hundreds of local wineries had been represented—and the fact that the small town of Paso Robles evenhadhundreds of wineries still blew John's mind—with tents and tables taking over the facility while people came in droves to sample the local vintages. In the Vista Robles tasting room, the crowds could be kept to a minimum. But the Event Center? And on a Saturday, no less? It was wall-to-wall people. Almost as bad as the Mid-State Fair itself, which was nothing if not pure insanity.

John could still hear all the noise.

He focused on his breathing as he reached out to finger the closet vine, trying to let the peace and quiet of the vineyard wash over him, waiting for the tension in his muscles to dissipate. There was no way he could go see Adam while he was so wound up.

But he couldn't wait to see his boy, either. Wine Fest had kept him so busy that he and Adam hadn't been able to get together in over a week. He was itching to get to Adam's place, rip the boy's clothes off, and fuck him hard and fast until they were both so utterly spent that they couldn't move. Then do it all over again. And maybe once more for good measure. John breathed a laugh.Christ. He couldn't get enough.

Then again, neither could Adam.

The rumble of a diesel engine cut through the silence, interrupting John's thoughts. John looked up to see another vineyard truck pull up behind the one he'd left parked at the fence line. He let out a sigh and shaded his eyes, watching as his assistant, Ward, switched off the motor and got out, flashing him a crooked grin.

“Thought you'd be out here,” Ward said, his deep voice sounding just as weary as John felt. Ward had been in the thick of it with him all week, the two of them trying to share the load. But havingAssistantattached to his title meant most people ignored Ward in favor of John, leaving Ward to do more legwork and heavy lifting while John was stuck playing nice with potential wine club members.

Despite his exhaustion, John chuckled at Ward's comment. After years of working together, the man knew him too well.

“Got the table runner and banners packed away,” Ward said. “Want me to run the leftover business cards and flyers down to the office before I leave?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Ward put his hands on his hips and blew out a heavy breath. “What a week.”

“Yeah.”

“You going to Beau's party tomorrow?” Ward asked, then chuckled as he added, “Or are you going full hermit instead?”

John inwardly cursed. He'd almost forgotten about the party, even though Beau threw it every year. Beau Renaud, who owned Living in Zin—a bed-and-breakfast and tasting room on the other side of town—always did a barbecue for his closest friends and acquaintances in the industry, celebrating another successful Wine Fest. John had been invited in years past, but he'd always declined, too tired to continue being social after having to be so all week.

All he wanted to do was lock himself away with his boy all night, then spend Sunday morning in bed before going home and getting caught up on his chores.

But Adam would definitely want to go to the party. All of his friends would be there.

And John was not about to let Adam down by not going with him. He'd failed him before and vowed never to do so again. Not even in something as small as this.

“Yeah,” John begrudgingly answered. “Yeah, I'm going.”

Ward slowly nodded as he bent down and yanked up a weed, idly tearing it to pieces. “I'm not even sure why Beau invited me.”

“What do you mean?”

Ward hesitated before he mumbled, “Just makes me wonder if he knows.”

---