Page 26 of No Rhyme or Riesling

But just thinking about all that mess made his skin crawl. John shuddered again, glancing around his minimalist space, still feeling the need to get rid of something and help soothe that itch.

John's glance stopped on his guitar. He set his mug on a coaster and dug into his eggs, eyeing the instrument with a wince as he thought about Adam's outburst yesterday. John hadn't wanted all of their friends and acquaintances to know that he was musically inclined. That was something he kept for himself. Just like the riesling fields at work, John had always used his music as a private escape. A way to decompress and stay connected to Adam. And just like with the riesling fields, even though he had Adam in his life now, he still thought of his music as a private way to keep Adam in his heart. For eight long years, music was all he'd had left of the boy. Memories of the two of them sitting on the living room floor, John playing while Adam sang whatever lyrics John had written. It was their own little bubble. Something the outside world never touched. Something untainted by anything as harsh as reality.

There was no way in hell John could ever play in public. Let alone sing. The very thought made him feel nauseated. Adam loved the spotlight—and he liked sharing it with others even more—but John wanted to stay as far from such a thing as humanly possible. The closest he'd ever wanted to get was writing the songs that Adam would sing. Staying behind the scenes. Out of sight. Having an audience enjoy his words was enough, even if they never knew the words were his.

John pushed his empty plate away, eyeing his guitar again. He was up and crossing the room before he even realized he'd decided to move. John grabbed his guitar and spread all his songwriting notebooks across the coffee table, glancing from one to another as he sat back down and checked the instrument's tune.

He didn't really have time for this. What he needed to do was get to work early and start tackling the mountain of things that had been piling up during Wine Fest. But he also knew that if he didn't give himself this moment—a chance to reset after a long, trying weekend—he'd be distracted and useless.

John softly plucked at the strings, then stopped and reached for the notebook Adam had given him years ago. The one that readRhyme and Rieslingon the cover. John paused as a shiver ran down his spine.Christ. There it was again.

That inexplicable, tingling sense of doom.

He shook off the feeling and slammed the cover open, quickly flipping past that first, blank page and searching through all the pages that followed. When he got to “December Dreams,” his first attempt at a song about his love for Adam, John stopped and resettled himself with his guitar.

He opened his mouth and tried singing the first line, then cringed and shook his head.Hell. He couldn't even sing there in the privacy of his own home. So he tried just playing the music instead while imagining the words.

Except an acoustic guitar wasn't right for this song. The lyrics had been written for a progressive rock piece that Adam's band had composed. The instrument in John's hands wouldn't do it justice.

John sighed, letting his gaze linger on the words he'd written, but even that didn't satisfy him. There was always something lacking about that song. He stared at the verses,trying to figure out what exactly was missing, but the longer he sat there, the further he felt from an answer.

He set the guitar aside and flipped back to the first page in the notebook.Adam's Song. The blank lines taunted him, like always. John turned to his other notebooks, the ones he used for writing rough drafts of his songs. Only when they were complete did John transcribe the final lyrics into the notebook Adam had given him.

Which was why that first page was still so damnably empty.

John flipped rapidly through the messy pages of one notebook, then turned to the next when he didn't find what he was looking for. Finally, he spotted some scraps of lyrics he'd been attempting to make rhyme forAdam's Song.

Because every other linehadto rhyme, at the very least, even just in pairs. John's need for order wouldn't allow anything less.

John cursed and shook his head, flipping through a few more pages. He stopped when he found the only complete verse he'd managed to write. It had one rhyme that wasn't quite exact, but it was close, and as he read over the words, he felt a smile take over his face, thinking of the day Adam had come out to him.

Oh, the day that I first saw you

It seemed my life had just begun

You turned those grey eyes on me

And I found myself undone

My hands were shy, my mind was scared

But the heart defies all plans

Oh, if I could just be with you

Man to man

John's heart clenched. He still couldn't believe what a difference that day had made. Adam coming out as trans—declaring himselfAdaminstead ofEvelyn—had utterly rocked his world. John's skin felt tight all over as he thought aboutgiving Adam his first haircut and then seeing the utter, bone-deepjoyon the boy's face immediately afterwards. Adam had looked so happy and alive in that moment. So free.

Somehow, John had to get him back to that. Giving the boy that haircut had been like starting to dig Adam out of a deep, dark hole, bringing him into light and life. But this hole—the one full of Adam's grief and guilt—was so much deeper and darker. Then again, it was all the same thing, really, all tied together. Adam's guilt over his dad's death wouldn't allow him to complete his transition. The poor boy was stuck. Trapped down there in the abyss. John had to get him out. Get him all the way to freedom.

Still, thehowof that problem eluded him.

John closed his notebooks with a sigh and put everything away. He finished his coffee in a few, quick gulps, then washed the dishes and wiped down the counters before he went to get dressed for work.

Despite the time he'd spent sitting with his guitar, John still managed to get all the way across town before rush hour. There wasn't even any traffic on the country road that led to Vista Robles Winery, and as he turned up the driveway and followed one of the dirt roads that ran through the vineyard, John felt a hint of peace settle in his chest. The sight of the sleepy, foggy land was just what he needed.

He drove out to the barrel room, where his office was located, and parked his truck near a stand of oak trees, knowing they would keep his truck shaded for most of the day. The moment he shut off the engine, John heard footsteps approaching, crunching over the dirt.Shit. That was Everett, out for his morning jog. John jumped out of his truck and raced into the office, pushing the door shut before the footsteps could get any closer. He braced his hands on the door and paused to listen, hoping Everett would go right on by and not knock on his door.It was too damned early for human interaction. Besides, John wasn't ready to face the man after yesterday.

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