Page 37 of Sigh of Relief

Neither name meant a thing to Elton, but the latter meant something to Chakkut. “Hughes,” he said to Archer and Ezra, then with a jut of his chin toward the officer, added, “His eye twitched when I said his name.”

“He owns the property down the hill,” Archer said.

“He’s still pissed I outbid him for this one,” Ezra further explained, then began ticking off more reasons his neighbor was disgruntled, all of them unjustifiable. “And I’m Jewish, queer, a New Yorker, and married better than him. Twice.” He probably would’ve kept going if Chakkut, the idiot, hadn’t stepped forward.

“We demand to be let in.”

Elton matched him just as Noah rejoined them, sliding in between Archer and Ezra, the four of them a solid wall blocking entry. “Do you have a warrant?” Elton said.

No reply; not a surprise. Dirty cops doing the work of dirty people.

“I didn’t think so.” Elton shook his head, justice ill-served once again. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“You can’t talk to us like that.”

“On the contrary.” He held out his wallet, flashing his credentials and badge.

Chakkut’s partner had the good sense to know the game was up. “Fuck, Chak, let’s go.”

Chak, however, did not. “This is local, not federal.”

“Do you really want to go to war with me?” Elton replied, channeling Mel while drawing strength from the hand on his back and the community at his side. “These are my friends and loved ones, and the fact that you showed up here, without a warrant, based on the word of someone who holds a grudge, says to me that if I took even an hour to look into your record, I’d find more instances of you harassing upstanding, law-abiding citizens who help fuel the economy of this county. Do you want me to do that, Officer Chakkut?”

By the time Elton finished his threat, the already chalky white man was practically a ghost. But still with his chin held high, an attitude Elton was all too familiar with these days. “Just keep the noise down.”

Chakkut and his partner took their sweet time leaving, but once their flashing lights finally faded, clapping broke out from inside the house and a champagne bottle popped from the direction of the kitchen. Elton couldn’t help but smile, then wider when Noah clapped him on the back with a “Nice work,” and Ezra drew him into a hug, his “Thank you for keeping us safe” a little choked up and full of appreciation.

After a hug from Noah too, the husbands disappeared inside, leaving only him and Archer on the porch, just outside the door. Elton opened his arms, and Archer stepped into them, his bare chest warm against Elton’s. “You didn’t have to do that,” Archer said.

“It’s what the badge is supposed to be about. Protecting the vulnerable. Too many people have forgotten that these days.”

“I didn’t mean that.” He kissed his pec, then glanced up. “I meant coming out.”

A stuttered chuckle escaped his lips, disbelief and relief, something he’d feared for so long and in the moment had come so easily. “I guess I did.” He pressed his lips to Archer’s forehead. “Said something about a boyfriend too.”

Archer’s lips curved into a smile. “And loved ones.”

Elton dipped his face lower, wanting to taste his boyfriend’s smile, but kept the kiss light, the moment already heavy enough. He held Archer tighter, savoring the man and the future in his arms, relishing the quiet night, the breeze through the vineyard, and a mockingbird singing nearby.

Sweet relief.

They sighed. Together.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Archer reread his last text from Elton, from more than a day ago.

Which would normally worry Archer. In the two months since Pride weekend, they’d been making two-a-day calls with dozens of texts in between. But Elton had warned him that he’d be out-of-pocket several days this week; one look at the news told Archer why. The organization Elton had spent his entire professional life working for was being used as a sledgehammer in countless unjust ways, the opposite of protecting the vulnerable. And anything Archer considered texting seemed inconsequential and would likely only make Elton feel worse.

How’s it going? . . . Obviously not well.

Wish you were here . . . Me too.

What can I do to help? . . . Vote, march, donate, call your reps, throw another party.

All of which were regularly on Archer’s agenda now.

He glanced around his office, looking for any inspiration. His gaze caught on the refractometer he’d left on the corner of his desk. The next couple of months were Archer’s favorite in the vineyard, his favorite part of the job, tending the grapes as they struggled through the dry, hot summer, their Brix inching up each day, until that perfect moment when they reached peak ripeness. Each morning, Archer drove through the foggy vineyard blocks, testing and tasting, a view to the rest of his growing season sharpening, the time window for harvest becoming more and more narrow.