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When Jack wakes up, it’s to excruciating pain. A faceless nurse, dressed in white, slips some morphine into his central IV line and Jack sinks back into a world where pain lives at the edges. This happens every six hours, and for Jack, it seems like this has been his whole life.
There comes a day when the pain recedes somewhat. He knows it’s there waiting, but for the moment, it’s bearable. They start to wean him off the morphine and Jack is told that he is the only member of his team who has survived.
Jack thinks he’s being held together with wire and epoxy and he forgets that his team is dead. After a month, Jack is told again and he turns his face to the wall, trying to process these words, but they remain incomprehensible, like a language he didn’t know very well to start with, and hasn’t heard in years.
They send a shrink in, and she explains that he may never get his memory back, but when he’s ready, she’ll tell him what she knows. It takes Jack another week before he’s ready, and Dr. Mendoza tells him about his team and the mission and his injuries.
He’s blown out his left knee, badly, and probably for the last time to ever again be useful on a front line team, and four bullets grazed him; two more tore up his guts, but missed everything vital. Jack has no idea how he came to be here. He’s told that a second team was sent in and his broken body and those of his team were airlifted to Incirlik.
The doctors at Incirlik are only able to save Jack. He’s transferred to Travis, in Northern California at some point, but that is yet another memory that’s gone. He’s here for the last part of his recovery and some light physical therapy. He won’t be able to start the more intense PT for at least another three weeks. He’s not looking forward to it, but if he wants to regain any use of his leg, he has no choice.
Jack takes this all in and refuses to talk to anyone. He knows he’s looking at a long recovery time, and a nice desk job at the end of it. Jack is nearly forty and has never thought beyond the end of the next mission. He’s got his twenty and then some in, and a Colonel’s pension is generous, so he puts in his papers.
When Jack is able to get around on crutches, he’s sent to Vandenberg to complete the rest of his PT. The Air Force is generous and they provide Jack with a furnished apartment while he finishes his PT. No one says anything, but Jack gets the sense they’re happy with his decision. He’s developed a reputation for insubordination and inappropriate sarcasm toward superiors he disagrees with. Because he excels at dirty jobs that need doing, his inability to find the proper humility has been overlooked. He knows this inability won’t be forgiven if he’s riding a desk.
The first night Jack spends in the apartment, his sleep is broken up by panic attacks as he wonders what he’s going to do with the rest of his life. His breathing is harsh in the darkness as he reaches out with his senses to ensure he is alone.
He begins PT the next day, sweating and cursing the tiny woman who is nevertheless tougher than any drill sergeant he’s ever come across. She lets him go after ninety minutes and tells him to make use of the swimming pool on base as often as he can. She’s pleased with his efforts the first day and tells him she’ll be going easy on him this first week.
Jack goes back to the apartment and sleeps for the next two hours. When he awakes, he gets into the car the Air Force has provided and drives to Santa Barbara to look at the ocean. He doesn’t go onto the beach; his leg is nowhere near strong enough to walk on shifting sand, but he has a deep need to see the ocean. The Pacific’s wide expanse soothes him and over the next three months, Jack will come here several times a week.
He finds he needs the ocean almost as much as he needs air. He will never again be able to spend any significant time in deserts or landlocked places. Just the thought of such places make Jack feel like he is choking and his heart races, until he can think of something… anything else.
As his PT nears the end, Jack begins having more frequent panic attacks that not even the anti-anxiety meds can stop. He decides that if he has a plan, the panic will abate. He goes and looks at trucks; he’s going to have to give back the car in a few short days anyway. He ends up with a two year old flat bed truck that has less than fifty thousand miles on it. He’s pleased at what he sees when he pops the hood. The engine has been well maintained and should be good for at least a couple of hundred thousand miles.
Jack writes a check on the spot and the dealer agrees to have one of his employees follow Jack to the base so he can turn in his loaner. Jack drops the employee back at the car lot and heads to the library to plan his next move.
The librarian helps him locate the geography section and Jack settles in to figure out where he’s going next. He wants the Atlantic and he wants seasons again. He wouldn’t mind an island, but most of them are too small; he doesn’t want to deal with small town attitudes or curiosity. He settles for the North fork of Long Island; it’s got everything he needs for the short term. It’s semi-rural without being too small, not too densely populated, and the nearest Air Force base is a state over.
On his last day of PT, the staff holds a small party complete with cake and pie. The cake is cut and distributed, and the pie is wrapped for him to take with him. He’s still using a cane and he’s handed a thick envelope filled with additional exercises. If he’s diligent with them, there’s a possibility he can ditch the cane in another six months.
Jack had packed the truck and locked up the apartment before he came today. There isn’t all that much; Jack had never accumulated much in material goods. Anything of value he has is in storage in Minnesota, close to where his cabin is. He leaves the apartment key with Cindy, a sweet-faced therapist who sometimes stood in for the dragon who was his primary therapist/torturer.
It takes a few minutes for the cake to be eaten and for Jack to say goodbye. He climbs into his truck and heads for I-80, and never looks back.
~0~
The trip from California to New York took eight days. It was three thousand miles in terms of distance, but it was a far longer journey for Jack in terms of his life. It was the first time in over twenty years that Jack had been without the rules and regulations that had defined the whole of his adult life.
Jack couldn’t drive as many hours as he would’ve liked each day; his leg cramping up forced him to stop every few hours to stretch, and he still tired easily. Rather than search each night for a place to sleep, Jack stayed in the small motels he found littered on the off-ramps of I-80.
The whoosh of the semis speeding by disrupted his sleep, but he didn’t have the energy to look for anywhere quieter to sleep. The small anonymous towns he drove by didn’t tempt him in the least, but he didn’t want to take the chance of exploring deeper, of having the soft siren song of middle America wind its way into his thoughts or his heart. He needed to keep moving.
He never stopped near any major urban centers. They were too big, too easy to get lost in, teeming with people and noise. They frightened Jack in a way he hadn’t been frightened since he was a child. He knew if he stopped in a city, he’d never find his way out. Whenever he’d gone home to Chicago, he’d see the homeless vets and wonder how they’d sunk so low. He no longer wondered.
I-80 ended in New Jersey and Jack found the Outerbridge Crossing, which would lead him to Staten Island. The Outerbridge led straight into the Staten Island Expressway and to a part of the Island that felt and looked almost rural. If there are towns and people (and Jack is sure there are), they can’t be seen from the road.
By the time Jack reached a more populated area, his leg was cramping up and he decided to stop at the first hotel he saw. It seemed important to reach his destination early and see it with fresh eyes. Jack doesn’t look at his reasoning too closely, he’s not sure he even knows. Maybe, he thinks, it’s because he has no idea what he plans to do with his life after he spends some time letting the rough and untamed Atlantic heal him.
~0~
Jack woke at 4:30 AM and was on the road by 5:00 AM, having stopped at a nearby McDonald’s drive through to pick up two large coffees. He was hoping to eat breakfast on the North Shore.
He briefly admired the Verrazano Bridge, rising like a great beast in the muted sunrise. At this hour, the roads are empty, and Jack sped across the span. He passed the iconic parachute jump at Coney Island and put a visit to the amusement park on his mental to-do list. Perhaps on his way out of New York.
Last night, Jack had spent some time mapping out a few different routes figuring he’d decide which one he was going to take once he was on the road. He ended up taking the Southern State Parkway as far as it went and then getting on the Long Island Expressway.
From studying the map and by asking around, Jack knew this way was longer but more picturesque. Jack was glad this information proved correct. The Southern State was a wide, graceful, curvy highway, with large evergreens standing sentry on the median.
It wasn’t a very long highway and it took Jack slightly out of his way, but he wasn’t in any hurry. He was glad he’d taken it once he entered the LIE. The LIE was wide and industrial looking, huge semis sharing the road with passenger cars. Large stucco walls, in a sickly peach color blocked views of the towns, while open spaces showed little but ubiquitous strip malls.
Jack gritted his teeth until exit 71. He pulled over as soon as he found Sound Ave, hands shaking the tiniest bit. Stepping out of the truck, Jack took a few deep breaths, smelling salt and Earth and manure. It was a good clean odor and reminded Jack he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.
Returning to the truck, Jack started slowly down Sound Ave. A small bakery housed in a quaintly decorated building drew his attention. He pulled into the small parking lot, grabbing his empty cartons of coffee to throw out.
The bakery was small and tidy, listing their baked goods and sandwiches on large blackboards in colored chalk. Jack decided that since he was here, he’d buy a sandwich to eat at Kenny’s beach, his next stop.
There was an amazingly large choice of breads and pies. Jack held off on buying a pie; they were huge and even he couldn’t finish such a large pie without refrigeration. He did buy a small loaf of apple bread and another of banana, along with a cherry turnover, and more coffee. He also bought a prosciutto, mozzarella, and roasted pepper on French bread sandwich. The sandwich came with a small container of potato salad and another of garden salad.
Jack paid for his food asking for extra napkins and plastic forks, and for his breads to be sliced. The woman at the counter smiled pleasantly, sliced his bread and then packed his food with care. There was none of the sarcastic or bored attitude that characterized nearly every clerk he’d encountered since he got out of the hospital.
Jack took his food outside and sat at one of the small tables to eat his turnover and a slice of each type of bread. He sipped at his coffee, its rich bitterness the perfect counterpoint to the sweetness of the baked goods.
The day was beautiful, one of those days in early May where summer is hinted at, but the heat and humidity haven’t yet arrived. The day was warm enough to go without a jacket and the soft breeze was mild. Jack checked his map while he finished his coffee. He wanted to get onto Route 25, which would lead him directly into Southold. From there it was a simple matter of finding Kenny’s Road and the beach at the end of the road.
The ride to Southold charmed Jack. The road was hilly and he passed numerous farms growing food and flowers, horse farms, produce stands, and wineries with tasting rooms open to all comers. The small towns and neat homes were well maintained and seemed prosperous. He also saw cows, sheep, and miniature donkeys along with farms selling eggs, chickens, rabbits, puppies, and pies. Some of the farms were open to the public to pick their own produce. Farm dogs ran to the road, barking until Jack’s truck was well out of sight.
Every town had one or two places of worship with signs advertising services, and Friday or Saturday night socials or potluck dinners. There were banners and signs for upcoming local festivals, most related to produce. Jack could understand a strawberry festival, but he wondered about the garlic festival. There were also art shows, craft shows, book sales, car shows, and fundraisers for volunteer firefighters.
Jack took it all in, feeling very much at home in this semi-rural community bound by the sea. There were plenty of beaches and parks Jack could have stopped at along the way, but Kenny’s beach had caught his imagination. The photos he’d seen at the library made him ache with longing to walk this beach. It wasn’t the Atlantic, it was the Long Island Sound, but Jack didn’t know if he was ready for the Atlantic yet. Just knowing it was within driving distance was enough for the moment.
Jack parked the truck, ignoring the signs that said he needed a permit to park. There was one other truck in the lot and it was Tuesday morning in the off-season. He didn’t think any cop would take the time to harass him. He got his sandwich and shoved it into a backpack with a few bottles of water from his cooler, and a small cheap throw blanket that he’d picked up on one of his infrequent shopping trips in California. Lurking at the bottom were his anti-anxiety meds. Jack would have liked to throw them into the water, but just thinking about that made him shake.
Shrugging on the backpack, Jack stopped before he stepped on the sand, taking in the endless expanse of water and horizon. He could hear the surf and the gulls crying as they circled in search of food. Hardy sea grasses poked stiffly out of the sand, and a rickety fence blocked part of the beach. A wooden dock-like structure led from the road to the middle of the beach.
Once on the shifting sands, Jack’s cane was unable to find purchase, causing him to lurch. When he made it to the hard packed sand, it became a little easier, but Jack knew he’d have to work up to any sort of distance. Just ten minutes into his walk, his limp became more pronounced and he was tired.
Deciding here was as good as anywhere, Jack spread his throw blanket and sat heavily. He reached inside for a bottle of water and drank deeply. The pounding surf was mesmerizing and soothing and Jack gave into it, letting his mind empty.
Since he had woken in the hospital, Jack had been either in full-blown panic or on the verge of panic. This was the first time he’d felt calm, allowing his hyper-vigilance to relax. Jack never noticed the elderly man observing him.
Joseph Cacciatore had been further up the beach when Jack had shown up. He had watched Jack’s awkward gait on the soft sands and seen him recover and then tire closer to the shore. He spent a few minutes watching Jack lose himself to the hypnotic rise and fall of the surf.
Joseph recognized Jack’s pain. He’d lived with the pain of loss for the last three years and was familiar with the signs, even in a stranger. Three years ago, he’d lost his wife, Anelina, and nothing had ever been the same. Joseph couldn’t help but wonder what could have caused this young man’s pain.
A naturally gregarious man, Joseph had found himself withdrawing from life in small but sure increments since his wife’s death. He didn’t expect to miss people and he hadn’t, at least until this very moment.
He made his way over to Jack, walking slowly and carefully, giving Jack the time to react. Joe knew the moment the man noticed his approach. His entire body shifted and tensed, alert for danger. Joe had no doubt this man could be dangerous it he chose to be; it was written in every line of his body and in the small tilt of his head.
“Nice day,” Joe remarked, falling back on meaningless social chatter.
“I suppose,” Jack answered. He cupped his hand over his eyes to stare at the short, somewhat rotund man. Joe was elderly, yet his vitality burst out of him; he had a full head of white hair, brown eyes, and a proud hawked nose. His skin was only the slightest bit leathery, and tanned, even though he wore a large Panama to shield his face from the sun.
Acknowledging Jack’s cane with his chin, Joe asked in his richly accented English, “Is that permanent or temporary?”
Surprised by the man’s bluntness, Jack became a little defensive. “Why’d you wanna know?”
“I had a stroke ten years ago, and worked like a sonovabitch to get rid of mine,” he said. “Came here and threw it into the Sound.”
“I’ve got some more work before that happens,” Jack admitted.
“You mind if I grab a piece of your blanket?”
Jack shifted to make some room and the old man sat. Settling with a sigh, he stuck his hand out. “Joseph Cacciatore. My wife used to call me Peppino.”
“Jack. Jack O’Neill. Nice to meet you Joe.”
“So tell me Jack O’Neill, why are you on this deserted beach on a Tuesday morning in May?” Joseph inquired.
And Jack found himself telling Joe the better part of his life story. There was much he had to leave out; all the covert ops, and the killing, but he said enough that Joe could read between the lines.
Joe said little, just let Jack’s words wash over him, and he heard more than Jack had ever intended. When the torrent of words finished, Joe nodded his head, as though making an internal decision.
“When I came to this country, I got very lucky and my first friend, Orlando, asked me to his home for dinner. He had a picture of his sisters on the piano, and that night, I fell in love with one of them,” Joseph said, seemingly out of nowhere.
“She was five years older than me and the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. We wrote to each other for a year and then I went to visit her. I had the good sense to marry her and take her with me when I left,” Joe reminisced, his eyes focused upon the past. “She was from Torino and I’m from Sicily. She called me a peasant every day we ever spent together and I don’t regret one moment of that time. I only wish we’d had more.”
Jack felt a swell of bitterness and choked it back; he wondered with everything he was, what it would be like to love someone like that. “When did you lose her?”
“A little over three years ago, but we had over fifty years together and I am grateful for every one of them,” Joe asserted.
Jack tore his gaze from the surf to look at Joe. “You’re a lucky man.”
“Luckier than I ever expected to be,” he replied. Acting on his earlier decision, Joe glanced at his watch. “It’s almost lunch time for me. Would you care to keep an old man company?”
Hesitation was written on Jack’s face. “I bought a sandwich for lunch.”
“Well, bring it along. I’ll throw together a salad and we can share your sandwich, and a glass of wine,” Joe stated.
Torn between wanting to go and wanting to run, Jack weighed his options. He could stay here and have yet another solitary lunch, or he could go with Joe and spend a few hours beginning to reconnect with people. There was only one choice. Jack struggled to his feet, and waited for Joe to rise. “I’ll follow you in my truck.”
~0~
Jack followed Joe back onto Route 25. After a few miles, Joe turned right onto a wide driveway. Jack was startled when he passed a discreet sign reading ‘Barking Dog Winery’. They passed a large building with its front doors splayed open and a parking lot filled with cars. The road wound its way around land planted with flowers and grapes.
Toward the back of the vineyard, the road branched off, the main part obviously continuing around the entire property, while the other branched to the left, and proved to be an oversized driveway, which led to Joseph’s home. The land on either side of the road was planted with sunflowers. It was only when they neared the house that a wide expanse of lawn could be seen.
Pulling his truck next to Joe’s, Jack was surprised when he saw the house. He had expected a farmhouse, or a ranch, something modern, low slung and wooden, matching the one building he’d seen thus far. He hadn’t expected to see a Queen Anne Victorian.
The house was fairly large with a rounded tower taking up two stories. A wide wrap around porch, trimmed in scrollwork and spindles made for an inviting place to relax and take in the day. A number of the windows held elaborate stained glass and the stucco walls in a rich cream color, offset by trims of mauve and blue made the house seem like something out of a fairy tale.
Joe was used to this reaction and enjoyed the surprised look on Jack’s face. “I promised Anelina a castle and this was as close as I could get.”
Jack got the feeling that was a loved and often repeated remark. It had the feeling of an inside joke, something Joe had most likely shared with his wife. “ I think she was lucky also, Joe.”
Joe shooed Jack into the kitchen, and insisted he sit at the kitchen table while he opened a bottle of wine and fixed a salad. He chopped and sliced, hands moving fast, chattering about whatever came to mind.
Ignoring Joe’s protest, Jack took the plates and glasses Joe had taken out, putting a half sandwich on each plate. He unwrapped the banana and apple bread and put them on a paper towel. Finally, Jack poured out two glasses of wine, tasting his at Joe’s urging. “This is good,” he said.
Joe chuckled. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m more of a beer man.”
“Eh, beer. Wine is life, Jack. There’s only so much you can do with barley and hops. But wine? To take the grapes and transform them into something sublime, it is an art,” Joe insisted.
“I admit, I never thought of beer as an art, although I’ve been to some microbreweries that made a fine beer,” Jack countered.
Swirling his wine in the cut crystal glass, Joe held it up to the light. “Look, Jack. See the color of this Sauvignon Blanc. Close your eyes and smell it. Taste it,” Joe instructed. “Tell me what you smell, what you taste.”
Jack did as he was told, and the clean smell of citrus rose to his nostrils. He tasted and the prominent flavor was peach. “I smell citrus and it tastes sort of like a peach.”
“Bravo!” Joe shouted, his entire face lighting up. You should be able to detect grapefruit, peach and lemongrass.”
Jack tasted the wine again, keeping what Joe had just told him in mind. He had no idea what lemongrass smelled or tasted like, but the citrus he’d already detected was more lemony than grapefruit. “It tastes clean.”
“Yes, that is it exactly. Try doing that with beer,” Joe said triumphantly.
The two men tucked into their simple meal, sunbeams slicing through the wide windows. Jack felt a peace that had been missing in his life for nearly all of it. The last time he’d felt like this, he had been a child sitting at his grandmother’s scarred wooden table, dunking oatmeal cookies in an icy cold glass of milk.
Joe seemed to recognize his mood, allowing the silence while Jack slowly ate. Their plates were soon clear and Joe interrupted the brooding man. “Take a walk with me, Jack.”
Feeling it would be rude to refuse, Jack rose, struggling only a little, and followed his host. Joe led him into the vineyard, bending to pick up a handful of dirt, pouring some of it into Jack’s hand. “Smell that, Jack.”
The dirt was moist, evidence of a recent rain, and felt gritty. Jack obediently sniffed.
“This is why the grapes do so well here. This earth, the ocean, the sun. This land is perfect. Have you ever heard the expression fu colpiti dal un fulmine?” the old man asked.
Surrounded by the smell of earth, the warm sun beating on his back, Jack was starting to think Joe was perhaps the luckiest man he’d ever met. “Can’t say that I have.”
“It’s an expression from Sicily; it means struck by the thunderbolt. Something that hits you like a bolt of lightning. It’s usually associated with falling in love. I have been struck a couple of times. The first time was when I fell in love with my wife. After I saw her picture, I never again looked at another woman.”
“I, uh, I don’t really get that,” Jack confessed.
“I see that you are skeptical that such a thing can happen. Shall I tell you the second time I experienced fu colpiti dal un fulmine?”
“Sure.”
“It was the day I found this land. I stood in the middle of a large empty piece of land, and I knew what it could become. The only sound I could hear was a dog barking a long way off, and I had to have it,” Joe recalled. “There are times in your life when you just know, Jack. I’ve always listened to that feeling.”
“You mean like a gut feeling?” Jack asked.
“Yes, but it is - - more. It is a hard thing to describe. But I’ve never been wrong, Jack.” Joe walked a little further into the field, touching the newly budding vines. “Soon, these will be heavy with fruit.”
“Must be quite a sight,” Jack said, suddenly wishing he could be here to see it.
“I was thinking, Jack, that perhaps you’d care to stay on for a while to help me,” the proud old man offered.
Raising his cane, Jack replied, “I don’t see how I could help you, Joe.”
“You may not have noticed, but I’m getting on a bit. I need someone to act as a manager of sorts. I can get a strong back any place, but a trustworthy man is not so easy to find,” he explained.
“Far be it for me to point out the flaws in your plan, but you have no way of knowing if I’m trustworthy or not,” Jack said.
“But I do know it, Jack. I don’t have to know it here,” he pointed to his head. “I know it here and here,” he said, touching his heart and then his stomach. “I’m a successful man and I got that way by knowing how to read people and by listening to my gut.”
Jack was moved by the trust Joe was showing him. “I don’t know what to say.”
Laughing, Joe said, “Say yes. You’d be doing me a favor.” There was something about Jack that made Joe want to help him. It wouldn’t be the first time Joe had taken someone under his wing.
“How about we give it a week or two to see how much help I can actually give you?” Jack hedged.
Joe put his hand out to seal the deal. “Done!” He knew Jack would love it here. This land had a way of growing on a man, of getting into his blood, and his heart, and his mind. Joe had no doubt that Jack was here to stay.
~0~
Over the next two years, Jack’s life was defined by the seasons. In spring, the vineyards were prepared as the entire winery geared up for the growing season. Once the vines began producing fruit, a careful eye was kept on them for pests and vine diseases. And, from late summer to mid-autumn, the busiest time of the year, the grapes were hand picked.
This was one job that Joe hired out for. His property was three hundred and fifty acres, with fully two hundred and fifty planted acres. He could have saved some money by using a mechanical harvester, but was convinced they damaged the grapes.
Determining the ripeness of the grapes was the most critical job in the vineyard. Joe taught Jack how to determine the peak of ripeness. He didn’t rely on just taste; he also employed modern methods and used a refractometer to determine sugar levels of the various varietals. Determining the ‘physiological’ ripeness of the fruit, or the amount of tannins the fruit had produced was more of an art than a science. The feel of the grape, the taste, the scent, and the way the fruit burst in the mouth was subjective and each person used their own instincts.
Jack was surprisingly good at this. They would wake early, before the sun rose, eat a simple breakfast of strong coffee and bread, conversing quietly or not at all. He and Joe would stride out to different parts of the vineyard, touching and tasting, and deciding what was to be picked and when.
Jack had spent most of his youth in rural Minnesota, moving to Chicago two years before he attended the Academy, and had always felt a deep connection to the Earth. He’d understood the natural rhythms of the seasons and the land and the animals that he shared his world with. He found he only needed to extend this ability to encompass the grapes.
The vines were of course dormant in the winter, but Joe still had plenty to teach Jack. No matter the season, the winery was open and Joe kept a careful eye on the wines in various states of fermentation. He had an assistant winemaker, but Joe did the bulk of the work here. In any case, once Joe trained an assistant winemaker, they tended to move on to more senior positions at other wineries.
There was also the business end of making wine, including the tasting room, with it’s large and comfortable office, and beautiful teak bar and tables for the customers to enjoy their wine. Joe made sure to spend some time every day in the tasting room, greeting customers, suggesting wines, and answering questions. Jack, somewhat more intense than his mentor, was nevertheless, a natural here. His dry sense of humor, charm, and sometimes, self-depreciating manner drew people to him.
One job that Joe immediately turned over to Jack was the books. He had never liked spending time entering and calculating numbers; that had been Anelina’s job and he was happy to rid himself of it once again. Jack didn’t love paper work, but he found he didn’t mind keeping the books.
Joe had given Jack a small guest suite on the first floor in the rear of the house. It had originally been used as a maid’s room and had its own exit and bathroom. Jack was content and made no move to find another place to live. Joe was happy to have him; it was company and he felt better knowing someone was in the house.
For the first year, Joe would encourage Jack to go out, to meet people, and to date. Jack finally told him he was gay, expecting a repeat of the scene that had played out when his parents discovered the truth. Once Jack had confirmed what Joe had suspected from the start, his only response was to ask, “Don’t gay people date?” He didn’t stop trying to persuade Jack to find someone he could share his life with.
In the first three months at the winery, Jack had made a point of visiting every major winery on the North Fork and the South Fork. Barking Dog was the oldest winery on the island, and quite successful, but Jack always thought it was wise to know and understand the competition.
The one thing that many of the larger wineries had that Barking Dog didn’t, were event venues. The larger wineries hosted weddings and other parties, bringing in business from much of the tri-state area. Although the wineries tended to be a rather closed society, Jack wasn’t well known yet. The gossips knew Joe Cacciatore had taken on help, but Jack was still too new for his face to be familiar, which made it easy for him to be allowed to inspect the venues.
When he had seen all the different venues, Jack put his engineering ability to use and began designing an event venue for Joe. When he had his ideas sketched out, he went into Southold looking for local contractors for estimates. He knew he’d need an architect, but he wanted to see if building would be cost effective.
The first two contractors’ prices were so high that Jack hadn’t even attempted to contain his laughter. He walked out of their offices glad he hadn’t brought this to Joe. Deciding to get a bite to eat, he headed to the small café two blocks up. Half a block from the café, a man was putting up a small sign on the door reading ‘Now open for business’.
Jack stopped to look at the writing on the window. It read “Bradley Simon, Contractor’. Jack thought he’d give it one more try and walked in to the small storefront. He was immediately greeted by the man he had seen hanging the sign.
Bradley was a tall, stocky blonde, with a wide-open and friendly face. He stuck his hand out and introduced himself, explaining he was new in town and had just set up shop. Jack hauled out his plans, telling Bradley exactly what he wanted and why.
“Sit down, Jack. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?”
“Coffee would be great,” Jack answered.
“Winsome! Two coffees, please,” he shouted in the direction of the back room.
Five minutes later, a tall, beautiful African-American woman, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and sugar and cream along with a small dish of cookies emerged from the doorway at the back of the office.
“My wife, Winsome. This is Jack O’Neill, honey,” he introduced.
“Nice to meet you, Jack,” she said.
“Likewise. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Maybe you better try it before you thank me, Jack. I can cook and bake, but I can’t seem to make a decent pot of coffee,” she laughed.
“Former military here. I can practically drink Sterno,” Jack said, reaching for a cookie. He ate it and reached for another. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t make coffee, Winsome, if this is a sample of your baking. These are terrific,” he exclaimed.
“Thank you. I’m intending on starting a small catering business. I’ve been trained in Paris and it seems a shame to let it go to waste. Our daughter will be starting school soon, so I can concentrate on that,” Winsome explained, not missing the opportunity to make a customer.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Depending on what your husband tells me, I might have need of a caterer.”
While Jack and Winsome had been talking, Bradley had been looking at the plans he’d been shown. He thought it was doable with some input from his friend, who had his own business and was also teaching architecture at the local college. Jack was the first client who’d walked into his business since he’d opened up last month.
He kept a careful hand on the plans and saw he had Jack’s attention. “Jack, can I take these to show a friend of mine? I think they may need a little modification and then we can talk price. I can guarantee you that not only will I give you the best price in town, I’ll also build you the best event venue on the whole East End of Long Island,” Bradley promised. He knew he could give Jack a good price and still make a profit.
Not wanting to get his hopes up, Jack agreed to turn over his plans. Bradley carefully rolled the up the drawings, got Jack’s phone number, and handed him several business cards promising to call him in a few days. The two men shook hands, each of them hoping Jack’s plan was feasible.
~0~
A week later, Bradley asked to Jack to come in to the office the next day so they could discuss business. Jack, not wanting to make Joe suspicious, agreed to meet with him after dinner. Brad gave Jack his home address, suggesting they meet there instead.
Jack pulled up to the small home, admiring the lush garden filled with herbs and flowers. Standing on the small porch, he could hear peals of laughter form within. Winsome threw open the door before Jack could ring the bell, a small child clinging to her back.
“Ohh, he’s handsome, mommy!” the girl said.
“Yes he is. Jack, this is our daughter, Zakia. Zakia, this is Jack O’Neill,” Winsome said, motioning him into the house.
“Hi, Zakia,” Jack greeted the small girl, utterly charmed by her pixie face and solemn eyes.
Suddenly shy, Zakia buried her face into Winsome’s neck. “Go on through to the back, Jack. Brad’s waiting for you,” Winsome said. “I need to get this little munchkin ready for bed.”
“Goodnight, Zakia,” Jack smiled.
“’Night, Jack,” she smiled back shyly.
He walked to the back of the house, finding Brad at the kitchen table surrounded by books. Brad looked up and waved at him to sit, intent on flipping through the book in front of him. “Here it is,” he said with some exasperation, apparently finding what he was looking for.
Grinning now, Brad put aside the open book and stacked the rest of them out of the way. He unfurled Jack’s original plans with a few minor corrections that his friend had made. “Robert said if you ever want a job to come see him. He was pretty impressed.”
“I basically ripped off pieces of every party venue I visited,” Jack chuckled.
“Well, Robert only needed to make a few changes, here and here,” Brad pointed to the changes. He then showed Jack the picture he had been looking for, a similar use building as an example of what the building would resemble when it was finished. They discussed flooring, lighting, fixtures, and all the other details that went into an upscale event venue. Brad then gave Jack a price that was reasonable and fair.
“Give me a few days. I didn’t want to say anything to Joe until we had a reasonable price,” Jack stated, obviously pleased with the price he’d been given. “Joe’s a pretty forward thinking man, but he’s gonna want to meet you before he makes any decisions.”
“Call me. I’ll come out to the winery whenever he wants me to,” Brad assured Jack. Brad offered him a beer, which Jack accepted only after he’d extracted a promise that he never tell Joe. The two men spent the next hour sipping at their beers, talking and becoming friends.
~0~
Jack presented his idea to Joe who was intrigued. He’d toyed with the idea of opening the winery up for events when they’d become popular several years ago, but then Anelina had gotten ill and he’d put the idea aside for later consideration. Once his beloved wife had died, Joseph didn’t have the heart or the energy such a project would have entailed.
As Jack had expected, Joe wanted to meet with Brad to hear all the details and to make sure Jack’s trust in Brad was warranted. Brad arranged to come out to the winery, and sitting in Joe’s bright kitchen had laid out his books and plans and brought Jack’s vision to life. They decided on the location for the event venue, and sealed the deal with a glass of sparkling wine. Brad promised he’d break ground the moment the permits came through.
~0~
Five months after Jack had stepped foot on Long Island, he was ready to throw his cane into the Sound. He’d done his exercises diligently, and both doctors in the local practice agreed he no longer needed the support. In an overabundance of caution, Doctors Fraiser and Beckett had insisted on a last round of tests and an MRI to make sure his knee was fully healed before allowing Jack to discontinue using the cane.
When Jack had come home and told Joe, he, insisted on driving Jack to Kenny’s Beach, clapping and cheering when Jack heaved the hated cane into the water. Jack never expected to still be here five months later, but he’d found a home and was only too glad to share this moment with Joseph. Taking a moment to appreciate the cloudless blue sky and the near perfect autumn-like day, he grinned at the elderly man whose face was split in a wide smile.
“Come, Jack. We have a stop to make before we get back to the winery,” Joe beckoned.
Humming to himself, Joe pulled into a farm five miles from Kenny’s Beach, honking his horn in greeting. A petite blonde poked her head out of the back door. “Joe, good to see you!”
He hugged the woman, turning to introduce Jack. “Michelle Fisher, Jack O’Neill.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack. Come on inside, the both of you. I have coffee and cake,” she said.
The two men followed Michelle as she kept up a constant stream of chatter. She soon had them seated with large mugs of steaming coffee and huge slices of spice cake in front of them. She then disappeared for a few minutes, returning with three wriggling puppies that she deposited near Jack.
“They’re ready to be separated from their mom. You just need to decide which one you want,” Michelle informed him.
“I don’t understand,” Jack said in confusion, looking at Joe.
“It’s been some time since the winery had a dog,” Joe stated gruffly. He didn’t have many regrets in life, but not having children was one of them. Anelina had never gotten pregnant and neither of them had wanted to adopt.
Most of Joe’s family was gone; he might have some distant cousins left, but his father and uncles had had a falling out years ago, and his mother had come from a small family. As large as Nella’s family had once been, there was no one left and hadn’t been for quite some time. They had always had good friends, and lots of them; it was one way they compensated for not having much family. Jack had felt like his son from the start.
Joe had never asked Jack about his family, but he thought there was a story there. Jack never received mail or even phone calls. Joseph couldn’t imagine what would make anyone turn their back on such a fine young man, so he’d stepped in, eagerly filling the role of both friend and father.
“Does the winery need a dog?” Jack asked.
“Maybe,” Joe replied. “Probably not as much as you do,” he said with more honesty than he intended.
Jack sat on the floor near the dogs, waiting to see what they’d do, and thinking of all the dogs that had passed through his life. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dog. What kind are they?” He directed the question to Michelle, admiring the tri-colored bits of fluff.
“Bernese Mountain dogs,” she answered, watching the three puppies work their magic. Two of them were tumbling and playing with each other. She suspected they were the dogs. She watched as the third puppy, probably the bitch, make her dainty way to Jack’s lap, sniffing at him. She settled herself, melting into him, her dark eyes gazing up adoringly.
“They’re a bit standoffish with strangers, but incredibly gentle with kids, and they’re smart,” she explained. Seeing the puppy being cradled so lovingly by Jack, his hands seeming to know just where to scratch, she knew she’d be bidding goodbye to yet another puppy. She turned her attention back to Joe, accepting the folded check he held out, and slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans.
“What are you going to call her,” Michelle asked.
“Maxine. Max or Maxi for short,” Jack replied, tearing his eyes away from the pup. “Thank you, Joe,” he murmured, for once just accepting the good that came his way.
“Eh. I missed having a dog. Now I get one with none of the work,” he brushed off his generosity.
Michelle got a package of wee-wee pads, a bag of puppy food, a chew toy, a collar and lead, the pup’s papers and vet certificate detailing her shots, and a diet list together, throwing them into several bags, while Jack and Joe finished their coffee and cake, Max still nestled in Jack’s lap. She told him to follow the diet carefully to ensure Max’s continued good health, offering her phone number in case he needed any training tips.
Jack found himself back in Joe’s truck, Max in his lap, amazed that he was once again the owner of a dog. It had been a long time since his last dog and he was looking forward to getting to know Max.
~0~
Jack stopped by the construction every day, watching the building take shape, Max at his side. She went with him everywhere. The one place Jack didn’t allow her was his bed; he had no desire to share his bed with a dog that would eventually be 100 pounds or better. The only time Jack leashed her was near the construction site or when they went into town.
She adored Jack, and felt nearly as strongly about Joe and Brad. He often took his lunch with the two men at the house. Once a week, usually on Fridays, Winsome and on occasion, Zakia joined them, Winsome always providing a substantial and delicious meal. Zakia could do anything to Max and she always came back for more, allowing the small girl to treat her as her own personal plaything.
During the six months it took for the building that Joe had dubbed The Pavilion to go up, they had already taken several bookings. Brad promised The Pavilion would be ready by the end of January. Not wanting to take any chances, Jack refused to book any parties before March.
Once Joseph had hired Bradley, he was immediately accepted in the community and more business started coming his way. His integrity, skill, and ability to bring a project in on time and on budget insured that he wouldn’t lack for work.
It was the same for Winsome. Joe only had to brag to one or two people before she suddenly had more business than she could handle, forcing her to first hire two assistants, and then two more, along with a sous-chef. She had a go-to list of twenty people to work as her wait staff as she preferred to work with people she knew and trusted, with dozens of inquiries for jobs each month. Once The Pavilion was opened, she was forced to turn down work.
Jack called on Winsome to help with the interior of The Pavilion, allowing her to choose the fabrics and colors and dinnerware, along with dozens of other details small and large, including the kitchen. On the days The Pavilion was closed, Monday through Wednesday, she was busy cooking at home, supplying select local restaurants and bakeries with her signature cakes, cookies, and other desserts, building her reputation one bite at a time.
Getting The Pavilion up and running and learning the winery business literally from the ground up made for an incredibly busy and full life. It was almost eighteen months to the day of Jack’s arrival at Barking Dog Winery when Joe died and Jack, mourning the loss of his friend, mentor, and substitute father wondered what the hell he was going to do now.
Jack found Joe in bed, looking peaceful. He took a few minutes to cry over the body of his friend before he called the police. He called Winsome and Brad, who left their home to help Jack, hanging a sign explaining that the winery was closed for the next five days before they came up to the house. By the end of the day, Joe’s body had been moved to the funeral home, and there wasn’t a person on the North or South Fork who didn’t know Joe Cacciatore was gone.
Over the next two days Jack was busy dealing with guests, both at the funeral home where Joe was being waked and at home; friends, acquaintances, and the owners and workers from every winery on the East End of Long Island came to pay their last respects to the man who had started the first winery on Long Island. Most brought small gifts of food to the house and Mass cards to the funeral home, keeping Jack occupied throughout the long day. Winsome spent the days preparing food for the guests, serving people and wrapping leftovers, freezing what she could.
By 9:00 PM of the second day, Jack was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Tomorrow, Joe would be buried and he knew he’d have to leave soon. Jack wanted a few hours alone in which to wander the house and the vineyards, wanting to impress the memories on his heart and mind.
He sat on the porch rocker, waiting for Winsome to clear the last of the guests out, drinking in the chill night air. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled to hear his name called.
“Mr. O’Neill,” a burly man in his mid-sixties spoke quietly.
“That’s me,” he answered wearily.
The man stuck his hand out in introduction. “I’m Marty Licht. I was Joe’s lawyer. I was hoping you could come to my office after the funeral to sign some papers.”
“If this is about vacating the house, I’ll be out by the end of week,” Jack addressed the man.
Twisting his head, the lawyer spotted a chair and dragged it closer to Jack. “Vacate? Why would you do that? The winery is now yours.”
“What?” Jack bellowed.
“I take it Joe didn’t tell you,” Marty chuckled.
“No, he damn well didn’t,” Jack huffed, wishing Joe were alive so he could yell at him.
“I think I can see why he didn’t. Nevertheless, minus some funds he bequeathed to various employees and friends and a fifty thousand dollar gift to one Zakia Moore-Simon, everything else is yours. Joe was a wealthy man, Mr. O’Neill, and now you are as well,” Marty patiently explained.
When Joe had come to him a year ago, Marty had tried his best to talk him out of leaving nearly his entire estate to a virtual stranger, but Joe had been insistent. During their monthly dinners, Joe always told him how hard Jack worked and how he’d never seen a man take to the business so easily. Marty felt better knowing that Jack honestly didn’t know or expect anything. Joe had warned him that Jack was likely to be mad and would try to refuse it all.
“I don’t want it. None of it. What the hell was he thinking?” Jack demanded.
“I have a letter in my office, and I know what’s in it. Joe considered you a son, Mr. O’Neill. He knew you would be angry, but he didn’t think anyone else would care for his dream the way you would,” Marty said.
“I never asked for or expected anything,” Jack faltered, his voice breaking.
The lawyer put a hand on Jack’s arm. “Maybe that makes you the best person after all. I’ll leave you to think it over. You should know that if you refuse, Joe wanted the place boarded up with the estate paying the taxes on it in perpetuity.”
The lawyer rose and left without another word, leaving Jack to ponder the events that had brought him to this place and to Joe Cacciatore.
~0~
Jack took his coffee out to the porch, settling on the padded wicker rocker, Max at his feet. He loved this time of the year, loved the mildness of the air, the soft breezes that carried the tang of salt, and the view of the newly budding vines.
Jack could hardly believe he’d been here two years. They’d been good years, years in which he healed and learned. This place had been good for him; the vineyards, the farms, the ocean, and especially the people, Jack embraced them all and they were now part of him. Jack couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Savoring his coffee, Jack mentally reviewed his schedule for the day. Winsome would be joining him soon to start her preparations for the day. She usually came out to the house for coffee before opening the kitchens in The Pavilion. She took care of the bulk of the preparations before her staff showed up, although she was happy to begin ordering them about the moment they appeared.
It was Friday and the winery was running two events; a fiftieth birthday in the early afternoon and an end of the year faculty party tonight. Southold College, a small, private, and somewhat exclusive college usually held their affairs at one of the local upscale restaurants. Jack had lobbied hard to get their business, giving them a price they couldn’t refuse. He knew from past experience he’d end up selling at least a hundred cases of wine and make some life long customers
Jack always enjoyed this small oasis of peace, before the winery geared up for the day and before the tourists and day-trippers landed. He looked forward to the work every day, but today felt different. He had a feeling of anticipation, as though something were about to happen, something that would change his life. It was an unexpected and long forgotten feeling. Six months ago he would have dismissed this feeling, put it firmly out of his mind and gone on with his day. Today, he’d go on with his day, but he’d be paying attention, eyes and heart open.
As was usual on mornings when he was able to take a few moments to savor the new day, Jack lifted his mug in silent salute to Joe, thanking him for making this life possible. Jack sometimes wondered where he’d be if not for Joe Cacciatore. He didn’t think it would be such a pretty sight.
Winsome’s SUV sped up the driveway and Jack was convinced she was running with her hand outstretched before her vehicle was fully stopped. “Coffee, O’Neill. Now!”
Laughing, Jack went inside to get her some coffee. He took down the mug he’d bought her as a joke and dumped the pot into the enormous mug. He started a new pot before adding the obscene amount of cream she liked in her java.
Knowing better than to ask any questions before she’d inhaled at least some of her coffee, Jack was content to watch her. He was always amazed at how beautiful she was and at the enormity of her spirit. Tall, slender, and energetic enough for two people, Jack often wondered how the laid back Bradley coped with her.
“Okay, O’Neill, you can talk,” Winsome said after drinking deeply.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Jack snapped, only just resisting the urge to salute. “You got a delivery last night, which Teal’c put away and I’m told that you’ll be receiving another delivery,” Jack paused to check his watch, ‘in about two hours.”
“Excellent. Y’know O’Neill, you should give Teal’c a raise,” she snapped, eyebrows raised in question.
“You’ll be happy to know that his probation period ended on Monday and he’s now the highest paid General Manager on the North Fork.” Following Joe’s tradition, Jack hired people that others wouldn’t think to take on and was often rewarded with some of the best and most loyal employees imaginable. Teal’c was one such employee.
Smiling her approval, Winsome remarked, “You did good, Jack. He’s a good man. And certainly better than that first asshole you hired.”
“I know, Winsome. And, please, don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think,” Jack said, the sarcasm clear.
Winsome chuckled. “If you didn’t want to hear the truth, we’d never have become friends, O’Neill.”
“How the fuck does Brad put up with you?” he asked. “You’re a double handful.”
“I’m also great in bed. Speaking of which, when are you gonna start dating?” Winsome asked. Jack’s sexuality had been a topic of discussion in town for a few weeks once Joe had asked him to stay on, mainly because every single woman and a few married ones in a twenty-mile radius wanted Jack in their bed. Joe had suspected the truth from the start and once Jack had confirmed it, it hadn’t mattered to him at all. Taking their cue from Joe, no one in their small community gave it a second thought unless it was to try and find him a suitable date.
Jack fidgeted in his seat, a sure sign he was uncomfortable. He’d been alone most of his life because he couldn’t have the Air Force and be gay. A week before he’d died, Joe had again advised Jack to find someone to love. And now Winsome was bringing up the same subject.
A relationship had never been on Jack’s radar. When he was still serving, it hadn’t been all that important. Sex was easy, if somewhat fugitive and hurried and he’d never thought past getting off. A relationship, however, had always been beyond his reach. Over the last two years, Jack had been too busy getting his shit together and healing to think of being with anyone. And after Joe had died, he had been too busy trying to keep the business afloat. Now, though, Winsome was reminding him there was more to life than the winery.
“I haven’t exactly had the time to date. And I haven’t met anyone I’d actually want to date,” Jack answered.
“I’ll be keeping my eyes open, O’Neill,” she replied. “Okay, I think we’re all set for both events, but, please tell me, what the hell is up with that McKay guy? He’s left a half dozen messages on my answering machine.”
“Lucky you. I’ve had to talk to him a half dozen times. Let me guess; he told you about his life threatening allergy to citrus and how it would be a shame to deprive the world of his genius and if there’s a hint of citrus he’ll own the winery and your catering business?” Jack mimicked the effusive Doctor McKay.
“That sounds about right, but you left out the part about my first born child,” Winsome said. “I left him two messages telling him that I won’t have any citrus on the premises. At all. It doesn’t seem to be good enough for the good doctor. So, maybe you or Teal’c can call him again and put his mind at ease,” she instructed Jack.
“I’ll have Teal’c do it. The deep voice tends to reassure people. Um… you don’t have any citrus on the menu, do you?” he asked.
Rolling her eyes, Winsome laughed. “I’m not doing anything with citrus for the Hunter birthday and I’ve adjusted the menu for the faculty party. The guy may be a pain in my ass, but killing the clients isn’t good for business. Besides, I’ve grown rather fond of my first born child.”
“Speaking of first born children, I have a gift for Zakia,” Jack informed Winsome lightly.
“Jack, you spoil her,” she protested.
“As her uncle, that’s my job,” Jack explained. “Your job is to keep her just as sweet as she is now - - with none of your sarcastic attitude.”
Finishing her coffee and shoving her mug into Jack’s hands, Winsome rose gracefully. “I’ll have you know, my attitude is the only part of what people pay me lots of money for. I’m off. Will I see you at the Hunter party?”
“If not me, then Teal’c. But I’ll definitely be at the faculty party. Call if you need anything,” Jack told her. “I’ll be available all day.”
Jack went inside to rinse the cups and pour the new pot of coffee into his thermos before heading to his office.
~*~
Jack spent the day going over the books and putting some time in at the tasting room greeting customers, before stopping in at the winery. Started under the guiding hand of Joe and now under Jack’s sole direction, the winery was introducing four new seasonal wines: Winter Wonder, Strawberry Spring, Autumn Red, and Summer Sense. Nicola Calavari, his winemaker, had assured him Summer Sense, a dry white, was ready and the initial five hundred bottle run would be set for shipment two weeks before the launch date.
Jack had much riding on this release and had taken a chance with Nicola when he’d hired her a month after Joseph’s death. He’d had to give her the bad news of Joe’s death and then, didn’t have the heart to send her away. Newly arrived from Joseph’s hometown of Palma di Montechiaro, where Joseph was something of a town legend, she had shown up on the doorstep of the winery, carrying one battered suitcase and a mountain of enthusiasm. She’d learned winemaking at her father’s knee, but had never been in charge of a winery until Jack had put her in charge of his winery.
Joe had been a master winemaker and Jack knew he needed one. Joe had been teaching him, but Jack had come to the conclusion that to be a winemaker, it had to have been bred in the blood. It was one part of the business he hadn’t been able to fully master, not even under Joe’s careful and thorough tutelage. Jack was sure he’d be able to get a decent wine, but he was equally sure he couldn’t get a superior one.
He’d put an ad in the New York Times, and interviewed three men before Nicola arrived, but hadn’t hired any of them. He installed Nicola in the guestroom of the house, amid much gossip and speculation, and told her she had six months to prove herself and find a place to live. She was at work the day after she arrived and had found a roommate and an apartment two months later. She’d been excited when she found out about the new release and she had nearly as much riding on it as Jack did.
After assuring him about the new release, Nicola then told Jack that last years vintage of Barking Dog’s signature wine, Serendipity, was shaping up to be the best one in ten years. Jack smiled, recalling last year’s crush and Joe’s assertion that this would be the case. “Did Teal’c tell you we would be offering a tour for tonight’s party?”
“He did. I’ll be back here by seven-thirty to conduct the tour personally. I checked with Winsome and she won’t be serving any Serendipity, so I had the tasting room send a case of it,” she answered. “Billy will be here to set up some tables outside and to decant and pour.”
“Hopefully there won’t be more than fifty people who show up for it. Not everyone can handle the smell,” Jack commented.
“What smell?” Nicola asked, tossing her curly hair, dark eyes wide and innocent. It always annoyed her when some people complained about the sharp, yeasty smell of the winery. To her, it simply smelled like life.
“Very funny. It’s my curse to be surrounded by sassy women,” Jack complained.
“You’d step all over any other type,” she retorted.
Mock scowling, Jack left for home to shower and change. Jeans and a t-shirt might be acceptable during the day, but he had to play the gentleman tonight. He wanted to arrive at The Pavilion early to make sure everything was on track for Southold’s event. The party bookings were becoming a large part of the business and now brought in nearly twenty percent of his revenue. The college held a number of events every year, including several fund-raisers. They could be valuable new clients and Jack was determined to get as much of their business as he could.
He showered quickly, shaved carefully, and then donned black slacks and a deep gray silk shirt, forgoing a tie and jacket. There was only so far he was willing to go for the sake of business. He slapped on some One Man Show cologne, a gift from Zakia last Father’s Day, had a final look in the mirror, fed Max, and hurried to The Pavilion.
Jack entered through the elegant front entrance, and made his way to one of the two mid-sized party rooms. As the end of the year faculty party didn’t encourage the staff to bring guests, the large room upstairs wasn’t needed tonight, although Jack wished it had been. The balconies upstairs always made for a good impression.
Striding into the open, airy space, he looked around to make sure everything was in place. The floral arrangements had been delivered and looked beautiful against the deep forest green of the tablecloths sitting on top of longer white tablecloths. The crisp white napkins and large square white plates completed the sophisticated look. The white chairs with the same deep forest green material looked inviting.
The six musicians, students from Southold who had volunteered to play at tonight’s party, were busy setting up. Winsome’s wait-staff were examining each table, occasionally adjusting a fork or a spoon. Jack stopped by the musicians telling them to eat before the guests arrived.
Satisfied that everything looked good, Jack found Winsome in the controlled chaos of the kitchen. Her sous-chef, Bernie, smiled at Jack as he rushed around following orders, trying to anticipate anything Winsome might need. “Don’t just stand there, Bernie! Get Jack some food,” she barked. “What’s your preference tonight fish, duck, or steak?”
“Steak, please,” Jack requested.
Tossing Jack a sour look, she said, “Fish it is. And don’t forget lots of the veggies, Bernie.”
Bernie brought a bowl of soup to Jack, smirking at the outraged expression on his face.
“Until someone applies for the job of taking care of you, you’re stuck with me,” Winsome cracked.
Jack rolled his eyes in reply, refusing to rise to her bait. He finished his meal just as the guests who intended in touring the winery began showing up. He was able to sneak two of the dark chocolate tarts with burnt maple meringue before Teal’c told him they were ready to go.
Jack greeted the forty or so people that had shown up, shaking one or two hands before the college’s president, George Hammond clapped him on the back. “Jack, thank you for accommodating my people.”
“It’s my pleasure, George,” he smiled. He glanced at the group before adding, “I hope no one minds walking.”
Holding the door for the guests to file out, Jack didn’t notice one of the guests hanging back, allowing others to go ahead. It wasn’t until he looked to make sure all the guests had gone before him that he saw the man and his shy grin.
Doctor Jackson had decided to take the tour of the winery, curious to see how wine was made today. He’d seen photographs of an ancient winery in Armenia, including the wine press, fermentation vats, jars believed to have held wine, and cups, all dating to around 6000 BCE. Daniel knew the history of wine was closely entwined with human culture.
But all thoughts of wine and culture had fled the moment he laid eyes on Jack. Tall and lean, with dark hair that picked up glints from the light, and strong, masculine features topped by deep brown eyes, Daniel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so instantly attracted to anyone.
Jack fell into Daniel’s blue eyes, and he recalled something Joe had told him the first day they’d met. He suddenly remembered the expression Joe had used when relating why he never looked at another woman after seeing a photo of Anelina; fu colpiti dal un fulmine. It meant being struck by the thunderbolt, or being hit by lightening and Jack had inwardly scoffed.
Except, Jack felt like a bolt of lightening had just hit him. It was a stunning feeling of just knowing, of being sure, of sudden passion and lust and love and friendship. He was looking into the eyes of a stranger and feeling these impossible things and Jack had never been more confused, or excited in his life. He finally understood what Joe had been trying to explain.
“Will you be coming on the tour?” he asked, somehow finding his voice.
“Um, yes, yes, I am,” Daniel stumbled over his words. “I’m Daniel Jackson,” he introduced himself, brushing past Jack.
“Nice meeting you, Daniel. I’m Jack O’Neill,” he said gripping Daniels hand, thumb unconsciously stroking warm flesh. “I, uh, I own the place,” he finished, looking sheepish and a bit embarrassed.
Jack’s hand moved to the small of Daniel’s back, escorting him out. They lagged behind the group, deep in conversation. Jack knew he’d have to work fast; he had responsibilities and couldn’t spend all his time with Daniel, no matter how much he wanted to do just that.
Daniel took ruthless advantage of Jack’s attention, shyly flirting and hoping he wasn’t making an ass of himself. He generally fell into relationships with people he worked with and he wasn’t used to meeting people he was interested in outside of academia. It was a heady feeling.
They eventually caught up to the group, already inside the winery and being shown around by Nicola. She spied him, her brows raised in question at his absence. Understanding flooded her face when she caught sight of Daniel hovering at Jack’s side, and her small grin widened into a knowing smile.
Nicola added a bit to her usual tour knowing she could explain a bit more to these educated academics. She finished off by relating that although there was evidence of several thousand years of winemaking, it was her opinion the craft was much older than the evidence allowed for.
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Daniel whispered, “She’s probably right y’know.”
“Yeah? I just thought she was bullshitting the customers,” Jack said.
Daniel laughed; the infrequent sound of it drawing his colleague’s eyes, and for once Daniel didn’t care. “I’m an anthropologist and a linguist, and I happen to agree with her. In fact, my last journal article was all about how farming began because early peoples wanted ready access to grain and fruit in order to make alcoholic beverages.”
It was Jack’s turn to laugh. “You mean we owe civilization to people that wanted to tie one on?”
“Well - - I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but, yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Daniel agreed, blushing slightly.
The room had gotten very quiet, and Jack managed to tear his eyes from the tall, slender man he’d been joking with to find everyone staring at them. Sensing Daniel’s discomfort, Jack moved to deflect the attention. “Thank you, Nicola. If you’d all just follow me outside, we can share a glass of our signature wine, Serendipity. I think you’ll all be pleasantly surprised.”
The group obediently filed outside where Billy had already uncorked the Serendipity. He poured a half glass for Jack, who swirled it around a bit, and then sniffed at the deep red wine. “Ladies and gentlemen, Serendipity is an extremely robust blend of Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Petit Verdot, and Malbec. Once it’s decanted, you should be able to detect the aroma of black currants and plum,” Jack instructed.
He sipped, holding the wine on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. “It tastes earthy and woodsy, with a hint of dried cherries and toasted vanilla. It’s quite a unique wine and I hope you enjoy it.”
Billy had been pouring out the wine while Jack had been talking and now he and Nicola passed out full glasses to the guests. Jack watched as the guests sipped and made appreciative noises.
“Tell me, Ms. Calavari, is it true that the champagne coupe was modeled after Madame de Pompadour’s breasts?” asked a stocky man with piercing blue eyes.
Jack heard Daniel chuckle and saw a man with a shock of dark, messy hair, bite back a snicker.
“Don’t be an ass, McKay,” one of the guests called out.
“Yes, Rayner, cause you know nothing about being an ass,” McKay answered. Noticing the disapproving glances being thrown his way, he became defensive. “What? It was a legitimate question!”
Nicola stepped in. “Actually, it is a legitimate question. But, no, signore, the champagne coupe is not modeled after anyone’s breasts. Furthermore, if you choose to drink champagne from such a glass, it will go flat too quickly. I suggest a flute.”
Recognizing Doctor McKay’s voice from their numerous conversations, Jack went to his rescue. “You’ll have the opportunity to sample our sparkling wine with the first course, Doctor McKay. We need to start heading back. Feel free to bring your wine with you,” Jack announced.
The group of partygoers, most still holding glasses of wine, walked back to The Pavilion, looking forward to the upcoming festivities. Jack, along with Daniel, once again brought up rear, their arms and hands occasionally brushing, as they continued their flirting.
They arrived back at The Pavilion sooner than either wanted. “I’ve got to get to work and you have a party to enjoy,” Jack said. “I’ll see you later?”
“You know where to find me,” Daniel hinted, knowing if Jack didn’t find him, he’d seek out the intriguing winery owner.
Two hours into the party, Jack stepped outside in order to have a quiet moment when Daniel joined him. Jack had been thinking of a way to approach him without creating more gossip and had almost been desperate enough to ask Winsome for her advice. He thought he could always look him up at the college rather than give Winsome the chance to tease him for the next ten years. “Daniel,” he said quietly.
“Hi, Jack. I saw you come out here and I wanted to tell you how wonderful everything was,” Daniel commented, jumping on the convenient excuse. He had been watching and waiting for the opportunity to find Jack on his own.
“Look, Daniel, I’m, uh, I’d like to see you again. Can I take you out for dinner, or a drive?” Jack rushed to get the words out.
“Yes,” Daniel answered almost before Jack had finished asking.
Jack chuckled, rocking back on his feet, relieved it had been so easy. “Tomorrow?”
“I’m leaving for Egypt in two days. A colleague sent me some very unusual writing that I can’t translate yet. I need to see it in situ,” Daniel answered, disappointment clear to read in his face and body. “Promise me we can go when I get back.”
Jack stepped closer, the back of his hand reaching out to stroke Daniel’s face softly. “That’s a promise I’ll be happy to keep.”
“I’ll be at a fairly remote dig, so there’s no guarantee about communication. But I’ll call you the second I’m back in the States.” Daniel vowed. “I’ll need your phone number.”
Jack fished out a business card from his wallet. “This is my direct line. How long will you be gone?”
“Between a month and six weeks.”
“That’ll give me time to plan something special,’ Jack allowed. He leaned slightly and brushed his lips against Daniel’s mouth. As Jack began to deepen the kiss, a group of people out for a smoke interrupted them, and the two men quickly stepped away from each other.
“I guess this is gonna have to wait, Daniel,” Jack spoke softly. He was a private man and as it was, the gossips would be burning up the phone wires, discussing the fact that after two years he’d finally put the moves on someone. Jack sighed. He supposed it couldn’t be helped. This was a small community and he was a well-known and well-liked member of it.
Jack and Daniel walked back into The Pavilion. “I’m going to go back in now, before I’m tempted to walk out with you and just keep going,” Jack admitted. “Don’t lose my number.”
“I won’t and I’ll be speaking to you soon,” Daniel replied as he watched Jack walk toward the kitchens. He was glad Jack left without drawing out his goodbye. He had a feeling that had Jack asked him, he would have gone with him, no matter the damage done to his career.
~0~
Jack was pleased when the party wrapped up a few hours later. Winsome had received her usual standing ovation from the guests in a Pavilion tradition that Jack had started from the very first event. Hammond had made a point of finding him and letting him know that Jack would be seeing a lot more of the college’s business.
Nicola had sent Billy back to The Pavilion, sensing Jack might be too distracted to take care of the wine orders properly. He reported back to Jack that one hundred and fifty five cases of wine had been ordered and he’d had three inquires about party rates and available dates for The Pavilion.
Jack had left everything in Winsome’s capable hands and took a walk into the vineyard, breathing in the scent of earth and new greenery. He ended up back at the house, poured himself a small glass of Serendipity and spent the rest of the night watching the stars.
He could hardly believe that just hours before he had been sitting right here, anticipation and gratitude running through his body. And, now, filled with an unfamiliar emotion he thought might be happiness, he pushed aside plans of a lifetime with Daniel, and made plans for their first date.