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The fresh air assailed him as he stepped out of the car, vibrant with the scents of life: the headiness of flowering cacti and wildflowers, crisp greenery and fruit, manure, sharp and sour-sweet, and the faintest memory of the citrus fields they had passed through before they had hit the mountain pass. Edgeworth didn’t find time or cause to come out here very often. As he stretched and shook his muscles free of the tension of the past few hours, he found himself thinking perhaps he should make more of an effort to. Several hours of driving may not be gentle on the body, but the destination certainly went a long way toward healing a few minor aches.
Besides, the drive itself had been quite enjoyable. Long stretches of open road, pristine beaches eventually giving way to picturesque pastures and fields of crops, climaxing in that curvy, exhilarating mountain pass before the land abruptly flattened out again. The incredible diversity of the Southern California landscape never failed to amaze him.
Of course, this time the drive had exceeded all of the others. This time he had brought the only thing that could make it even better. He smiled discreetly to himself as he watched Wright’s over-exaggerated display of stretching. His friend threw his head back and spread his arms up to the sky. A visible wave of shivering release spread through him from his lower back to the rest of his body. He finished it off with a loud yawn, spreading his fingers (and presumably his toes) like a large cat. By the time Wright opened his eyes again, Edgeworth’s smile was tucked away, and he was rolling his eyes. “Are you quite done?” Edgeworth asked, wryly.
Wright gave him a very deliberate smirk, then wasted another minute twisting and pulling his arms in awkward directions in a ridiculous parody of an athlete warming up. Edgeworth gave him a mock glare, crossed his arms, and tapped his fingers against his forearm irritably. Finally, with an audible pop from his back and one final shake of his now jelly-like arms, Phoenix was ready to show him some mercy. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He started for the building at a brisk pace, leaving Edgeworth to hurriedly lock the car and jog after him.
Edgeworth was glaring in earnest by the time he caught up to his friend. Wright only smiled irritatingly in response as he waited for him at the top of the stairs leading from the small parking lot to the establishment’s spacious patio. “Come on, slow poke. I’m not setting foot in that lion’s den without you.”
“I’m not sure where you developed such a negative impression of wineries—”
“From the movies.”
Edgeworth rolled his eyes again as he met Wright on the patio and stood beside him. “I would never have guessed. However, I think you’ll find that those movies may not be entirely accurate.” He swept his arm around to encompass the winery, nestled in a vast field of tall grass and bounded by rolling hills on one side and a copse of trees on the other side of the small road. The vineyards stretched out for miles behind the main building, the skeletal vines dotted with bright green buds and crowned with early shoots. “Does this look like a lion’s den?”
There was a moment of perfect quiet as they both drank in their surroundings. The grass was completely still in the chill, late morning air, and it buzzed softly with the hum of insects. A pair of red-tailed hawks wheeled languidly through the sky, dancing together in an ever shrinking spiral toward the ground.
“…That does look a little like an African savanna.”
Edgeworth heaved a long-suffering sigh and turned toward the entrance.
“There could be lions creeping around out there,” he heard behind him, Wright’s voice teasing and light, as he let the heavy wooden door shut, briefly separating them.
Like most of the wineries on this stretch of road, Cymru Estates’ main tasting room was fairly modest in size. Most of the L-shaped room was taken up by a massive, dark bar topped in gleaming pine. There were a few seating areas scattered about: tall and short tables flanked by high chairs or couches, and armchairs that were both comfortable and stylish. A stone fireplace dominated one corner, the large hearth providing additional seating. The overall effect was quite cozy.
Edgeworth headed straight for the bar. Moments later, Wright entered the building. Edgeworth watched intently for his reaction to the tasting room. It turned out to be mild confusion; Wright frowned lightly as he hesitated in the doorway then shot a questioning look in Edgeworth’s direction. Edgeworth was careful to keep his expression neutral as he turned back to the bar.
“So…” Wright drawled as he joined him at the bar. “This is it, huh?”
“This is it,” Edgeworth replied.
“It’s…small,” Wright continued. “And quiet.”
It certainly was. Aside from a couple speaking in soft tones at the other end of the bar, they were the only ones in the tasting room. Before Wright could elaborate on his thoughts any further, one of the employees behind the bar slid into position across from them. She was a smiling, tanned blonde with a model’s looks and a farmer’s ease. Casually tucking a piece of expertly highlighted hair behind her ear, she looked them both over before asking, “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”
“We’ll each have a tasting,” Edgeworth said.
“Sure.” She placed a pair of menus on the bar between them. Each listed the price of the tasting and the five different bottles it included, along with the bottle prices and some helpful suggestions for pairing the wines. She gave them only a moment to peruse the selections before zeroing in on Wright’s slightly panicked expression. “Which one would you like, sugar?”
“Uh…”
Edgeworth smirked to himself, drawing out the moment a bit longer before finally rescuing him. “I was going to choose this one.” He tapped the menu that was heavier on reds. “If you get the other one, you’re welcome to try mine as well. Between the two of us we could sample the entire catalogue.”
Wright’s uncertainty faded away, leaving a bright smile in its place. “Sounds like a plan.”
“You got it.” The bartender placed before them a pair of wine glasses emblazoned with the winery’s logo then produced two bottles, a chardonnay and a viognier, from under the bar. Her pours were neat, though a bit more modest than he would have preferred. She rattled off the description of each wine with the ease of practice, listing the qualities of the varietal, the characteristics they should be able to detect, and the type of barrel used in the aging. When she was done, Wright gave her a sheepish smile.
“I don’t know what half of that means, but it sounds good.”
She laughed lightly. “It is good, sugar,” she said, briefly brushing her fingertips across Wright’s bare forearm. The man’s smile faltered then widened as a blush spread across his cheeks. The moment she freed him, he pulled his arm away and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, still smiling like a fool.
Edgeworth fought down an unfounded flash of something which was definitely not jealousy, though he did indulge in the urge to glare at her for the unprofessional behavior. She gave him a playful wink in return. “Let me know when you two are ready for your next glass,” she said.
“Thank you,” Edgeworth replied, barely bothering to mask the ice in his voice, but she had already moved on to some task at the other end of the bar. He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before picking up his glass and backing away from the bar. “Come on,” he said, leading his companion over to the plush armchairs by the fire.
The chairs were low to the ground and even more comfortable than they looked. Wright still seemed a bit dazed as he half-fell into his. “So, uh…care to translate any of that for me?”
“Any of what?” Edgeworth asked, for a moment irrationally afraid that Wright was trying to drag him into the woman’s blatant flirting.
“What I’m about to put in my mouth.”
Edgeworth had no idea which of his chaotic internal responses actually showed on his face, but whatever Wright saw there made him smirk, all traces of self-consciousness and uncertainty vanishing in an instant. He held up his glass and tipped it ever so slightly in Edgeworth’s direction.
It was Edgeworth’s turn to blush. “Ah. Yours is the viognier. It’s a French grape, very aromatic. The wine can be quite sweet, but theirs tends to be drier. Most of the whites produced in this area are on the dry side, in fact.” He lifted his own glass to his nose, swirled the wine a few times, and took a deep breath of the resulting scents—crisp apple and a hint of citrus. “Their wines are all aged in stainless steel, which doesn’t transfer flavor, so everything you taste and smell comes from the grape itself and the environment where it was grown.”
Wright hummed in acknowledgment and mimicked his careful motions, burying his nose deep in his glass and taking an audible breath. His eyes lit up as he came back up for air. “Wow. You weren’t kidding.”
Edgeworth allowed himself a subtle, smug grin. “You’ve known me long enough to know I don’t joke about wine.”
“Yeah,” Wright replied, diving back in for a briefer sniff. “If this is as good as it smells, I’m in for a treat. Well…cheers?” He lifted his glass. Edgeworth’s glass met it halfway with a musical ‘tink.’
“Prost.”
A contented silence fell over them for a moment as they savored the wine.
“Mmm. This would really hit the spot on a lazy summer afternoon.” Wright finished with a soft sigh, swirling the pale, golden liquid in his glass out of habit. Edgeworth had explained to him the circumstances where aeration was appropriate, back when he first introduced him to the basics of wine. That had not stopped him from twirling his glass at every opportunity, like a child who had just been taught his first magic trick and could not wait to show it off to all comers.
Edgeworth discreetly watched him over the rim of his glass as he went in for another sip. His chardonnay’s buttery mouthfeel and crisp edge paired nicely with the warmth engendered deep in his chest by that quiet smile. “I’m sure it would.”
“Mmhmm,” his friend continued, sinking further into his seat, his eyes slipping shut as his head lolled back, exposing a length of tanned skin and a prominent Adam’s apple over the open top button of his navy shirt. Edgeworth swallowed hard and took another sip of his wine. Wright lifted his head again. Did the same. “Maybe at a picnic. Reverb Park, or Griffin Park. Burgers and dogs on the grill. A really juicy watermelon. And this little gem sitting in the cooler, next to the beers.”
Edgeworth smirked to himself but kept his eyes on his glass. “Alcohol is prohibited at both of those parks.” He should know. He had been forced to inform security of large, boisterous groups violating that rule on several occasions.
Wright waved off his concern, not willing to let a little thing like reality get in the way of his daydream just yet. “Then we’ll hit the beach instead! Nodeny is nice. Larry used to drag me out there for bonfires in college.”
Edgeworth felt a familiar pang in his chest. After all these years, it was still…difficult to be reminded of the things he had lost. He steeled himself, schooling his features into a calculatedly neutral expression. “You paint quite the pretty picture. I suppose I’ll have to see for myself if the wine can even live up to such a fantasy.”
Grinning brightly, Wright exchanged glasses with him.
Edgeworth interrupted him before he could try the chardonnay. “I think you’ll find some similarities between the two. However, I wonder if you’ll be able to detect the differences.”
No words were needed. Wright’s smirk said it all. He tipped his glass in Edgeworth’s direction, in lieu of another toast, then repeated his usual procedure. Swirl, sniff, swirl, sip. This time, each step was performed slowly, with exaggerated care. His intense gaze drifted to the ceiling as he swished the pale liquid around in his mouth and glass simultaneously. Edgeworth’s eyes remained fixed on him while he took his own sip of the viognier. As expected, it was an exceedingly fine bottle of wine, but that pleasure was only secondary to the main event.
Wright hummed under his breath and took another protracted sip before finally meeting his friend’s eyes again. “It’s good. Really good.” Edgeworth nodded, encouraging. “It’s…drier?” He cocked a questioning eyebrow and smiled when he received the nod he was looking for. “It’s almost…thick is the only way I can describe it. Almost like it’s coating my mouth.” One more measured pause to sort through the lingering taste on his tongue. “It’s more bold than mine, too. Starts off with a real pop.”
“Not bad,” Edgeworth conceded. “And the flavor profile?”
The gleam of pride in Wright’s eyes faded into mild panic in an instant. “Uh… Hold on.” He took another, hurried sip of the chardonnay. Edgeworth noted how little was left in the glass now and took a long sip of the viognier in retaliation. Wright was too focused on Edgeworth’s pop quiz to notice. “It tastes like…something really crisp. Like…apples?”
Edgeworth smirked to hide his smile. “Perhaps all those lessons are finally starting to pay off.”
“A student is only as good as his teacher,” his friend said, winking, and Edgeworth could not be sure if the quip was complimentary or sarcastic. It didn’t matter. His response would be the same, either way.
“Flattery will only get you more challenging lessons, Wright,” he said, relishing in the hint of wariness that sparked in his friend’s eyes.
Then he turned his attention on the viognier. His process was more careful than Wright’s. Measured. Ritual. Each glass of wine—from the finest vintage to the most mediocre table wine trotted out at the occasional conference he was forced to attend for work—received the same intense review. He was far from incapable of enjoying the fruits of a less prestigious vineyard (not anymore, at any rate), but viognier would never be his favorite varietal. Still, he could not help but think that Wright had the right idea about this particular bottle. Under the right circumstances—with the right company—it could be precisely what was called for.
When they exchanged glasses again, he returned Wright’s glass with significantly more wine in it than in the one he got back. There was a long day ahead of them yet.
They sat in companionable silence for a while as they finished their drinks, Edgeworth making sure his glass was emptied first. He waited for the final, noisy sigh of satisfaction that marked Wright finishing his glass and rose before his friend had even started to move, holding out his hand. “Give me your glass. I’ll fetch our next selections.”
“Oh, uh…” Wright hesitated, casting a glance at the bartender. Then he smiled up at Edgeworth and handed over his glass. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
Edgeworth ignored the blonde’s knowing smile as he collected their next drinks. And the next. And the next.
By that point, his movements were becoming far more careful and deliberate. He suspected Wright’s might be decidedly less controlled (not to mention less graceful) if he actually allowed him to get his own drinks. “You do remember that it’s acceptable to pour, don’t you?” he quipped as he handed the refreshed glass to his friend. Wright gave him a bleary, confused look until he gestured to the copper spittoon on the table.
“Hey! I didn’t spend all that money just to pour it down the drain!” he cried, indignant, and clutched the glass to his chest.
“You didn’t spend any money,” Edgeworth replied. “I just paid for both of us.”
Wright’s righteous indignation faltered. He boggled at Edgeworth in confusion for a moment before getting out an eloquent, “Huh?”
“I invited you out,” he said, off-handedly, as if that explained anything when they had both been paying their own way all these years (at least when they were both capable). Edgeworth buried his face in his glass. The wine warmed his cheeks.
“Oh…” Wright said, still staring blankly. Then, “You didn’t have to do that.”
Edgeworth focused on the silhouette of another pair of hawks, barely visible through the window as they swooped lazily over the vineyard. “I know.”
When he finally met his friend’s eyes again, Wright wore a grin that reminded him of the bartender’s. “Anyway, that’s all the more reason for me to not waste this. Cheers!”
“…Cheers.”
“Mmm…” Wright sank back in his seat as he drank, his eyes slipping shut. There was a long beat of silence before he continued. “But hey, it’s your money. If you don’t think you can take it all without spitting, I won’t complain.”
It was Edgeworth’s turn to be indignant. “I don’t spit,” he scoffed, glaring at his companion. Then it occurred to him how that sounded, and he averted his eyes. “I do pour, on occasion. If I deem the wine to be truly worthless.” He took another sip before swapping glasses again.
It did not occur to him that he hadn’t told Wright which types of wine they were tasting this time until after both glasses were empty. The ensuing monologue on the wines they had just enjoyed was the most long-winded and animated thus far. He didn’t stop until it finally registered to his slightly sluggish brain just how long his friend had been grinning at him. “I’ll…get our last glasses.”
Edgeworth nursed the final glass. Wright followed his lead without prompting.
They chatted languidly for a while after the final drops were drunk, until Edgeworth, who had been surreptitiously observing his friend’s overly animated mannerisms as they slowed, decided that it was safe to take the next step in their little adventure. In the midst of the next lull in the conversation, he rose and picked his glass up from the table. “Come along, Wright.”
“Huh?” came his friend’s eloquent reply as he stumbled to his feet, struggling to keep up. They crossed to the bar together to return the glasses to the waiting bartender. Wright gave her another winning smile as he handed his over. “Thanks for going easy on me,” he said. “In case it wasn’t obvious, I’ve never done one of these before. Not at a proper winery.”
“I specialize in popping cherries, sugar.”
Already halfway to the door, Edgeworth turned just in time to catch her wholly inappropriate wink. “Wright,” he snapped, turning sharply on his heel to leave.
“Come back and see us again, gentlemen.” The woman’s chuckling followed them out.
The world outside the winery was quiet and soft, and far warmer than when they went in. Insects droned in the thicket across the road. A small, grey-brown rabbit peered at them from the edge of the field then disappeared into the grass in a flash of blinding white.
Wright came up beside him and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. His face was flushed. “Phew. Bet you’re glad you decided to dress like a normal Angeleno for once,” he teased. His gaze traveled slowly down Edgeworth’s body; the prosecutor had exchanged his usual wardrobe for neat, lightweight trousers, a dark vest with a subtle vine print, and a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a single button undone. He had expected a flood of commentary the moment Wright got in the car—had been waiting for it, preparing to retaliate—but this was the first thing his friend had said about it. “Relatively speaking, I mean,” Wright quipped, winking. A chill ran up Edgeworth’s spine in the hot, arid air.
“My…usual attire is equally suited for the weather, I assure you,” he replied, his voice slightly breathy. “You should know. We ordered yours in the same fresco wool.”
“I guess I have to give you that one.” That familiar smirk said clearly that Wright was giving up nothing, despite his words. “Anyway, thanks again. That was great. I’m glad we finally got around to doing it.”
Ever the opportunist, Edgeworth took that moment to recover some of the control the wine had begun to rob him of. “Don’t tell me you’re already done.”
He didn’t miss the flicker of confusion in his friend’s eyes. “O-oh. Lunch?”
“Among other things.” He strode across the small lot to his car, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake. Along the way he pulled out his phone and opened a rideshare app; by the time he reached the trunk he had already ordered a car. “Our ride will be here in a few minutes,” he said as Wright jogged up beside him.
“Uh… Okay. Will your car be okay here?”
“I wouldn’t leave it if I thought it might not be,” he said dryly. The trunk popped open at the touch of his hand. He pulled out a hard-sided leather bag, and relished the way comprehension dawned in Wright’s wide eyes.
“Is that—”
“You did say you were ready for lunch.”
“If you gave me a hundred guesses, I could never have guessed that was the kind of lunch you planned.” He jabbed a finger at the picnic basket, almost accusingly.
“Is it really so surprising?” Edgeworth smirked, knowing full well that it was. The day he stopped enjoying his increasingly rare opportunities to get one up on his friend was the day he shuffled off this mortal coil.
“It could not be more surprising, and you know it. Cheeky bastard.”
———
The ride was short. Their next destination was just up the road, at the end of a long driveway that wound around small hills and past a historic, picturesque chapel. Wright’s face was plastered to the window as they rode, thwarting Edgeworth’s attempts to gauge his reaction as they pulled in to the next parking lot. Finally, his friend turned to him, beaming. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh come on. Miles Edgeworth, willingly choosing what has to be the only family friendly winery in the area?” Even as he said it, he hopped eagerly out of the car.
Edgeworth climbed out after him and called over the roof of the car, “It’s not the only one in the area.” And it wasn’t, not by a long shot. It was, however, not one of the wineries he ordinarily visited when he was there. Generally when he visited a winery he was looking for a relaxing and sensually stimulating experience. To his mind, that was nearly impossible to achieve when roving mobs of children were perpetually squealing and tearing across the pristine lawn. Edgeworth flinched as a particularly high-pitched, nearly inhuman sound assailed his ears. Wright gave him a sympathetic smile. It went ignored as Edgeworth reached back in for the basket and thanked their driver.
When he straightened up his composure was firmly back in place. He led the way to one of the picnic tables at the back of the large lawn, a bit removed from the bulk of the occupied tables.
“This place is great,” Wright offered. He was not wrong. Aside from the raving imps, Quail Ranch was really quite peaceful. The entire winery was twice the size of Cymru Estates. The picnic grounds and sprawling ranch building seemed to have grown up in the midst of an extensively manicured garden. Vibrant flowers and lush greenery covered every available inch. To the other side of the winery they could see hedge-flanked cobblestone paths winding lazily around various wrought iron seating areas. The paths all led inevitably to a massive, snow white gazebo and another lawn where weddings could be held. The space was currently occupied by several couples and small groups of adults who were, presumably, seizing a few moments of blessed relief while their children played. Edgeworth spared them one last, longing look before the building hid them from view.
“So,” Wright chirped as he flopped down on the picnic bench, “…what’dya bring me? I’m starving!”
Edgeworth rolled his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to run and play with the other children first?”
“Can’t play on an empty stomach.” He flashed a rakish, sloppy grin at his friend as he rubbed his palms together like some cartoon pig ready to pounce on a buffet. The resemblance was heightened when Edgeworth began to spread the basket’s contents across the picnic table. Olive tapenade, a selection of cheeses, various honeys and jams, dried fruits, crackers and bread, charcuterie, finger sandwiches, miniature meat pies, pastries—Wright’s eyes grew comically wide, and with each new delicacy the basket revealed, his open jaw hung a little lower.
Edgeworth took his time with the process, artfully arranging everything on several ceramic platters, which were still cold from the freezer packs filling the bottom of the insulated basket, while Wright squirmed impatiently. The defense attorney tried once to hurry up the process, but only earned himself a warning slap on the wrist. When every detail was finally perfect and the platters were spread across the table in a tantalizing display, Edgeworth spent another protracted minute setting out two place settings, complete with chargers and linens.
By the time he finished, Wright had laid his head on the table and was fixing the buffet with a truly pitiful stare. Edgeworth shook his head disapprovingly then took a step back to admire his handiwork. Apparently taking that as his cue, Wright sat bolt upright and made a mad dash for one of the meat pies, only to be stopped cold by Edgeworth wagging his finger in his friend’s face and tsking loudly. “I’m going in for more wine. Can I trust you to wait for me?”
Wright pouted in a way Edgeworth would never allow himself to call ‘cute,’ but he waved his friend on. “I’m not actually a five year old, Edgeworth. I wouldn’t start without you.”
“Hmph. I’ll be right back.”
The food appeared untouched when he returned, though the self-satisfied smirk Wright wore raised some significant doubts. Edgeworth narrowed his eyes at him as he laid two stemless wine glasses on the table, each perfectly positioned above and to the right of their respective plates. The final touch was a pair of crystal tumblers; he filled each with cold water from the picnic basket. “You’re going to want to drink this.”
“Okay, dad,” Wright mocked gleefully. His grin only widened when Edgeworth glared at him. “You know, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he continued, his tone softening. “I would have been just as happy with a hero and a bag of chips.”
“Be that as it may,” Edgeworth replied, shaking his head emphatically, “fine wine pairs best with fine food. This variety should offer a range of flavors to enhance the profile of our wine while still providing sufficient sustenance to last us through the day. …What are you grinning at?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Wright chuckled, waving as if it was so easy to dispel Edgeworth’s lingering concern that he was once again being mocked. “Am I allowed to eat now?”
Edgeworth held his gaze for an excruciatingly long moment. “Yes,” he finally replied, but before Wright’s hand could close on the nearest meat pie he snapped, “…after you open the meal with another toast.” Wright’s groan was extremely satisfying.
“Fine…” However, his petulance seemed short-lived. Wright cocked his head to the side (in a gesture just a bit too reminiscent of Butz for Edgeworth’s comfort), considering. Finally, he lifted his glass and waited for his companion to do the same. “To good food, great wine..and a partner to share them with.”
Something glinted in his eyes, in his smile, soft and indefinable. Edgeworth held on, hunting, though for what he could not say. “…Cheers,” he finally muttered, and hid his face in his glass. The smoke of the cabernet filled his nostrils with a mild, delicious burn, and stung his throat pleasantly on the way down. Wright hummed his approval with obvious relish. It was one of those sublime bottles which left no room for discussion. Edgeworth took a moment to congratulate himself on his own excellent taste.
His friend’s wanton moan broke his reverie. Startled, Edgeworth shot to attention, looking up to find Wright’s lips wrapped around one of the meat pies.
“Mmmhmm. This may be the wine talking, but I think this could be one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.” He began to pile his plate high with the rest of the offerings scattered on the table, along with a second meat pie. “Where did you get all of this stuff, anyway?”
Edgeworth kept his eyes downcast as he filled his own plate at a more sedate pace. “The, ah…olives and cheese are from the farmer’s market, the one at 3rd and Fairfax. The charcuterie meats are from the Jewish deli on Pico. I got the honey and jam the last time I was in Temecula, and…the pastries and sandwiches are from a, uh…delightful bakery in Little Tokyo.” Wright did not need to know that the ‘bakery’ was attached to the city’s only maid and butler cafe.
“…Wow. You went all out, didn’t you?”
“I already had some of this on hand. It wasn’t so difficult to gather the rest.” The tell-tale burning in his cheeks belied his casual tone. He stubbornly kept his head down in an effort to hide the evidence.
“Uh-huh…” Wright replied, openly skeptical. “And the meat pies?”
Edgeworth’s hand froze for a moment, mere inches from one of the pies. “I…recently found the recipe in one of my cookbooks. I’ve been looking for an excuse to try it.”
“You made these?”
He braced himself for the inevitable mockery. “I’m pleased to hear that they’re…satisfactory.”
There was a long, pregnant pause. Miles continued plucking items off the table to fill his plate, not daring to glance up and gauge how his admission was being received. Finally, Wright’s soft voice broke the silence. “…Yeah, they are. They’re really good.” Miles looked up. His friend was smiling. “I’d ask for the recipe, but we both know if I make them they won’t turn out like this,” he chuckled. “I bet Trucy would love them though. I guess I should at least give it a try.”
“I could do it,” Edgeworth blurted out, surprising them both. “I, ah… I mean, you’re welcome to borrow the book, if you want it, but I would not mind making another batch. I enjoy cooking when I have the time for it.”
“Well, I don’t want you to go to a lot of trouble. You’ve done so much already.” His words were disproportionately heavy. Edgeworth couldn’t be sure what, precisely, he was referring to.
“It would be no trouble. Truly.”
Wright crossed his arms and cocked his head, regarding him with the subtle trace of a smile on his lips. The angle of his head, the posture…it was familiar, but in an indefinable way. As if for just a moment, someone else was intruding on their conversation, and that someone else was amused with what they were hearing. Then his friend smiled the kind of brilliant, open smile that could only come from Wright, and the illusion dissipated into the heavy, hot afternoon air. “In that case, how about we make them together? I could bring Trucy over and we could make a night of it.”
The suggestion caught him off guard, so he could only stammer a hesitant, “That…should be fine. Provided we can all find room in our schedules.”
“I’m sure we can work something out. Now…” Phoenix clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, surveying his nearly overflowing plate. “Tell me more about these fancy cheeses.”
The next hour passed in comfortable conversation. They ate at a leisurely pace, drank wine at a pace which was, perhaps, not leisurely enough, and filled the occasional lull in the conversation with people-watching. Wright was drawn to the roving bands of children more often than not. Edgeworth would catch him with his chin on one hand and his gaze somewhere else. It didn’t take long for him to confirm what his friend was actually seeing, in his mind’s eye.
“Do you remember when Trucy was that little?”
Edgeworth turned to follow his friend’s gaze. The individual groups of children had coalesced into a large, squealing mass that wheeled around the open lawn like a flock of birds. At its point was a preteen girl with long, wavy hair. A checked picnic blanket trailed from her shoulders like a cape and a stick was in her hand; occasionally she would gesticulate with it while shouting some nonsense words in a commanding voice. Then one of the other children would cry out and fall, as if struck down by her magic spell.
“Hmph. Vividly,” Edgeworth said, wryly, and nodded towards the girl. “It was a bit like that, actually. Except half of the items she made disappear never reappeared, and half of the people she had wrapped around her little finger were grown men and women.”
Phoenix grinned, not taking his unfocused gaze off the girl. “Yeah,” he said, dreamily. Edgeworth allowed himself a soft smile while his friend wasn’t looking. “I miss that. Don’t get me wrong,” he was quick to amend himself. “Watching my girl grow into the most incredible young woman has been one of the greatest experiences in my life. I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. She’s perfect in every way.” He sighed heavily, alcohol lending unnecessary weight to it. “But I can’t help it. Sometimes when she’s up on stage and she’s got the audience eating out of the palm of her hand or when Athena starts talking about teaching her to drive so she won’t end up sad and car-less like her old man, I just…wish she was still my little girl.”
They were silent for a moment. The delighted laughter of the children rolled over them on an arid breeze.
“I suspect she sometimes feels the same,” Miles finally said. “Your relationship will continue to change because you will continue to change. You will go through life loving the girl she was just as fervently as the woman she has become. Thus, at any given moment, the presence of the person she is will carry with it the ghost of the person she once was. You are loving and mourning and hoping with every breath. Just as she is.”
Phoenix turned to meet his gaze, and held it for a long time. A beatific smile finally lit his face with a wan light. “We should bring the kids here.”
Edgeworth snorted. “What ‘kids’ are you referring to?”
“Trucy, Athena, Maya, Pearls…” He waved his hand as he rattled the names off, his fingers fluttering awkwardly through the air like a particularly uncoordinated butterfly. “And your lot of miscreants.”
Edgeworth rolled his eyes. “I don’t think a single one of them has qualified as a ‘kid’ in years.”
“Hey. As long as they call us ‘old farts’ we can still call them kids.” A wolfish sort of amusement burned the last of the melancholy from his smile. "Or whippersnappers.”
A visible shudder traveled down Edgeworth’s body.
“I think it’s time for some more wine.”
———
Later, Edgeworth would remember very little of the ride to their final destination. He had enough presence of mind to choose the right seat this time, on the side the winery would be coming up on, giving him a front row seat to Wright’s reaction. From there, what focus he could muster was spent on his friend: the slight slur to his speech and the amusing way he overcompensated for it, his effusive amusement at his own foolish jokes as he carried on an animated conversation with the bemused driver, and, best of all, the look on his face when the final tasting room came in to view through Edgeworth’s window. These days, it was rare for him to catch Wright off guard so completely.
The heady shock of warmth when his inebriated friend leaned over him—against him—to get a better look was an unexpected bonus. It took him longer than it should have to find the door handle and climb out of the car.
“This isn’t a winery. It’s a shack.”
Edgeworth barely avoided slamming the car door on Wright’s face. Apparently he had decided opening his own door was too much trouble and had opted to stumble out after his companion. Edgeworth caught himself at the last moment and instead moved to retrieve the basket from the trunk. “It’s The Shack, to be precise,” he said, waving the driver on. “It was originally built in the 1800s as a blacksmith shop.”
It certainly looked the part. In the fading afternoon light, the dark stains of weathering and time bled softly across the tiny building’s old wood walls. It was easy to imagine a farmer walking their workhorse up to the large double doors for shoeing. The obvious age contrasted appealingly with the clean, modern signage, flowering bushes, and oak wine barrel that decorated the path leading up to the shack. The roof—a clean, corrugated metal roof in dark grey—was the perfect blend to bridge the old with the new.
Wright gawped at it. “What the hell, Edgeworth?”
Edgeworth immediately went on the defensive, afraid that he had made a grave miscalculation. Suddenly it was all too easy to see how, without the benefit of reputation, The Shack might seem a bit…questionable. “I hope you’re not judging the place before you even set foot in it.”
A smile broke through Wright’s indecipherable expression, and he playfully nudged Edgeworth with his elbow as if it was perfectly natural for him to do so. “It’s not that, you idiot. I’m just wondering when you became the kind of guy who could bring himself to set foot in a ‘dump’ like this.”
Edgeworth found himself smiling despite his best efforts. He rested a finger on his chin and made a show of considering the question. “Hmm. It may have started around the same time I convinced you to try your first glass of wine...”
“Sounds about right. Good things happen when we drag each other out of our comfort zones, huh?”
“Sometimes.”
The building’s interior did little to inspire more confidence. Just inside the door was a display plastered with flyers, letters, newspaper clippings, a collection of kitschy artifacts, and portrait photos in varying states of degradation. Mismatched armoires and bookcases lining the walls held merchandise emblazoned with the winery’s logo: a simplified illustration of an anchor. The exposed metal of the ceiling was carried through to the bar that dominated the remaining space; it was made of reclaimed wood and corrugated metal covered in spatters of whitewash. Strings of white Christmas lights were wrapped haphazardly around the ceiling beams, unlit. It was like an artful interpretation of a roadside bar.
Massive barn doors took up much of the opposite wall. They opened onto a small patio and the hills beyond. A breeze stirred the long, dry grass and stole through the shack, promising an unseasonably cool evening to come. The exposure made the building seem like the most insubstantial of portals, as if only the barest threads separated them from the sprawling world beyond.
Edgeworth would not think of it as magical…but he supposed there was no harm in contemplating whether Wright would. After all, he had chosen this finale for a reason. The entire day had been carefully curated with his friend’s tastes in mind.
“Find us a table,” he said. “I’ll get the wine.”
The patio tables consisted of wood planks stretched across old barrels. The seating consisted of industrial style metal bar stools and plastic lawn chairs. Wright, sprawled in a lawn chair at the farthest end of the patio, looked like any dad at a backyard barbecue. He beamed at Edgeworth’s approach, his teeth glinting dimly in the light of the setting sun. “This is definitely more my speed.”
“I thought it might be,” he replied, setting a glass of a thick, smoky red down in front of Wright.
“I take it these places aren’t your usual haunts.” Wright’s tone was casual, but there was something lurking in his sidelong glance as he sipped his wine.
“I’ve been here before. They have an excellent reputation.”
Wright made a noncommittal noise in return and asked him about the wine.
Night crept in while they weren’t looking. Neither noticed until the web of string lights stretched across the patio came to life, casting a soft, white glow on their own small corner of the world. Beyond the patio the black hills raced to meet the indigo sky. Wright gasped, and his face lit up momentarily with a child’s simple delight. Edgeworth sighed under his breath.
“This reminds me of that park in London. Remember? The one where Trucy made the pelicans disappear.”
“St. Joan’s Park.” Edgeworth supplied. ”I’m not sure which was more frightening—the security guards’ reaction when they vanished or the pelicans’ reaction when they reappeared.”
Wright laughed, and Edgeworth chuckled with him. The laughter eventually fell away, but their smiles lingered.
“Thanks for helping me give her the kind of childhood she deserved, Edgeworth.”
Edgeworth’s smile fell away. He turned his gaze on the emptiness beyond the light, where an unseen sea of grass swished like gentle waves off Nodeny beach. “It wasn’t an imposition.”
“Bullshit,” Wright declared, and he knew if he dared to look, his friend’s gaze would be uncharacteristically intense. “You risked a lot for us. You sacrificed a lot for us. You know it. I know it. And I’m willing to bet she knows it better than either of us.”
He did not know what to say to that. Fortunately, Wright did.
“You mean a lot to her. To both of us.” The words landed heavily, filling the space between them. He felt the flush of the wine keenly. It was a relief when the large party at the other end of the patio erupted in raucous laughter and applause. When he chanced a glance at Wright, his smile had returned.
“More wine?”
The short trip to the bar was an unsteady one, but he thought it would have been even more so if Wright had been the one to make it. He made it there and back with the excessive care of the hopelessly inebriated. As he set Wright’s glass down, he leaned in close—too close—to be heard over the ongoing revelry.
Later, he could not say what he whispered in his friend’s ear. He could not say what supple madness possessed him to move as he did, without thought or warning. He could only say that the wine on Phoenix’s tongue was the sweetest he had ever tasted. When they separated, the tiny lights dancing in his dear friend’s eyes were like stars.
“Wow,” Phoenix breathed, etching the word on his heart.
“…’Wow,’ indeed,” Miles sighed, and when Phoenix wrapped his arms around his neck, he did not shy away.
“Did you bring me out here for the explicit purpose of wooing me, Miles Edgeworth?” Wright narrowed his eyes, coquettish as no adult male approaching his 40s had any right to be.
Edgeworth’s mouth was dry. Fortunately, he had the wine to blame. “We can pretend that I did, if it would please you to think so.”
“The girls would say it makes for a better story.”
“The girls would be right.”
Wright chuckled. “They usually are.” One of his fingers began to trace random patterns on the back of Edgeworth’s neck. An errant breeze raised goose flesh on his skin. “So…” Wright drawled. “About that meat pie date…”
“I’m free tomorrow,” Edgeworth said, all the while telling himself that the heart palpitation he felt was merely a benign aberration. Nothing to be concerned about.
With a wink, Wright finally released him. “How convenient. So are we.”
“Then it is…a date.” It came out a little too far on the side of a question, but if Wright noticed, he gave no sign.
“It’s a date.” He grinned and raised his glass. “To us.”
Miles found himself smiling again. “To…us.”
They finished their tastings after that. Delicious as it was, the wine was a poor substitute for that first kiss. At least the view remained consistently spectacular. They would definitely find an excuse to return to that winery in the future. Hopefully, the near future.