Page 3 of Flights and Sights

“You make mead. That’s a talent all on its own.”

“Eh.”

“Well, guitar playing isn’t quite as sexy as breathing fire or sword swallowing, so compared to your list, I thought you’d find it boring.”

“Guitar players are so sexy,” I countered.

Before I could say anything else, the captain came over the loudspeaker and announced our descent and imminent landing.

Cal’s eyes widened a little and he took a deep, shaky breath. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

God, would I love to. The thought went tumbling through my brain before I could stop it. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you? He’s probably straight. I offered him my hand with a gentle smile and he took it gratefully.

“We'll get through this together,” I murmured to him. When he looked at me, trust in his eyes, I winked at him. He let out a soft sigh at that. As the plane descended and ultimately hit the runway, I talked Cal through it, telling him bad jokes and probing him for more information about the family talent show that I was becoming obsessed with. Eventually, we landed, safe and sound in Sacramento and I reluctantly pulled my hand out of his.

“Well,” I said as the plane doors opened. “I guess this is goodbye.”

Cal frowned and nodded. “Thanks for your help, Pax. I really appreciate it. More than I can say.”

“It was my pleasure.” I had the urge to offer him my number or ask for his, but I knew it was futile, with him only visiting for a few short weeks. Maybe we’d manage a single hookup while he visited if we exchanged numbers, but that’s all it could be and I decided against tempting fate that way.

As I stood and grabbed my bag from the overhead compartment, I glanced down to see Cal’s gaze fixed on my body. It lit me up inside, the idea that he might be interested, too, and as I carefully lowered my bag, my jeans felt noticeably tighter. I sighed softly to myself and grabbed my backpack. “See you next time, Cal.”

He gave me a shy smile. “Thanks again, Pax. Next time.”

The following day, I headed to the meadery in the late morning. Once I let myself in, I grabbed a damp cloth and a bottle of sanitizing solution to spray down the tables. One thing I loved about taking the opening shift was the quiet before the storm—the noise of patrons chattering, the music on the loudspeakers playing, the clack and clatter of glassware as mead was served. None of that had started yet when I came in and opened the taproom, and I enjoyed the solitude. Of course, I enjoyed having customers there, too, for so many reasons, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

Once I was satisfied that the tables were done, I moved to the bar top itself, a wood slab covered in a thick, clear epoxy, wiping any spots that were still left from the night before, when my usual bartender and best friend, Tommy, had closed up for the night. He was good about keeping a tidy tasting room, but that didn’t mean I didn’t like to go over it again, just in case.

I moved around, checking the bathrooms to be sure they were well-stocked, tidying the games shelves, and straightening furniture, before I went to the back and tended to the meads, checking to ensure the fermentation barrels were at the right temperature, that the aging barrels were looking good, and that the batches that needed aeration got their daily attention.

By the time I had cleaned and prepped and checked everything, the clock was showing noon and it was time to open up the tasting room for the day. I went to the front door and unlocked it, noticing a person sitting on the porch, apparently waiting for me to open for the day. They looked vaguely familiar from behind, from their mid-length dark hair to the set of their shoulders.

“Hey there,” I said. “You can come on in.”

The person stood and turned to face me and my stomach did that weird little twist it had done on the plane. Standing in front of me was Callum Sinclair.

Chapter 2 - Callum

Icouldn’t suppress the smile on my face as the realization dawned on me. Pax said his family's meadery was outside Sacramento. What he hadn’t said was that it was just on the outskirts of Foggy Basin, the small town near Sacramento where my family happened to rent this year’s house. “You’re kidding me,” I said quietly. I had been sure we’d never see each other again. The sense memory of him holding my hand as the plane landed flooded back to me, the warmth and safety it had provided me.

Pax furrowed his brow and ran his hand through his short, light brown hair as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, his dark brown eyes alight with either surprise or excitement, I couldn’t tell which. Maybe both, if I was lucky. “Cal? How did you—what are you doing here?”

I held up my pocket-sized spiral notebook and my pen. “I’m a magazine writer, remember? I work for Connection Monthly. While I’m out here for the reunion, I figured I’d write a piece on Foggy Basin. After you told me so much about the mead-making life, I got curious. As I was headed into town, I saw the sign advertising this one, I thought I’d stop by. I didn’t know Celestial Cask was your place.”

He nodded slowly. “Well, then I guess we’re both surprised to see each other. Why don’t you come in and have a seat?” He stepped aside to let me in.

The way he said surprised made me wonder if it was as pleasant a surprise to him as it was to me. I didn’t push my luck and ask. Instead, I took a seat at the glossy bar, settling onto a black leather barstool with chrome legs.

“Have you ever had mead before?” Pax asked as he made his way behind the bar, rolling up the sleeves of his red and black plaid shirt.

“Not yet.” I tapped my pen on the countertop. “What’s good here?”

He laughed. “Personally, I think it’s all good. There are a lot of different varieties. What kind of alcohol do you gravitate toward?”

“I’ll try anything, but when I have a choice, I prefer sweet drinks.”

He turned his back to me and grabbed a couple of glasses. “Perfect, because our meads run sweet.”