2021-04-13 - Plowing the Field

The weather is starting to warm up, so it's time to pull on some gloves and hit the dirt. Perhaps unfortunately for Dante, Cris has recruited him today to help tend the garden allotment that the latino has had behind the Branch & Bole since their inception. He's gotten the necessary tools and toted them over to the raised garden beds, handing Dante a pair of gloves. "Betcher so glad you agreed to marry me now."

Dante takes the gloves in a sort of loose-handed way that suggests that he doesn't really want to take them, but is doing so anyway. He's not ridiculous enough to wear a three piece suit gardening but he is wearing raw denim and a Hugo Boss short sleeve button up in salmon pink with a slight sheen. "I make absolutely no promises that I'll be any help. My manicured thumbs are as far away from green as one can possibly get."

Bemusement tugs at the corner of Cris' lips, "Hey, I asked you if you wanted to get dirty with me." His eyebrows tick up suggestively. "If nothing else, you can keep me company while I redo everything you've done." The Brit is smacked on his rump by Cris' own pair of gloves as the man passes and starts to tug them on. "So over here are the flower bulbs, we just need to weed. The vegetable garden will need to be cultivated, that's what that three pronged looking fork thing is for."

"Really? I thought it was for chasing Frankenstein's monster away from the village," Dante drawls. He picks up the pitchfork and poses, American Gothic-style for a moment. "Best not put me on weeding. The chef at Sitka has an herb garden on the patio. I tried to help with weeding once and apparently destroyed her parsley crop."

There's a shake of Cris' head, an easy laugh rolling out of his throat. "I should take a picture of that and send it to your ex-wife. Really drive home just how gay I've turned you." In his cargo shorts and henley, he climbs all the way up into the bed instead of just tending it from the raised edge.

"Darling, you can't turn what was already cranked to eleven." Dante stands there, holding whatever Cris saw fit to give him. It's an awkward stance. "What would you like me to do?"

Down on his hands and knees, Cris comments, "Can't blame a guy for wanting to take some credit." Gloved fingers start to pluck weeds out, pitching them into a bucket. "Just turn the soil, pull out any old roots and weeds, and chunk them in the can. And after you work up a good sweat, I'll hose you off behind the shed."

Dante is suddenly regretting wearing his nice jeans and shirt when Cris gives his directions. But these are the most casual clothes he owns that aren't workout gear. "So...everything that's a plant that's in here needs to come out? Everything?"

"So long as you stay the hell away from my bed. I paid a mint for some of these bulbs." Cris falls silent for a moment, "I planted them for my landlady, Miss Emeline, but I don't think she's going to make it out here this year. At least she got to see them bloom once."

"Can you pick some when they bloom and bring her a bouquet?" asks Dante as he awkwardly settles himself, puts on the gloves and starts ineffectually poking at the dirt. Eventually he does pull out an old clump or two, initially spilling too much soil before he figures out that it's a good idea to smack the root ball before he does that.

"Consolation prize for getting old and brittle? Yeah. Yeah, sorry, it's a good idea. You ever think about that? Getting old? I sort of thought I'd have burned out fast and bright after Amy." Cris asks while his hands stay busy.

"Oh yes. After nine hours on my feet at the restaurant when my back twinges? Definitely." Dante pulls out another bit of plant, knocks it off and chucks it into the bucket. He'll be here all day at this rate. "There is...something I wanted to speak to you about. I was wondering how you might feel about renting a house rather than me renewing the lease on my place. You could have a proper garden you wouldn't have to drive to. And..." he shrugs, "...it would be somewhere that was ours, and not mine."

Cris sits back on his haunches, resting his rear on the heels of his work boots. "Yeah?" It's not a confirmation but a question. "I dunno." He drags his forearm over his brow, leaving a streak of dirt behind. "That would mean leaving behind the security of Bayside, not to mention the high end finishes and comfort that is so distinctly you. We're not going to find a rental place that checks all those boxes."

"I don't need high-end finishes. I only ended up there because I foolishly thought I would only be in town a few months. It was the only place in town that wasn't a total dump that would rent me a furnished flat." Dante shrugs, "The only thing high-end I actually want is my suits. I can deal with a non-stainless steel fridge and regular countertops."

"Cooooould you though?" Cris tilts his head slightly with sardonic incredulity, tempered with a smirk. "Well. If you're really serious about this, why don't you take a look at Emeline's place. The main house in front of my garage apartment. I had to move her to assisted care last week. Gave me power of attorney." Maybe that's what has prompted this little gardening foray, and he's been silently stewing about it.

"I know I give off the air of being a snob with expensive tastes, but as long as things are clean and in good repair, I can manage. And I now know how to outfit a space, thanks to the crash course with the restaurant." Dante pokes at the soil, searching for new root balls. He stops at that second part, though. "I'm sorry to hear that, dear. She must not be in a good way. A good facility at least?"

"Mm." Cris intones deep in his chest at the apologetic note. "Best her estate could afford." And then his eyes flick over to Dante, sheepishly guilty. "And maybe a little from my own pocket. She needs full time care now, not just some sexy ass Mexican to run her errands. Anyway, I've got the keys. We can take a look whenever you want. Saves me from finding a renter for her that I trust to live in front of the apartment."

"And rent money to help pay her expenses. Well, it sounds like it may be well-timed? Just as long as there isn't carpet. I can't stand carpet." And Dante just got finished saying he wasn't a snob. He is quiet a moment, then asks, "Would you keep your apartment?" The arrangement so far has been that he does, but this would change things.

Cris tries to swallow back his smile, but it's there around the edges of his eyes. "I can pull up the carpet. Probably hardwood under it." Standing from his spot, he walks around the horseshoe shaped plot towards Dante as he peels off his gloves. "You want me to give it up?"

"I should've known. Little old ladies always have carpet over perfectly nice hardwood," says Dante with a grin. He watches Cris approach, then lifts a shoulder. "Do you still need it? It might be a little awkward if we rented two places on the same property."

"That would just be renting the whole property, so we wouldn't have to co-tenant and we'd have some actual privacy." Cris smacks his gloves in his palm, rhythmically to the beat of his thoughts. "Much as I'd love to say that marrying you means I'm leaving that life behind? I dunno, babe. It's not that black and white. I'd still lay down my life for Joey, if he asks."

"Remind me to have a talk with Joey to make sure he never asks," says Dante with a dry roll to his words. Hard to tell if he means that. "I suppose the question is, is keeping that flat and us living in the main part of the house enough separation between that world and ours for you?"

"That world can live someplace else from now on and I sure as hell don't need it for a romp room anymore, do I?" Cris knuckles the underside of Dante's chin, stealing a quick kiss but his face lingers close with a warring nudge of nose to nose. "Maybe we'll just turn it into your little writing oasis, hmm, mi rey?"

"I would hope not," murmurs Dante. "You could have a garden in the back and somewhere to putter around and fix things. And you wouldn't have to worry about being in my space. I'm not your sugar daddy, after all." He grins toothily and nudges back. Then he shoots a half-hearted glance over his shoulder. "I feel like we're about to scandalize the Gray Harbor gardening community."

"And yet somehow you just turned me into the Mexican handyman. If we put in a pool can I get a promotion to cabana boy?" Cris asks with a tilt of his eyebrow. At the mention of scandal, the latino rings his arms around Dante's waist, tucking his thumbs into the man's back pocket. "C'mon. You hate this. Let's go get cleaned up and have a drink."

"Only if you wear booty short trunks," says Dante with a velvety roll to those words and a flash in dark eyes. He looks at the dirt, then up at Cristobal. "I will stay here all afternoon for you, my love. Poking ineffectually at dirt and making faces at worms and bugs. I wouldn't enjoy it, but I would stay and not complain." A headwobble, "...too loudly."

There is a rumble in Cris' throat that that velvety tone brings forth. "Just give me another half hour to make some progress. Then we'll see about that hosing off situation." He pulls Dante forward so they bump hip to hip and he tilts his head up for another kiss. Scandal indeed.