I dressed Will up like a Ken doll today, I texted Amelia.

Why the fuck would you do that? He's already Woody from Toy Story.

He is not. He's cooler, more like Johnny Cash, the man in black.

True. And?

I wanted to see if he would do it. I made him dress like me. Tie dye. No Wranglers. He wore Levi's and flip flops and Ray Bans.

And?

He looked hot. But he didn't look like Will.

And?

I'm not going to do that again. He can stay the way he is.

And?

It was fun to try it.

And?

He's my boyfriend now.

Amelia?

<Sobbing into my coffee, so happy for my best friend since third grade.>

That evening I leaned against a shirtless, boxer-clad Will in his bed, spooning. I wore a tank top and pajama bottoms. He hugged me close but did not let his hands roam. He didn't kiss me.

"We forgot to buy you Wranglers today," he murmured in my ear.

"That's because when we went to my apartment, I found some from high school and packed them up. I think they still fit."

"You used to wear them?" he asked, with some admiration in his voice.

"I rode horses when I was little," I said, "and I've always been a bit of a horsey girl." Then I admitted, "I think they'll fit. They might be a little tight."

"I'm lookin' forward to seeing that, especially," he said.

He ran his fingers down my bare arm and kissed me behind the ear. I sighed.

"It's hard keeping myself in check. But I'll do it for you. What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"I haven't been to your winery yet."

"I'll take you after I do the morning rounds." Just then I heard Trixie whimpering from the kitchen. "Mind if I bring her up? Sometimes she gets lonely."

I loved having Trixie around. I wondered why he didn't do it more often. "Not at all."

He got out of bed, all tan muscle and sexy. I heard him go downstairs, open the kitchen door, and the next thing I knew, Trixie had bounded up and was on the bed next to me, wagging her tail.

"Settle in, girl," he said to her, and rubbed behind her ears. Then he leaned over me and kissed me, deeply, lots of tongue, my breasts against his chest, and just when it was getting good, he pulled away, with a pained noise.

I looked at him, breathless. He looked back at me, breathless.

How many more days? Why did I insist on this?

He let out a sigh. Then he rearranged us, with me tucked into him and Trixie curled at the foot of the bed, reached over to turn off the light, kissed my neck, said "Goodnight," and went to sleep.

It took me a while to fall asleep. Not because I was uncomfortable, but because quite the opposite.

I didn't want to be anywhere than in Will's arms. Even though we still had things we needed to talk about.

The next morning was Sunday. Sitting in the bunkhouse office, I finalized the plans for the activities for the week. I started thinking about what the "anything" that Will was going to do to me.

Then I got an idea.

I found the website and ordered, assured of discreet brown packaging.

And then I joined Will and Trixie in his truck as we drove to the winery.

It was another gorgeous California summer day, not too hot, and as we drove past the rows of crops in the fields, trees in the orchards, and grapes in the the vineyards, ultimately pulling into the gravel drive of the winery, which was on a frontage road next to the highway, with olive trees, rosemary, and lavender landscaping.

We walked hand in hand up to the corrugated metal building, which was done in industrial chic inside.

There was a young woman with a nose ring and dyed black hair behind the bar, and she had a lot of tattoos.

So Will employed someone who looked a little bit like me. Maybe he wasn't as pure cowboy as he seemed.

"Hi, Mr. Thrash," she said, smiling.

"Genevieve, this is Marie, my girlfriend." He just wasn't shy about using that word. "She hasn't tried our wine, so please let her have a flight."

"Sure thing, Mr. Thrash. You too?"

"Nope, I'm driving and gotta do some more work later."

She set out six wine glasses and poured a healthy amount in the first glass, a dry white Central Coast blend, telling me about it. "All of our wines are certified organic, and our winemaker went through the viticulture program at Cal Poly." A group of people walked in and she excused herself to go serve them. I sipped the wine, which was lovely.

"So you can handle two edgy female employees?"

"Yeah?" he said, wary.

"I guess I expected you to hire all country girls, but you have a thing for tattooed ones too?"

"Marie, she's an employee and she's twenty-two. You are my girlfriend, not my employee." I tipped back the last of the glass in a rush.

Genevieve came over and gave me another glass of white wine, describing it to me.

I was in a strange mood. I felt like I needed to start pushing him. I had to know if it was going to work between us. He seemed to think it was, but I wasn't convinced, and if I just tiptoed around our issues — his politics, my politics, my feminism, his whatever anti-feminism — then we'd never get them resolved. Even though part of me just wanted to let these things go and let us off the hook, I knew that I had insisted on this period of time for a reason. And if it wasn't going to work out, I needed to know before I really got hurt. Before I really opened up my heart to him.

And I wanted to know more about his kink.

I looked at him, then I looked over at Genevieve, then I looked back at him. "Tell me more about the threesomes."

"This isn't the place, Marie."

"No one's listening."

I was right. We were standing to the side of the bar and Genevieve was helping the other patrons. They were noisy and there was no way that they were paying attention to us.

He looked really uncomfortable, but he started talking and I think it was because he knew I was going to bug him until he talked. "Fuck. What do you want to know? There was a bar in college that I went to, a country bar, and a lot of times it was easy to pick up a woman and her friend." He paused. "You don't want to know this."

"I don't want to be in a threesome with you. I just want you. But it's fucking hot and I want details."

"You don't want to know. That shit will only make you jealous and that's not a good idea. It's ancient history anyway."

I swallowed the last of the second glass of wine and Genevieve noticed, came over, and poured me the third glass. These were huge tastes, not the two fingers I was used to getting at a winery. I guess it helped if you were there with the boss.

"Marie, I don't talk about it. To anyone."

I looked at him.

"Christ, do you really want to know about the pussy that was before you?" he hissed.

Oh, no. He didn't say that.

He referred to other women as 'pussy.' He just referred to me as 'pussy.'

I got mad.

I knew I had some wine, although not that much, and I know that I was being unreasonable. I knew I pushed him on it and probably for no reason other than I wanted to get this shit out of him.

I knew it wasn't fair.

But I didn't like being called just a pussy.

Fuck.

I brought this on myself.

"Is that what you think of me?" I hissed back, "Some pussy to stick your dick into? Is that what you think of all women?"

"Of course not."

"But you just said it."

He sighed. "You asked me before why I'm not a feminist. This is one of the reasons. I can't talk to you the way I would talk with a man. Men and women are different. We do different things, we see the world differently. Doesn't make one better than the other. I bet you talk to me differently than you talk to Amelia."

Yeah, I've objectified men. I just looked at him, not answering.

"We all do it darlin'. Doesn't mean that I don't respect you. Doesn't mean that I have something against women. I just don't support the political feminist agenda."

"This is the problem, Will. You are so closed mouth and sometimes what comes out of your mouth is totally wrong. Totally against the core of my ideals."

"Fuck your ideals," he retorted, immediately.

"See, that's the thing," I said, wagging a finger in his face. "You can say 'fuck my ideals,' but what about yours? What about yours big guy? What have you said 'fuck it' to, for me?"

"Quit chewing for you," he said in a low voice.

Oh no. He did.

"Wore your damn hippie shirt. Sang your songs. Drove in your car. I don't really want to be listing this shit, just pay attention, Marie. It's not a one-way street here. We're both giving and taking. Wake up."

Wake up.

Fuck.

I glared at him.

"Take me back to Headlands," I demanded.

He nodded.

We got up, waved to Genevieve, and got the fuck out of there, driving back to the compound. Not saying a word the entire time.

When he stopped the truck, I opened the door, muttered, "thanks for the ride," and ran into the bunkhouse, down the hall, into the bedroom, which was mercifully empty, shut the door, and called Amelia.

I briefed her about our fight and she started asking questions.

"He referred to women as just pussy," I complained.

"We've done that, Marie," she said reasonably.

"Ugh, but it was different with him."

"We do it too, Marie. We talk about men's bodies too. Listen, does he walk all over you?"

"No."

"Does he listen to you?" Uh, oh. She was getting into lawyer interrogation mode. I started pacing the room.

"Yes."

"Does he force you to do something you don't want to do?" Major badass lawyer interrogation mode.

"No."

"Does he want you to change?"

"He dared me to eat ice cream."

"A dare is different. And did you?"

"McConnell's."

"Good choice. Yum. I may have to go there with Ryan soon. Sorry, I'm digressing. He doesn't make you not be you, though, does he?"

"No. He takes me as I am. He just argues with me when he doesn't agree with me. But he doesn't tell me to not be me," I said in a whisper.

"There's your answer," she said gently.

Fuck. Maybe.

"How do you feel about him?"

"I only want to be with him. When we went to Tri-County, I saw Jeremy—"

She snorted. "Man-Bun? How is he?"

"Well he paled in comparison to Will."

"I could have told you that."

"Actually, the cowboy is all I'm thinking about these days. And we aren't even doing it."

"Huh?"

"I told him I wanted a sex moratorium until we worked out our shit."

She laughed. "And he agreed to that?"

"Yeah."

She paused for a moment. And then she continued, rocking my world. "He loves you. Straight up. No lying. He's fallen for you. No guy, especially no tough cowboy, would give you that unless he really cared about you."

"He gave me the keys to his truck," I said in a small voice.

"Shall we start working on table arrangements for the wedding? That's my favorite part..."

"Fuck off, Amelia. Speaking of wedding, how are plans for yours?"

Giggling, she started on her favorite topic. "It's going to be sooner, rather than later. And I can't wait, honestly. My mom wants it to be all big and Ryan doesn't care, but I want it to be small and informal." She stopped. "Wait. Don't change the subject. How is the heart opening, Marie?"

"I'm working on it."

"Really?"

"Maybe."

But I stayed in the bunkhouse the rest of the night.