Chapter 14
Olivier
Monday morning hits with that crisp clarity only a fresh week can bring—the city stirring awake, the birds singing, the faint scent of rain in the air from an overnight drizzle.
“Work hard!” I call out. “And behave!”
“Will do,” Danny replies. “And I’ll do my best LOL!”
I stand at the restaurant's front door, waving Danny off as he heads to the building site on foot.
Danny looks happy.
He's got that post-weekend glow, backpack slung over one shoulder with Lexi peeking out, his stride long and confident but with a backward glance and a shy wave that melts me every time.
"You’ve got this, boy," I call, voice carrying over the quiet sidewalk. He grins, blowing a kiss before turning the corner.
Damn, that boy.
After our weekend of fun and frolics, letting him go feels like releasing a part of myself. But the site's his world, for now. And the restaurant is mine too.
Back inside, the restaurant's still asleep… tables set but empty, kitchen prepped for the day ahead.
Antonio's due any minute for our meeting.
No Lazlo, no other crew.
Just Antonio and me.
My stomach twists with nerves I haven't felt since opening night years ago. This proposal—it's huge.
Life-changing for both of us.
If he accepts, it could pave the way for my future with Danny. I will be able to step away from the daily grind here, relocate, bridge our worlds.
But if Antonio turns it down? I’m back to square one, him off to New York, me chained to this place while Danny's crew pulls him home.
It's a gamble, but one that I know I have to take to give Danny and I the best shot possible at making our relationship work in the long run. Of all the boys in the world, Danny is the one who could make me do this. But it’s not even like I feel any hardship at contemplating it.
It feels right. I’m ready for a new start.
I just hope that Antonio is thinking along the same lines…
I pace the dining room, fingers trailing over the polished bar.
Laurent's words echo…
"The best decisions come from the soul, not the head, Olivier."
My mentor, gruff but wise, always hammered that in. Logic for menus, intuition for life. It makes sense to me, and I’ve tried to live by it as much as I possibly could over the years.
I stop at the framed photo on the wall—me and Laurent outside this very spot on opening night. I'm young, all sharp ambition and nerves, suit ill-fitted from borrowing it last-minute. Laurent is beaming, arm around my shoulders, cigar in hand, the sign above us fresh-painted: Ramsey’s.
Pride surges in the memory—Laurent’s praise that night, generous and unfiltered. "You did it, kid. This place? It's you. Now make it sing."
Laurent didn't hoard credit. No, he gave flowers when they were due. He celebrated my successes as easily as he critiqued my missteps. He gave me the push without the pull-back. If I'm half the mentor to Antonio that Laurent was to me, this proposal's the right call.
My soul says yes.
My head? It worries about details—contracts, transitions, the void I’ll leave if I’m not around.
But soul wins.
The door chimes, snapping me from reverie. Antonio steps in, shaking rain from his coat, that usual easy smile faltering when he sees me by the photo.
"Morning, chef,” Antonio says. “Awesome shot.
You two look like conquerors." He hangs his coat, eyes flicking around the empty room. "Early meet, huh? If this is about firing me... I get it. The New York thing, right? Seriously, I get it. It’s not a good look to have a chef poached. So fire him first. It’s cool. "
I burst out laughing, the tension cracking like an eggshell.
"Firing you?” I roar. “Antonio, no. Nothing could be further from the truth." I motion to the bar stools. "Sit. Coffee?"
He perches, wary but relieved.
I pour us both mugs—strong, black, the way we take it after long nights.
"Antonio, I've been thinking,” I say, placing my hand on his arm for a moment to reassure him, maybe even relax him just a touch. I’ve been pondering your offer, your future. And mine."
He nods, gripping the mug. "Yeah?"
"I want to step away from the day-to-day here,” I say.
“Let you run it solo." His eyes widen and I push on.
"We'll draw up a contract. Fair terms. You buy in over time, build equity as funds allow. Long-term? The place is yours, full ownership. That’s if you can make it work, which I’d bet my last dollar you could. "
I lay it out: mentorship ongoing, my name stays for branding if he wants, but control shifts to him. He’ll have freedom to innovate, make it his vision.
"You've earned this,” I say. “You're ready. You need to do this. But don’t feel like you have to say yes. If New York is the move, then you’ll have my blessing too."
He's stunned, mug halfway to his lips.
"Chef... Olivier... you're serious?" Delight breaks through the shock, a grin splitting his face. "This is... incredible. But why? Is it Danny?"
I smile, leaning on the bar.
"It is,” I say. “He's... changed things. Made me see there's more than this kitchen. I want to build something with him, wherever that leads."
The coast. A new chapter. A new restaurant even.
Antonio nods, understanding dawning. "He's lucky. Got himself a hell of a Daddy."
The word hangs—Daddy.
I meet Antonio’s eyes, a knowing spark there. My suspicions confirmed.
"And you'll find yours too, one day," I say, a feeling of platonic love between us.
A shared moment stretches, an unspoken acknowledgment. He's a Little, like Danny. Professional walls kept it hidden, but now? There’s relief in the air, like exhaling a long-held breath.
No judgment, just kinship.
"Thanks," Antonio says softly. "For everything. And that’s a big yes to your offer, by the way!"
We clink mugs, sealing it informally.
There will be details to iron out—lawyers, timelines—but we are in agreement.
"Now," I say, standing. It’s time I find my boy and share the good news. Or at least I hope that’s how he sees it…"
Antonio laughs, clapping my back as I grab my coat.
Outside, the drizzle's lifted, sun breaking through.
Heart light, I head to the site.
My future is calling me, but my heart skips a beat as I realize that it’s going to take Danny’s approval for this to happen…
Okay, this is it.
No big deal. It’s no big deal.
Shit, who am I kidding? It’s huge.
The walk from the restaurant to the construction site feels shorter than usual, the morning air sharp and clean after the overnight rain.
My boots crunch over wet gravel as I approach the chain-link fence, the skeletal frame of the building rising ahead like a giant ribcage under the pale winter sky.
I’m nervous. Happy that Antonio has accepted his side of the deal, but worried that when it comes to Danny, it might all be a bit too much too soon.
For a moment, I even consider turning around and heading back to the restaurant.
Maybe it’s not a good idea to show up at the site like this?
Maybe it could be better if I wait until Danny is done for the day.
“Get a grip,” I growl, my mind focusing and doing its best to clear the butterflies from my stomach and the inner doubts from my overstimulated brain. “Here goes…”
The crew is already in motion—forklifts beeping, men shouting coordinates, the rhythmic clang of steel on steel.
I spot Xander first, standing near the entrance with his clipboard, hard hat tipped back, watching the site like a general surveying a battlefield.
He sees me coming and breaks into a wide grin, raising a hand in greeting.
“Well, well. The chef returns,” Xander says, full of his usual charismatic swagger. “You here to collect your boy and steal him away from the crew for good?”
“Ha,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“That’s hardly a denial…” Xander retorts, his arms folded across his powerful chest.
His tone is teasing, but there’s a real question behind it—concern for Danny, for the balance of the team.
I shake my head, smiling. “Quite the contrary, Xander. I’m here to make sure he stays exactly where he belongs. With all of you. And with me too.”
“Now we’re talking,” Xander says.
Xander’s eyebrows lift, curiosity sparking.
Before he can ask more, Danny appears from around the side of the forklift, wiping his hands on a rag, high-vis jacket unzipped just enough to show the thermal underneath.
He spots me and freezes mid-step, eyes widening.
There’s a flicker of nerves there—uncertainty, maybe even fear that I’ve come to deliver bad news.
My chest tightens.
I hate that he’s braced for disappointment.
I know that I need to put my boy’s mind at ease as quickly as I can.
I stride forward, closing the distance, and stop just in front of him. The whole crew has gone quiet now, tools lowering, heads turning.
Mikey and Taylor lean against a beam, arms crossed, watching with barely contained grins. Taylor pretends to check something on his phone but keeps glancing over.
Even the crane operator has paused, engine idling.
“Danny,” I say, voice low enough for him alone at first, then louder so everyone can hear. “I’ve been thinking about us. About the future. About what happens when this job ends and you go back to the coast.”
Danny swallows, clutching the rag like it’s a lifeline. “Y-y-y-y-yeah?”
“I don’t want long distance,” I say. “I don’t want weekends apart, video calls, counting days until the next visit.
I don’t want any of the bullshit that comes with that.
It’s not us. I respect anyone who can make that work, but I know it’s not what either of us needs.
” I take his hands in mine, feeling the calluses from heavy lifting, the faint tremor of nerves.
“I want every day. Every morning. Every night.”
His breath catches. “But… your restaurant? Your life here?”
“I’ve just spoken to Antonio,” I say, my voice full of a rising excitement.
“He’s taking over. Full control, eventual ownership.
He’s ready. And I’m ready to let go.” I pause, letting it sink in.
“I’m moving to the coast. Starting fresh.
I’ve always wanted a restaurant with a sea view, you know?
Waves crashing outside, salt in the air, fresh catch every morning.
I can do that. I will do that. But only if it’s what you want too. ”
There, I said it.
Cards on the table.
It’s now or never for Danny and me…
Danny’s eyes are huge, shimmering. He looks around—sees the crew watching, waiting, all of them holding their breath.
Xander’s arms are folded, but he’s smiling.
Mikey gives a tiny nod, encouraging.
Taylor’s grin is wide enough to split his face.
Danny’s gaze swings back to me. For a second there’s only silence, then he lets out a shout—pure, joyful, unrestrained…
“Yes!” Danny squeals. “Of course I want that! Yes, yes, yesssssssss!”
The crew erupts. Cheers, whistles, fists pumping the air. Danny launches himself at me, arms wrapping around my neck, legs hooking around my waist as I catch him. He’s laughing, tears streaming, and I’m laughing too, spinning him once before setting him down.
“I love you,” Danny says against my mouth, voice thick. “I love you so much, Daddy.”
The word Daddy rings out clear in the open air, and if anyone in the crew didn’t already know, they do now.
No one blinks. No one flinches. They just keep cheering.
“I love you too,” I tell him, cupping his face. “Forever, boy. I want us to be forever.”
Danny nods frantically. “Forever. Yes. Please. And that’s Little’s Orders!”
And then we’re kissing—deep, unhurried, right there in the middle of the site with the whole crew watching. His hands fist in my coat, mine tangle in his hair. The world narrows to his mouth, his breath, the way he melts against me like he’s finally home.
When we break apart, breathless, the crew is still roaring.
Then, without warning, they surge forward. Hands grab us—me and Danny both—lifting us high. I’m hoisted onto shoulders, Danny beside me, the two of us bouncing up and down like trophies while the Construction Boys chant Danny & Olivier over and over.
Mikey’s whooping, Taylor’s laughing so hard he almost drops us, Xander’s steady grip keeps me from tumbling. Even Lane’s in on it, grinning like a fool.
We ride the wave of cheers and bounces, Danny’s hand finding mine mid-air, squeezing tight. When they finally set us down—gently, carefully—the crew crowds in for back-slaps, hugs, fist-bumps.
“Welcome to the family, chef,” Xander says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re stuck with us now.”
Mikey grins at Danny. “Told you love wins, man.”
Danny’s still crying happy tears, still laughing, still clinging to me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
I pull him close again, kiss his temple.
“I’m never letting go,” I murmur. “Not ever.”
“Good, because I won’t let you!” Danny trills with joy.
The site’s alive with celebration. For the moment at least, tools are forgotten, work is paused, and the whole crew turns the morning into an impromptu party.
Soon enough, someone cracks open a cooler, passes around cold sodas.
Someone else starts planning a “coast relocation” barbecue.
And through it all, Danny’s hand stays in mine.
Forever.