Chapter Thirteen
“W hat are you making?” Evan asked, peering around Miles’ shoulder as he sautéed the squash for the ratatouille he was making. “Something with a god-awful amount of zucchini, which I don’t even like.”
Miles glanced over at him, and even though he was still talking way too much and he’d taken his phone away from him twice now, Evan did seem a little more relaxed than he’d been in LA. Of course that might also be all the wine he’d drunk.
“You don’t like zucchini?” He remembered Evan telling him he didn’t like sweets, and then the way he’d devoured the peanut butter chocolate chunk cookie and then the pain au chocolat. Evan might think he didn’t like something, but judgement should be held until he’d tried Miles’ version.
He told Evan this, and his nose crinkled. “You’re such an egotistical asshole,” Evan said and Miles could only shrug.
“I’m a chef,” he said, as an explanation. “And I’m making ratatouille, or a version of ratatouille. Xander loves rustic Italian, though he will almost never admit to it.”
“Xander, huh?” Evan said, and he wasn’t even the tiniest bit subtle about the green in his voice. “You’ve never asked me what I liked.”
“You told me you didn’t like sweets. I thought it was my duty first to change your mind on that score, and then we’d go from there.”
“Your cookies were passable,” Evan said, leaning against the opposite counter, sipping his wine.
The wine that Nate had given him. Miles had already crumpled up the bag with its distinctive markings and buried it in the trash.
Wyatt didn’t need to backslide into that black hole of a relationship again, no matter how much wine Nate gave them.
“The croissants weren’t really yours, they were mine, so I can freely admit to loving those, even if they were a pain in the ass. ”
Miles pulled the zucchini off the stove. “So what do you like to eat then?”
“Pizza. Kung pao chicken. Tacos.” Evan met Miles’ surprised expression with a semi-belligerent glare. “What, I don’t cook. So I order in or I go out.”
“You need to learn how to cook,” Miles said with a sad shake of his head.
“And I suppose you’re just the guy to teach me?” Evan asked, leaning back into Miles’ space. This time Evan kissed him, something quick and hot and almost brutal.
Miles pulled away, nearly gasping. “I’m a pastry chef. I know just enough about savory ingredients to get by. But,” he added, dropping another quick kiss on Evan’s cheek, “I’ll be damned if anyone else teaches you.”
“You two are disgusting.”
Miles glanced up and Xander was standing in the doorway, holding a loaf of bread, the wrapper indicating their favorite bakery in Napa.
“And your heart is two sizes too small,” Miles retorted. “I’ll pick sappy and disgusting over lonely and miserable any day.”
“I don’t think we met before,” Evan inserted, and though Miles couldn’t figure out why, the casualness in his voice was replaced by a sharp edge. “I mean, we probably did, but I don’t think we were properly introduced. I’m Evan Patterson.”
Xander clearly had no qualms about looking Evan up and down because he did, freely. Miles ground his teeth and turned back to the tomato sauce he’d been simmering on the stove.
He didn’t even put the bread down so he could shake Evan’s outstretched hand. “And I’m Xander. Resident grinch.”
Evan shoved the hand back in his pocket and took half a step closer to where Miles was starting to prep the ratatouille.
“What’s this?” Xander said, sniffing appreciatively as he approached Miles’ other side, resting a hand on his back. “You made ratatouille. For me?”
“Someday you’re going to admit your obnoxiously refined palate loves Italian,” Miles said.
"But not today," Xander said, sounding as smug as he ever had. Evan sniffed disapprovingly.
"I've never understood that," Evan said. "Someone makes you a meal, you should be grateful, not worried about how sophisticated it makes you look."
Miles felt Xander bristle next to him. "That's the difference going to culinary school makes," Miles said with a deprecating laugh.
"It makes us all feel very important. Like we’re culinary gods.
" He hoped that would be enough for Evan to let it go, and for Xander to back down and not engage.
Because if Evan and Xander ever got into it, there probably wouldn't be anything left but rubble in his kitchen.
"I enjoy common food," Xander said, and Miles couldn't help but roll his eyes at his word choice.
"Yeah," he retorted, forgetting all about his vow to avert the fight and keep the kitchen intact, "’cause you're culinary royalty. I forgot."
"Like, In n' Out," Xander said defensively. "They use such fresh ingredients, and their cooking techniques aren't that shitty."
Evan glared at him. "Right, because McDonald's or Burger King is too basic for you."
"Yes, they are. If I want a burger, at least I want to eat a good burger, not some over-processed, greasy shit on a bun."
Miles could feel the waves of rage pouring off Evan, but even as he held a hand out to steady him—covered with tomato sauce and all—Evan snapped back. "Sometimes that's all people can afford."
And suddenly, Miles understood. People would never admit it, especially someone like Xander who had lived a solid middle-class life and had gone to culinary school right out of his parents’ house, but good home cooking cost money.
You needed equipment, you needed fresh produce and quality protein. None of that came cheap.
Miles had taken a class in culinary school on food sustainability, and he couldn't believe it when the instructor had informed them that eating out on cheap junk food was often much cheaper than cooking healthy meals at home.
And of course, Evan, living in a foster home and then living hand-to-mouth on his own, wouldn't have been able to afford to learn to cook. The guilt was sudden and sweeping, making him nearly nauseous.
"Xander, do me a favor," Miles said, words casual, his voice anything but, "shut the fuck up."
Evan knew he was supposed to be finding some magical well of relaxation in Napa, and up until now, even he could admit he was having a good time.
Separated from the antagonism that had dogged them from the first day, spending time with Miles was just as fantastic as Evan had hoped it might be, back at the beginning.
But spending time with Miles was not the same as spending time with Miles’ old roommates, in particular the abrasive, argumentative one who was currently hanging off Miles like he wasn’t going to let him go again.
The only romantic relationship Miles had ever described any of them having was Wyatt and his sommelier ex-boyfriend.
He’d never said he’d been romantically or sexually involved with any of them, but it was hard not to believe this was lying by omission when Xander was putting his hands all over him.
Maybe that was why Xander was so bitter and unpleasant?
Evan didn’t want to think if things with him and Miles didn’t turn out—which, he couldn’t help but admit dispiritedly, was seeming more and more likely by the day—he would end up like Xander.
Sad. Disillusioned. Resembling a rabid dog anytime someone talked to him.
“What?” Xander said, flinging his hands in the air, like he was innocent of all charges, which . . . had he listened to himself in the last five minutes? Evan didn’t think so.
“You’re an asshole,” Miles said with a scowl.
This pronouncement didn’t seem to phase Xander, who was probably called this on a daily basis. He sure deserved the title a lot more than Nate, Wyatt’s ex, and he hadn’t been particularly pleasant either.
Of course, Evan had partially incited the argument. He’d meant to keep his damn mouth shut, because he never brought up his old existence if he could help it, especially around people like Xander and Miles. But Xander had been so smug and obnoxious, Evan hadn’t been able to help it.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” Xander said. “I smell like lamb from all those chops I butchered during prep.”
After he’d left the room, Evan busied himself with his wine glass, filling it again even though it had still been a quarter full.
He couldn’t look in Miles’ direction. He’d been the one to insist he never wanted to talk about his childhood, and then he had blurted something like that out.
The guilt on Miles’ face had been unmistakable and the last thing Evan wanted was pity. Especially from Miles.
Evan had always imagined that falling in love felt wonderful, like rose petals and rainbows and kittens with balls of yarn. But all he felt was vaguely sick, like he might chuck up all the wine he’d drunk this afternoon.
“I’m sorry he’s so . . .” Miles said helplessly. “So . . . Xander. I know he can be cruel, I should have warned you.”
To Evan’s horror, he felt sudden and unexpected tears in the corner of his eyes.
Xander had been cruel, though it hadn’t been premeditated.
People said shitty things to Evan all the time and didn’t realize just how shitty they were, because Evan avoided sharing any details of his past if he could help it.
Even Miles had only found out because Lucy liked to interfere.
It was stupid but Evan wished that he could have told him on his own, the way he wanted. He didn’t know how long it would have taken him to finally tell the whole story, but Evan had a feeling it would have been good for him.
“You can’t save me from everything,” Evan said, trying to hide his sniff. “I’m plenty tough.”
Miles’ arms snaked around Evan’s shoulders and pulled him close, his face tucking into Evan’s neck. “I know, believe me I know. But that doesn’t mean I like it when you get hurt. You deserve better. You’ve always deserved better.”