Chapter Fifteen
M iles had never understood why people committed themselves and their hearts by falling in love. It had always seemed like a very risky proposition with a lot to lose and very little to gain.
But somehow, the morning was better when he and Evan woke up together, both smiling bashfully, and the sun brighter as they sat on the hill by the Castello di Amorosa and nibbled at meat and cheese that Miles had spent too much money for at Dean he was done pretending anything other than this partnership had been life-altering.
But even through the great afternoon, Miles had wondered in the back of his mind about what Evan had insisted last night.
There was no way that Xander felt that way about him and he’d somehow missed it. Miles knew he wasn’t the most observant person in the world, especially about relationships, but surely Xander couldn’t have liked him that way without Miles realizing. They’d lived and worked together for years.
It was impossible.
And yet Miles couldn’t dismiss it completely. Not because he was at all tempted to ditch Evan for Xander—but because it didn’t feel right to come up here and flaunt his new relationship, all while his friend was hurting.
He needed to know. So he kissed Evan goodbye at the hotel, told him to take a long soak in the tub, said he’d be back before they needed to leave for dinner, and headed to Terroir to confront Xander before the dinner service started.
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be blinding the whole Valley with your annoying PDA?” Xander sneered as he added finishing touches to the sauces at his station.
He had a magic touch with sauces that even Bastian Aquino didn’t have—not that the head chef ever would have admitted that. But Xander had been doing the sauces very early on in his tenure at Terroir and that only could mean one thing.
“Come in the dining room in a few hours, and I’m sure we could oblige you,” Miles said. He wasn’t technically supposed to be in the kitchens since he didn’t work here anymore, but he’d left on good terms, and he didn’t think anyone would kick him out. Maybe.
He shoved his hands in his black pants. “Why are you so angry?” he asked Xander point blank, because he needed to make this quick before anyone saw him, and also because he was sick of fucking around. Love had definitely shown him how vital it was to value what was really important.
“Nature? Habit? Preference?” Xander paused. “Take your pick, and then get out of this kitchen. You don’t work here anymore.”
“Here’s the thing, Xander, you’re not mad at everyone like you’re mad at me. And it’s new, since I left. So what’s the deal? You’re angry I moved on and left Napa? Left Terroir?”
Xander’s aborted, angry hand movements told Miles only part of the story. He needed to know why Xander was so pissed.
“You’ve always been free to do whatever the fuck you wanted,” Xander said.
“It was all me, you know that right? I was bored as fuck here, you know that, I know you do.” Miles didn’t like how defensive he sounded but maybe he was feeling guiltier than he liked over Xander’s anger.
Xander’s feelings weren’t entirely his problem, but maybe they were a little his fault.
“Not everything is about you.” Xander’s knife flew over a bundle of chives. Then basil. Then Italian parsley. He was just about finished with the sauces, and then the dinner service would begin. Xander was an asshole, but he was a punctual asshole.
In five minutes, the line would be crowded with chefs. Miles tried not to panic and threw his Hail Mary pass. “Evan said that you were in love with me, and that’s why you were angry I left.”
Xander’s eyes flew to his, shocked and belligerent. But he didn’t deny it. “Evan is a nosy bastard. That might seem cute now, but you’ll get sick of it. You can’t take high maintenance and he’s the King of High Maintenance Land.”
“Are you?”
Xander slapped his knife down on his cutting board, sifting tiny circles of chives onto the floor. “Why does it matter?”
Miles was torn between strangling him and hugging him. “It matters.”
“I wasn’t in love with you, you egotistical bastard.
Did I think . . . maybe? Maybe once or twice?
Sure.” Xander furiously stirred the mustard sauce he’d made his own since starting at Terroir.
Miles had seen him make it a thousand times since they’d met, and it occurred to him suddenly that he wouldn’t ever see him make it again.
And even though leaving this place had felt easy and like the right thing to do, emotion suddenly strangled him.
“Life is about change, Xander,” Miles said softly, when he thought he could speak without embarrassing himself. “And we would have been a flaming disaster. You know that too.”
“And?” Xander snapped. “It’s not like you and Prince Charming have had an easy go of it so far.”
“No, but we’re getting there.” He paused. “Xander, please. Don’t hate me. In six months or six years, you’re going to realize that you’re done here too, and you’ll leave.”
“Maybe.” Xander’s testy tone had faded a little. Not much, but enough to give Miles hope.
“I know you’re not going to be happy making Bastian Aquino’s sauces for him your entire career. You’re too talented for that, and you know it.”
“I do.” Xander stirred basil into another saucepan, and Miles realized with a pang that he didn’t even know this sauce. It had been invented since he’d been gone. And that hurt more than he could have dreamt.
“Moving on is hard, but it’s worth it. There’s a whole life you can experience when you open your eyes.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be up here, pining after your sorry ass.” But Xander flashed a bright, quicksilver smile and it was enough that Miles knew he’d done the right thing coming here and talking to him.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Miles retorted fondly. “It’s not that good of an ass.”
Xander chuckled. “Get out of here before Aquino sees you and does something terrible.”
“Throws me out?” Miles asked.
“No, forces you back into an apron.”
“Did you go talk to Xander?” Evan asked, forcing his voice to remain light and casual.
He shouldn’t care if Miles had gone to talk to his friend; it had been the right thing to do to clear the air.
It had just been impossible for Evan to think of the conversation without the very slightest waver of concern.
Miles and Xander had known each other for years. Xander was a great chef, talented and intense, probably the sort of person that Miles had always imagined he’d end up with.
He definitely couldn’t have foretold that he’d end up falling for someone like Evan.
Even Evan, who’d secretly been harboring a little crush after spending so many hours watching Pastry by Miles, couldn’t have predicted it. It still felt very new and like a significant bump could derail it.
Of course, if the last three weeks hadn’t stopped it from happening, then he should consider their relationship inevitable.
“I talked to him, yeah. Everything’s good,” Miles said, sitting on the bed next to Evan, resting a hand on his knee casually like it didn’t still cause fireworks to explode under Evan’s skin. He was never going to get used to touching so casually; each touch still felt momentous and important.
Evan told himself that it was in Miles’ nature to share less and his own to be inquisitive. He still couldn’t help himself from asking, “Did he admit to it?”
“Not exactly. But I think he’ll be okay.”
Evan felt like a terrible person for not caring if Xander would be okay. Of course Miles did; Evan still felt too threatened to be so selfless.
“What are we doing for dinner?” Evan asked brightly, changing the subject. The last thing Miles needed was to find out that he felt unsure still, especially unsure about Xander. Especially because Miles himself had given Evan zero reasons to be concerned.
It wasn’t Miles’ fault that Evan was, and would probably be for some time to come, a neurotic, insecure mess.
“I want to take you somewhere special,” Miles said, his soulful gaze making Evan’s heartbeat skip.
“You know,” he giggled a little self-consciously, “I never imagined you were such a romantic.”
Miles smiled. “Oh, yeah, you did. You dreamed about it.”
This was so completely accurate Evan blushed.
“Does that mean you’re going to let me spoil you?” Miles asked.
“Spoiled how?” Evan told himself firmly not to be apprehensive because wasn’t that what every lonely, miserable boy of twelve that nobody gave two shits about dreamed about? Someone making an effort? Someone trying to impress them even if it wasn’t particularly hard?
Why then was it so hard for Evan to accept?
If Evan had ever been able to open up to a therapist—and he had tried but therapists wanted you to talk about yourself and he never could—he was sure they would have been able to tell him why. As it was, Evan had his suspicions.
“I’m going to take you to the best restaurant in Napa,” Miles said.
Evan had a sudden, horrified thought that he knew exactly what Miles meant. “You’re taking me to Terroir.”
Miles blushed. “I did say the best restaurant in Napa.”