Chapter Fifteen #2
“I’m not sure your ego is going to fit through the doorway,” Evan teased. It was easier to poke fun than to face what Miles was trying to do.
He couldn’t think about it without his hand trembling, so he reached over and gripped Miles’ hand hard.
“You’re gonna love it,” Miles promised, eyes soft, like he knew exactly what had Evan reaching for him like a lifeline.
It would have been so natural for Evan to just say back, “I love you,” because he was pretty damn sure he did. Miles had hardly made a secret of his own feelings, but they still felt so inexplicable to Evan.
Evan kissed him instead, hard and hot, both a promise for later and as a replacement for everything he couldn’t say. Yet, he swore to himself, but even Evan didn’t have a clue when he’d be able to.
If Evan had imagined that they might be treated any differently because Miles had worked at Terroir, he was incredibly wrong.
From what he could see, the same excruciatingly perfect service was given to every guest as they checked in at the gracious patio that served as the open-air waiting room. Vines dripping with grapes wrapped around the wood beams, arcing over their heads as they waited for their table to be ready.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Miles asked.
If going to wine tastings had been intimidating, it was nothing compared to standing at the entrance to the throne room of American dining.
Did he want a glass of wine? Evan thought he needed one if he was going to make it through without breaking into a sweat or declaring loudly that he wasn’t worthy.
“Sure,” Evan said.
Miles was only at the bar for a second, and of course, he got the best service, because the bartender’s eyes lit up when they spotted him. He returned with two flutes of sparkling wine.
“Cheers,” he said, tapping Evan’s glass with his own. “To the best weekend I’ve ever spent.”
“You mean, the part where we weren’t being insulted by your old roommates?
” Evan teased, enjoying the light that heated in Miles’ eyes.
He knew exactly which parts those were. Making love in the hotel room.
Feeding each other bits of fresh bread in the meadow this morning, making out in the grass and not feeling the tiniest bit ashamed if anyone saw.
“I mean the part where I got to meet the relaxed you,” Miles said.
Evan froze. How could he have forgotten Reed’s admonishment as they left?
“Though,” Miles continued thoughtfully, “I really like all the parts of you. Even the part that shoots daggers out of his eyes at me.”
“You like that part?” Evan asked incredulously.
Miles’ gaze took on a conspiratorial glint. “I love that part. It’s sexy as hell knowing you want to kick my ass and that you will if I take a step out of line.”
Something unwound in Evan at Miles’ words. There had been a tiny kernel of doubt that had wondered if he would have to be on his best behavior from now on. If he would have to be the sweet, relaxed Evan all the time. Because there was no chance in hell of that happening.
“Don’t worry,” Miles said casually, “you know I love you.”
Evan was torn between the eye-dagger-shooting thing or just dumping his champagne all over Miles’ sharp black button-down, but then the designer-clad hostess approached, telling them their table was ready.
Their table wasn’t on the patio, which from the reading Evan had done was considered a prime spot, but it was still near a huge bank of windows that overlooked the valley.
“I couldn’t get the patio,” Miles apologized after they sat down. “It was too late of notice. And even I don’t have that sort of power.”
“I’m impressed you got a table at all,” Evan said. He wasn’t disappointed they weren’t on the patio. How could he be when he was here at all? The most any of his pseudo-dates had ever done was bring over Chinese or pizza before a hookup.
Miles had brought him to Terroir. The place he’d once described as the finest restaurant in America. The only Michelin-starred restaurant in California.
“Can you blame me for trying to impress you?” Miles said, reaching over and brushing his hand over Evan’s knuckles.
Evan hid behind the menu, most of which was incomprehensible to him. He didn’t know what half the words meant, and he didn’t think he could really get away with googling them on his phone.
“Uh, yes,” Evan said. “I was impressed by you before we even met.”
“But then I made a shitty impression,” Miles grinned charmingly, “so I’m just making up for lost time.”
“Well, if that’s the way you’re going to play it, then figure out what I should be trying,” Evan said, smiling back and feeling lighter than he had in forever. Maybe ever.
This must be what relaxing felt like. Or maybe it was love. It was fabulous either way, and he felt as light as the bubbles in his champagne flute. If anyone, especially Xander, tried to take this away from him, they were going to find out just how hardcore Evan Patterson could be.
“Yes, sir,” Miles said smartly, and Evan couldn’t help it, he burst into laughter.
Suddenly he was very sure it was going to be one of the greatest meals of his life, and that had nothing to do with the food.
Evan was really damn sure it wasn’t just the food when Bastian Aquino showed up at the table between the main course and dessert.
“Miles Costa,” Chef Aquino said, a self-satisfied edge to his voice, like he’d believed that Miles really couldn’t stay away and that belief was now justified.
He was a powerful man, with short dark hair just beginning to silver at the edges, intensely dark eyes, and a pair of serious biceps bulging under his immaculate black chef’s jacket.
Evan was struck a little dumb. It wasn’t his finest moment, but pictures didn’t do Bastian Aquino justice. He looked like he could snap his neck just as easily as he could a chicken’s. Evan swallowed hard when Aquino turned his attention to Miles’ dining companion.
Him.
“You’re the individual who lured Miles away from my kitchen with promises he’d be famous,” Aquino said, a crease forming between his brows.
Evan decided he might as well own it; if Aquino killed him in the middle of his restaurant, then at least he’d die a happy man. “Yes, I did.”
Miles blustered across from him, a frown on his face. “That’s not exactly true,” he said.
Evan smiled. “Maybe next season when Miles is on the Cooking Channel, we can invite you to guest star with him.”
Aquino clearly didn’t like that at all. “Food doesn’t need fame,” he said. “Was the food up to the standard?” he questioned, directing it to Miles.
Evan supposed he should be a little offended, but then Miles was the professional between them. What would Evan know, besides that everything had been delectable and incredible?
“Your lamb was a little overcooked,” Miles said, laughing. Evan thought that if Aquino killed both of them, Miles would go out happy too. A month ago, that might not have meant much to Evan, but it meant everything tonight.
Bastian Aquino practically growled. “I forgot, you’re just a pastry chef.” Then he smiled, and it was like the sunrise over the desert. Evan was surprised at how handsome he was when he wasn’t wordlessly threatening people’s lives.
“Dessert is still to come,” Miles said with a lot of satisfaction. “Tell René that he’d better send his best.”
Aquino gave a sharp nod. He turned to Evan. “He is happy. Thank you for giving him what he needed.”
When Bastian Aquino left, just as abruptly as he’d arrived, Miles giggled. It might have more to do with the thrill of love than the wine they’d drunk tonight or even the fantastic food—no matter what Miles said about the lamb.
“What exactly is it you’re giving me that I need?
” Miles asked with a quiet snort, probably thinking Evan was going to say something dirty and inappropriate.
And ninety-nine percent of the time, Evan probably would have.
It wasn’t like his wall was coming down; instead, it felt like he was welcoming Miles inside.
Evan hoped the truth of it was in his eyes when he replied, “Everything I can.”
Later that night, lying in bed with Evan drowsing against his chest, the TV turned on low, a text came through on his phone.
Leaning over, he must have shifted Evan too much when he reached over to grab it, because he made a sleepy, annoyed noise.
“Sorry,” Miles said. “It’s Gina.”
“Gina?” Evan asked, and Miles felt like a shitty brother, or maybe just a shitty person. How had he not texted her lately? How had he not told Evan about Gina?
“Gina is my younger sister,” he said. “We’re close. Well, we used to be, I mean we still are, she’s just in her freshman year of college in Berkeley and we’ve both been a little busy.”
Evan propped himself up on an elbow, hair mussed, eyes glowing in the dim light of the room. He stopped Miles’ heart, because only in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d get to see the other man like this.
“Is she okay?” he asked.
Miles didn’t know what had given it away. The late hour, maybe? Or his own worried expression?
The text had said: You’re in Napa and no text?
Miles had felt guilty enough that he hadn’t told Evan about Gina; now he was feeling doubly guilty.
A second text came in before Miles could even reply to the first. If I keep guilt-tripping you, will you let me meet him? Brunch. Noon.
“Xander,” Miles growled. He was really regretting introducing Gina to Xander. There was always another shoe to drop with him. He’d assumed things were good between them after their conversation today, but then he’d gone and texted Gina and told her all about Evan.
“What did he do now?” Evan didn’t seem particularly concerned, which was good, because he had nothing to be jealous of.
“Interfered,” Miles said reluctantly. Was he ready for Gina to meet Evan? Was Evan ready to meet Gina?
“Isn’t that what he’s best at?” Evan wondered.
“My sister wants us to stop by Berkeley so she can meet you tomorrow,” Miles said. “I’m guessing she got a whole series of texts from Xander after he got off work.”