Chapter Two #4
“Your brothers came to see me, a few days ago,” Bea said.
Something in her voice worried Wyatt. He trusted his brothers because he knew they weren’t bad, trusted that they loved Nana too, but they could be careless. Selfish. “Was it good to see them?”
“Tony has a new girlfriend.” Tony always had a new girlfriend.
Wyatt barely refrained from rolling his eyes.
“And Marco, I guess he got fired.” That also didn’t come as a surprise.
Marco liked to drink more on work nights than was appropriate and probably had called in one too many days at the auto shop he worked at.
“But, he tells me,” Bea continued, “that he thinks he can convince the owner to rehire him.”
Wyatt did roll his eyes this time, and she tapped him firmly on the shoulder. “I saw that, Wyatt.”
“If they wouldn’t be so predictable,” Wyatt said.
“They’re your brothers,” Bea said, switching into Nana Lecture Mode, “and someday, they’re going to be all the family you have left. You take care of family. Blakes always take care of family.”
Something he’d been hearing his whole life. “I remember.”
“When they were here, Tony and Marco didn’t even say anything about you having an interview.”
Wyatt hadn’t told them. Hadn’t much seen the point.
He and his brothers were so different, and the two of them so similar, that he’d felt so many times like the outsider to their partnership.
It made it hard to call or text. Especially now, that he was the only one who’d taken on the burden of Nana’s care.
It wasn’t a burden, Wyatt mentally corrected. He was grateful and privileged that he could. If only it didn’t hang on his shoulders so heavily sometimes.
“I just found out about it, had to beg Chef Aquino for two days off and rush down to LA.”
“And you’re sure about this?” she asked, looking intently at him. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“It’s going to be good, I promise. Better for me, better for you.” That was all he could say before the tears clogged his throat. He cleared it, hoping that she wasn’t so aware that she’d somehow missed the flash of emotion.
“I brought you something,” he said, reaching for the bag he’d brought in, hoping he could distract her. “Miles made them for you.”
“Macarons?” she asked excitedly. Who would have ever thought his dear nana, Irish and traditionalist to the core, would love French pastries? Miles, that’s who. And who packed her a box every time he knew Wyatt was going to see her.
“Lemon almond and raspberry chocolate,” Wyatt said. “And some other strange flavors he wouldn’t tell me, so I’m not taking responsibility for Miles’ weird flavor combinations.”
“He’s a dear,” Nana said, opening the box with excitement in her voice. She glanced up at him conspiratorially. “Do you think it would be wrong of me not to share these?”
“I think you should keep them if you want to,” Wyatt said.
“But, Wyatt,” she said earnestly. “God is always watching.”
Wyatt sure hoped God hadn’t been watching last night when he’d been with Ryan.
Every time she brought up God or religion, that was usually his cue to leave.
It wasn’t like he didn’t want to tell her that he was gay.
Or that he thought she’d shun him or be disgusted by him.
Her beliefs were part of who she was. She’d been raised that way, and spent her whole life going to Mass.
She was one of the strongest, most loyal people he’d ever met.
Wyatt knew she loved him, unconditionally.
But fear was irrational and he couldn’t banish it and he couldn’t bear to push her away from him by telling the truth.
Especially not now.
“I have to get ready to go into work, Nana,” he said, rising to his feet. “Enjoy the macarons and your art class this week.” He dropped a quick kiss on a papery thin cheek and felt his stomach twist again.
“Take care of yourself, darling,” Bea said as he turned to leave.
If Bea had had any idea what was in store for Wyatt, she might have worried.
Which was exactly why Wyatt hadn’t told her.
Bastian Aquino, AKA the Bastard, and the owner of the only Michelin-starred restaurant in California, stared down at the paper Wyatt had placed in front of him. His resignation letter.
“What is this?” Chef Aquino demanded. “What is this bullshit?” He snatched up the letter and looked ready to shred it to pieces.
Wyatt wouldn’t have been surprised. He’d seen it happen before and not just with paper.
With homemade pasta. With fresh lettuce leaves.
With a lamb chop lollipop he’d decimated, only the bone remaining.
Never mind the gleaming white porcelain dishes.
They routinely ended up chipped and mangled in the trash, their contents spilled across the walls of the kitchen, shards sprinkled across the floors.
It was a rare service when the Bastard didn’t break something.
“My resignation,” Wyatt said, making sure to keep his voice toneless, edgeless. Praying he wouldn’t upset Aquino more than he had to.
“What, is working for the best restaurant in the world not good enough for you anymore?” Aquino sneered. “Do you fancy yourself somehow better than my kitchen? Feel like your shitty grillwork might be good enough to make it someplace else?”
Wyatt had a fantastic, intuitive touch with meat, especially on the grill. It was not easy, but still doable, to push that insult away and leave it behind him.
Mostly because he was going to be leaving this place and this asshole behind. Probably very shortly.
“Did someone even hire your sloppy ass?” Bastian demanded.
“Yep.” Wyatt had absolutely zero intention of telling him who it was. There was a single, heart-stopping moment where they just stared at each other, Bastian’s nostrils flaring with his terrible temper.
“Well fine,” Bastian roared, sweeping a big hand across his desk, sending the resignation letter flying, along with cookbooks, recipe cards, a whole mug of pencils and pens, and his wireless keyboard.
The resulting clutter brought Kian to the doorway, which Wyatt had been hoping to avoid, yet also knew was inevitable.
“Get out,” Bastian growled, and because Wyatt was smart, he did what he was told.
He should have spared a single sympathetic glance for Kian, who was about to head into the lion’s den and be eaten alive, all because of Wyatt’s defection, but he didn’t. He wasn’t that good of a person, apparently.