Chapter Thirteen #2
“Being the best, working for the best, that’s always been important to me,” Wyatt agreed.
“But some things are just as important. Like being able to spend time with you.” He didn’t add that making more money was important, so that she could stay in the home she was at and be well cared for.
But it meant something to him, that he was able to give that to her.
More than the worthless prestige of Terroir had ever brought him, anyway.
“You’re a good grandson,” Nana said, her tender expression putting to rest forever his worries that she wouldn’t care about him because he was gay. He’d made a mistake by not telling her before, but maybe she’d been a convenient excuse because he wasn’t ready to finish telling the world yet.
The truth was, he’d never appreciated how much Nate had pushed him, but he was beginning to wonder if that was because he’d never really loved Nate. Because now he wished Ryan would push a little harder.
“Let’s go have a fabulous brunch,” Wyatt said, helping her to her feet. “I see people starting to go in.”
Tony and Ryan trailed behind them as they headed towards the front door.
Wyatt had a single moment of unease when he handed the tickets to a woman he didn’t recognize manning the entrance.
But she checked his party off the list, and then Callie led them to their table.
It wasn’t the best table, off in the corner, away from the main dining room, but Wyatt could care less.
The food would taste just as good here, and this way he might avoid seeing Aquino.
“Tell me about the menu,” Nana asked as they sat down.
“Chef Aquino doesn’t typically like menus,” Wyatt explained, “but he knows he couldn’t get away without a menu during regular dining hours.
People like to know what they’re eating and have some input into what it is.
But during Chef’s bi-annual brunches, he serves whatever he feels like.
Usually three or four courses, with pastries. ”
“It’s a stupid affectation,” Tony said.
“Yet it’s packed,” Wyatt said wryly. “I guess when you’re as famous as Chef Aquino, you don’t care how egotistical it looks.”
“Or you do it because it looks egotistical,” Tony said under his breath as the waiter approached their table.
He was new, because Wyatt didn’t recognize him either.
One month out of this place, and already he didn’t recognize all the staff.
Of course turnover was to be expected when the boss was often referred to as the Bastard.
“I don’t think he cares much about what people think,” Wyatt said.
“Actually,” Ryan inserted. “I’d disagree. He probably cares too much.”
Wyatt had never thought of it that way before, and maybe it didn’t make him like his ex-boss any more, but it did help shed some light on his personality.
“I had a coach like that once,” Ryan said with a shrug. “It’s so important what people think of them, they’re willing to bulldoze everyone and everything to look good. Sound familiar?”
Wyatt had to nod.
“Is there any way we could see Kian and Xander while we’re here?” Nana asked. “I know they’re working, but maybe they have a break and could come say hi?”
“Never going to happen. I’m sorry, Nana.
Chef Aquino is the only kitchen employee allowed on the dining room floor.
But maybe we can steal them away after brunch is over.
I’ll see.” Wyatt didn’t think it was likely, and also didn’t want to attempt it because doing so would mean getting into the kitchen.
Putting himself straight in the crosshairs of the Bastard was definitely a bad idea, but he didn’t want to tell Nana no.
He also didn’t want to have to explain that despite being back in the Terroir dining room, he was definitely not allowed back in the kitchens.
The waiter returned with their drink refills, and as he was distributing glasses, looked over at Ryan in a way that was not very casual. Wyatt resisted the urge to nudge his chair closer, because jealousy was stupid, and also they weren’t really together anyway.
“I’m sorry, but you’re Ryan Flores, aren’t you?” the waiter asked as he set Ryan’s mimosa in front of him.
If Wyatt had needed other proof that the waiter was new, here it was.
Being fired for this was the very least thing Aquino would do.
Waitstaff were given very strict instructions not to call attention to celebrity visitors to Terroir.
Asking if he was Ryan Flores was breaking every one of those rules.
“I am,” he confirmed.
“I’m such a big Dodgers fan,” the waiter gushed, and Wyatt told himself that this was cute, it was adorable, it was anything but annoying, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “I lived here as a kid, and just came back a few months ago.”
Which explained why he was breaking the cardinal rule of the Terroir dining room and also why he wasn’t acting chill like most LA fans did.
“Great,” Ryan said, and sounded just as annoyed as Wyatt felt.
“I’ll have your first course up shortly. It’s a lavender chamomile honey yogurt with fresh berry compote,” he said.
“Chamomile,” Tony said in disgust as the waiter departed. Wyatt found what he hoped was his brother’s foot under the table and kicked.
“What?” Tony demanded. “Is Aquino trying to put us to sleep?”
“It’s so interesting to me that chefs these days find inspiration everywhere,” Nana said loyally. “Imagine using lavender in food. I used to grow lavender in my garden.”
“You’re not a fan of these unique inspirations?” Ryan asked Tony.
“I prefer simple food, prepared really well,” Tony said. “Farm to table is well and good. But it needs to be something the diner recognizes. I like the way the Tavern does it.”
Wyatt bit his tongue and did not remind Tony that the reason he’d ended up on this “simple is better” path was because he’d been booted out of culinary school and had never had an opportunity to cook at a restaurant with a reputation for complexity like Terroir.
“What do you think, Wyatt?” Nana asked him.
“I think there’s room for both points of view, and both types of food preparation. Some people aren’t going to want lavender in their food, and that’s fine, and then there are some diners who want to try something that nobody else has made before.”
“I’ve always wanted to try a more mobile approach to dining,” Tony said.
“I love the food cart concept, where you can change the menu up at will, and always try something different. I think people are a lot more apt to try something if it comes from a food truck with a cute name, and in something recognizable, like a taco shell or a burger bun.”
“That’s . . . actually really interesting,” Wyatt said. “I’d love to work in that sort of framework.”
He knew he wouldn’t be Ryan’s personal chef forever.
After all, despite taking the job and keeping it, they both knew Ryan didn’t really need one.
Eventually he’d have to move on, and maybe the idea was one to tuck away for a rainy day.
He couldn’t really imagine working with his brother, but Tony had clearly matured and changed.
Maybe it was time to put all that past history aside and give something a try.
“Your first course,” the waiter said with a flourish, setting down bowls of yogurt, beautifully arranged with a floral pattern of bright-red berry sauce traced across the surface.
Nana’s face said it all; that coming here to this had been worth the risk of Aquino’s wrath and worth Ryan’s uncomfortable fan encounters.
“Oh, Wyatt, this is so beautiful,” she exclaimed. “I’m not sure I can even eat it, it’s so pretty.”
The brunch passed with Bea raving over each and every dish, her smile growing brighter with every moment that passed.
Even Wyatt managed to relax—though he wasn’t sure if that was because Aquino didn’t make his way into the dining room or because Ryan had relaxed, too.
In any case, no other fans approached them, and even their waiter toned down his interest which Wyatt sensed Ryan was grateful for.
As the meal drew to a close, and he pulled out his wallet to pay the bill, Wyatt checked his phone.
To his shock there were three texts from Xander.
Xander wasn’t much of a texter, even on his best day, and he, like the rest of the kitchen staff, always put his phone into the storage lockers during a shift.
Three texts during Terroir’s famous brunch service was the equivalent of a 911 call, complete with SWAT team and Life Flight.
Just as Wyatt expected, when he opened the texts, they were supremely unhelpful—cryptic one-word messages like “emergency,” and “help,” and the last one, “this is bad.”
Wyatt felt himself tense. If Xander thought something was bad, then it was very bad.
But how bad could it be, he reasoned. The food coming out of the kitchens was as flawless as ever, and none of the waiters looked worried or harassed.
If something bad had gone down in the kitchens, then it was at least somewhat contained.
The thought didn’t really set Wyatt’s mind at ease. He texted back, “I’ll be at the back door in five,” and hoped that Xander still had his phone on him so he’d see the message.
“I need to check on something,” he told Nana, Tony, and Ryan. “I’ll be right back.”
“Are you going to see Xander and Kian, dear?” Nana asked, oblivious to the undercurrents of Wyatt’s worry.
“Something like that,” he told her, rising to his feet.
“Make sure to pass on how wonderful the meal was,” she insisted. Ryan’s eyes were questioning across the table, but Wyatt gave a quick shake of his head to indicate that he didn’t need to accompany him.
Exiting the front door, Wyatt made his way around the side of the building, down to the employee parking and entrance.
Xander was leaning against the wall next to the door, eyes closed. He was still in his whites, with one of his trademark chili pepper head-wraps on.
“What’s going on?” Wyatt demanded.