Chapter One #3
He hadn’t been intending on telling Damon where he worked, but then Damon probably hadn’t intended on telling Xander he was an alcoholic, so Xander figured he owed him.
“I work at a restaurant named Terroir.” He saw the moment the name registered and how familiar Damon was with it.
But Xander forged on, anyway. “We source everything we can from local farmers and suppliers. This would be great ground to grow vegetables.”
“I didn’t know Bastian Aquino was a proponent of the farm-to-table movement,” Damon offered wryly.
“Chef Aquino does what is most convenient for Chef Aquino,” Xander admitted. “And it makes him look good to try to source stuff locally.”
“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Damon said casually.
“You’ve met Chef Aquino?” Xander asked, which was stupid, because he was a Hess. The Hess family didn’t run the Valley exactly, because there were too many big wine families for anyone to have a monopoly, but they were definitely one of the more important players.
“A couple of times, before I moved away,” Damon said. “You must have skin like steel to work for him.”
“Yeah, something like that.” This was hardly the first time someone had pointed out that Bastian Aquino was an asshole, and it was definitely not going to be the last. “There’s a reason he’s affectionately known as the Bastard.”
“Have you ever thought about leaving?” Damon asked.
Had he ever thought about leaving?
It was tough to consider leaving, when everyone else kept leaving him. First, Miles, to his big cooking show career in Los Angeles, and then Wyatt, as a private chef to professional baseball player Ryan Flores.
Only Kian was left out of their original foursome of friends and roommates, and Xander wasn’t sure that these days Kian would even consider them close anymore.
That was the problem with trying to give people advice; when they wouldn’t listen and you started sounding like a broken, desperate record, your friendship generally suffered.
“I hadn’t. I became sous chef six months ago, and it’s better with some power in the kitchen.” This was a terrible lie, but Damon, who had plenty of demons of his own, didn’t need a rundown of Xander’s.
Especially considering that up until tonight, he’d even been tending the vines he’d eventually be driven to tear down. It must have been a bad night, and Xander was glad he’d intruded if only because Damon had clearly needed a distraction.
“You seem very capable, so I’m not surprised Bastian would promote you,” Damon said.
“You’ve never seen me in a kitchen,” Xander pointed out.
Damon flushed, and Xander had a heart-stopping moment where he thought he might be flirting with him. But that wasn’t possible.
Because even if by some miracle Damon was interested in guys, he probably wouldn’t be interested in Xander.
He was a Hess. He owned some of the most valuable land in California.
He was undoubtedly rich, with a handsome trust fund.
Add to that his incredibly good looks, all of which added up to the fact that Xander needed to get out of here before he began thinking there could be some nebulous possibility here, with Damon.
“I’m going to go check the dryer,” Xander said, sliding off the barstool before he could get any more wild ideas.
Damon didn’t say anything, just stared down into his empty coffee mug.
Maybe he knew Xander was running away, but he definitely didn’t know why, and as far as Xander was concerned, that was what mattered.
The clothes in the dryer were still a tiny bit damp, but he pulled them out anyway, tugging his pants on, and pulling on his tank top. He dumped the towel into the washing machine, and walked back out toward the kitchen.
Damon was washing out Xander’s mug in the sink.
“Thank you, for coming to talk to me tonight,” Damon said before Xander could say goodbye. “I was having a really bad night. Worst night in awhile, if I’m being honest. And you showed up, even though you didn’t have to, and kept me company.”
It ached that Damon thought Xander had done it for selfless reasons. And there were selfless reasons, but selfish ones too. Like the way the muscles in Damon’s back bunched as he dried out the mug.
“You’re welcome,” Xander said quietly. He knew he should ask if he should stay, if Damon would like his phone number if he ever had a bad night again, because it didn’t seem like Damon had a lot of people he could talk to.
But he didn’t do either of those things.
Self-preservation, he told himself. “Actually, I should be going. I have an early morning tomorrow.”
“Of course you do.” Xander told himself that it was okay, that everything was fine, because there was a dark thread of amusement in Damon’s deep voice. If he was amused, he couldn’t still be struggling so much.
“Thanks for the coffee, and the washing machine, and for not calling the cops on me,” Xander said in a rush. He couldn’t quite look at Damon’s bare back anymore, and Damon hadn’t turned around to face him either.
This was better all around, Xander told himself.
“See you around,” Damon said.
Then there was nothing left to do except go the way he came, opening the back door to only a weak sprinkle. Xander said a blessing, shoved his feet back in his muddy sneakers, and closed the door behind him.