Chapter Four
Hands down, it was one of the best meals Damon had ever eaten.
Even though he’d watched Xander prep it with his own two hands, it was a marvel that he’d done it with only those hands.
It was a far better meal than any he’d ever had at Terroir, and that was prepared by an entire staff and countless pieces of expensive equipment.
Xander had come to his house with a bag of groceries and a knife, borrowed a pan and a pizza cutter, and had made an astoundingly delicious meal. It was talent and drive, all wrapped up in one package.
A cute package.
Damon had been telling himself not to notice—or if he was going to notice, then he should just ignore the attraction.
But sitting across from Xander, staring at him in the candlelight, it was much harder than he’d imagined.
Especially when he looked relaxed and much more at peace than he had that night a year ago.
At first he’d been too worked up himself to notice the anxiousness that Xander wore like a cloak. Or a very difficult-to-scale wall complete with archers equipped with fiery arrows and soldiers pouring boiling oil.
But tonight his guard had fallen a little, and despite everything, Damon wanted desperately to believe it was more than just quitting a job he’d really hated.
Damon wanted to believe the smile on Xander’s face had something to do with him.
“Thank you,” Damon said. “If that was an audition, you nailed it.”
“I know.” He was a little smug, and it was more than a little adorable. The way his nose scrunched up, the eye crinkles, the expressive look in his dark brown eyes.
Damon had imagined he might be in danger, hanging around Xander all the time, especially considering the impression he’d made on him in such a short time, but this was Trouble with a capital t.
“You’d better watch yourself. Not sure your head’s gonna fit back through the back door,” Damon teased.
“You wanted a chef,” Xander said, spreading his arms. “You got one.”
“They’re sort of thick on the ground in Napa,” Damon softly insisted, “but it turns out I’m particular.”
“Imagine that, a Hess particular.” The sarcasm in Xander’s voice cut through the dreamy romantic quality of the candlelight and let in a little of the real world. Specifically his family.
He couldn’t exactly tell Xander he didn’t ever want to talk about his family.
After all, this land was their legacy, and his trust fund was making the restaurant a reality.
Truth was, he really didn’t want to talk about them, and it felt like Xander brought them up as some sort of defense mechanism.
Damon still didn’t understand why, and this was definitely not the first time it had happened.
“What’s your deal with the Hesses?” Damon asked. Might as well be honest, at least before Xander walked back in the house and signed the contract that would tie them together for the near future. Of course, that also meant the question had barely made it out of his mouth.
Something ugly churned deep in his stomach, exactly the opposite reaction he should have had after that incredible meal.
What if he changes his mind?
“Nothing,” Xander said, but his chin was jutting out again, and his fingers were drumming anxiously against the wood tabletop. It sure didn’t look like nothing.
There was a definite voice in his head, begging him to leave it, to make sure he didn’t drive Xander away with his insistent questioning. After all, Xander wasn’t signing with Hess Vineyards, he was signing with Damon, who stayed as far away from his family as possible.
But Damon’s last name was still Hess, and it wasn’t going to change.
“Really?” Damon asked.
Xander sighed. “I said it was nothing, and it is. It’s stupid.”
“I don’t want it to interfere,” Damon offered. “Not with what we’re about to build.”
“It won’t. I promise. I know you’re not your family. And to be honest, that’s what it is. I’ve had a few run-ins with Hess employees. But you’re not like them.”
The thing Damon had discovered before coming back to Napa, and definitely after returning to the Valley, was that he could run as far and as hard as he could, but his family was still his family. Time and distance couldn’t alter his blood, no matter how much he wished otherwise.
“Okay, that’s fair.” Damon stood, and brushed off his jeans. His best pair, without any mud or holes. Terroir hadn’t even gotten that much from him. He leaned over to snuff out the candle, and the scent of beeswax filled his nostrils.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to go read through the contract,” Xander said.
“Sure. I’ll just clean up.” Xander looked like he was about to protest, but Damon held up a hand. “I’m no good in the kitchen, but I can use a sink and a dishwasher.”
“If you insist, I’m not going to stop you,” Xander conceded with a smile. He’d relaxed again, and Damon found himself hoping that Xander let whatever issue he had with his family go for good this time.
He gathered up the rest of the dishes, and when he let himself in the sliding back door, Xander was at the counter, absorbed in the printed pages of the contract.
“Dry reading?” Damon asked as he flipped on the sink, filling it with hot soapy water.
It was obvious that Xander was a professional cook, because even though he had used a number of pans and utensils to prepare the meal, they were all neatly piled next to the sink, and the counter and stove had all been carefully wiped down.
“It could be more interesting,” Xander admitted. “Do you mind if I take this with me?”
“Sure, but if you’d like I can email you an electronic copy to take to a lawyer,” Damon said steadily. It was the right thing to do, but his heart had wanted Xander to sign tonight. Before he could figure out that Damon wasn’t as good of a bet as he appeared.
“That would be nice, but I’m not taking it to a lawyer. I just want a copy for myself.”
Xander had gotten a real nice sear on the salmon filets, and the pan needed to be soaked. Filling it with hot water, Damon set it aside. “I don’t want you to look back on this conversation and wish you’d done things differently,” he said.
“It’s a straightforward contract, and anyway, I trust you.”
Damon glanced over, and was surprised to see in Xander’s expression that he really meant it. “I know we just met,” Xander rambled, “I know we also met under . . . extraordinary circumstances. But I choose to believe that we can make something extraordinary with those circumstances.”
It was inevitable that it would happen one day. Damon had known since he was twelve that he was attracted to both sexes. But he’d met his ex-wife so young, there had never been an opportunity to explore that attraction with men.
Until now.
He kept his trembling hands submerged in the sink, holding like a lifeline onto the pot he was scrubbing. He didn’t want Xander to see how affected he was—and he definitely wasn’t ready to approach Xander yet. If he was ever going to feel ready.
Also just because Xander was gay didn’t mean he was interested in Damon. After all, Xander knew he was a recovering alcoholic, and Damon had always imagined that not many people would ever choose to take that sort of burden on in a romantic partner.
Still, the possibility existing at all, even in a nebulous future, made Damon swallow hard.
“That’s a lot of trust to give,” Damon said, voice raw. He didn’t have to add, to someone who you personally witnessed falling apart only a year ago.
Xander shot him a quicksilver grin, and went back to reading the contract.
He finished washing and drying the dishes, putting them away, but Damon felt shaken to the core by Xander’s words, and his own reaction to them.
Whether Xander acknowledged it or not, he was taking a chance, and there was definitely a part of Damon that didn’t feel worthy of it, especially when he heard Xander scrawling his signature on the contract, the pen scratching across the paper.
“There,” Xander said with finality. “All it needs is your signature.”
He could have slid it over the counter. Damon’s hands were still a little damp, but he could have leaned over the prep counter and signed.
Instead, Xander left it next to him. Right next to him. Like he was inviting Damon into his personal bubble.
Damon hesitated, almost definitely for a second too long, because Xander chuckled, low and a little rough, and it did all sorts of things to Damon’s stomach.
The truth was, Xander had a supernatural effect on Damon’s stomach. He fed it incredible food while giving it the sort of nervous, hungry butterflies Damon hadn’t felt since he was a teenager.
“Come on, I don’t bite,” Xander said, flashing another one of those bright smiles. “Hard.”
There was nothing else to do but walk out of the kitchen to where Xander was sitting, until their shoulders were brushing up against each other.
It was the closest they’d ever been. Damon could feel the warmth of Xander’s skin through the cotton of his t-shirt, and his fingers trembled so hard he had to clench them tightly together.
Xander had to know he was prodding the bear, but he offered the pen up anyway, dangling it in front of Damon’s face. “You ready to sign?” he asked.
It was blatant flirting—even Damon knew what it was, and he was clueless about most romantic behavior.
He plucked the pen out of Xander’s hand, gave himself a pat on the back for not succumbing to his very base desire and signed the contract, right above where Xander had.
“It’s settled then,” Xander said. Damon took a step back, back out of Xander’s space. No matter how much he wanted to stay, wanted to see what else Xander might invite, this was a slippery slope and Damon wasn’t sure he was ready to tackle it yet.
Honestly he wasn’t sure he would ever be ready and he wasn’t willing to subject Xander to the same thing he’d already done to the rest of his friends and family, but mostly his ex-wife.
“You want to see the restaurant?” Damon asked.