Chapter Five
There was part of him that was excited to go to Damon’s, and help jumpstart the beginning of his new career. There was another part of him that felt absolute dread.
Dread and guilt.
It had been so stupid to kiss Nate last night.
Stupid, petty, and childish. The ultimate move when you were holding so tightly to your blinders that you couldn’t see even a fraction of the truth in yourself.
But just because Xander knew why he’d done it, that didn’t magically erase any of the guilt.
Of course, he should feel the most embarrassed over facing Nate, but the thought of running into him in the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and grumpy, pouring himself a cup of coffee, didn’t keep him in the bedroom.
It didn’t matter that Damon would never find out what he’d done. Xander knew, and that was bad enough.
Finally, when he couldn’t possibly avoid it anymore, he got out of bed and slunk down the hall to take a fast shower.
He threw on jeans and an old t-shirt he liked to jog in, and because he had at least an inkling of the sort of work they’d be doing today, tied on a pair of work boots that he hadn’t worn in years.
Not a lot of call for construction work for a chef.
But Xander’s stepdad was a general contractor, and had always believed in having a pair of good work boots handy.
His stepdad would love Damon, and his determination to build something out of nothing.
Especially out of the ashes. But that didn’t matter, Xander reminded himself, Frank was never going to meet Damon.
At least not in the context of him approving and becoming friendly with him—becoming part of the family.
Xander could hear Frank’s no-nonsense voice in his head now: You can’t let the past define your future, kid. You’ve got to give it a fresh chance.
It sounded way too much like Nate’s, you keep falling for these guys and doing nothing about it.
He grabbed two pieces of brioche bread, and slathered on some of the apple butter Wyatt had sent them in his last care package—like Xander and Kian, who were both chefs, were somehow starving without him feeding them.
Frankly, Wyatt was probably bored, sitting around the mansion he lived in with his professional baseball player boyfriend.
Making apple butter for Xander and Kian was probably keeping him from climbing the walls.
The time on the clock in his car was 8:03 when he pulled into Damon’s gravel driveway.
“Cappuccino?” Damon asked distractedly when he opened the door. His hair was still damp and he was wearing another one of those damn flannel shirts, already turned up to the elbow, exposing way too much muscular forearm for just after eight in the morning. Xander felt dizzy with it.
A little forearm skin was enough to make him fluttery. If he ever saw Damon naked, he’d probably keel over dead.
“I’m not going to turn down your coffee, pretty much ever,” Xander said, following him to the kitchen.
In the morning light, away from the dusk and the dark of the night before, the atmosphere felt slightly less charged.
But the electrical zing when Damon handed Xander his cup and their fingers brushed for a split second was still there.
It was just fresher and more innocent in the morning than it had been the evening before.
Full of more serious possibilities than a fling, or a single night that Damon would probably regret.
The fact that he was even considering serious or possibilities at all were enough to have Xander turning toward the back sliding door, staring out at the blue sky over the garden. Better to look there than straight at the person he had trouble looking away from.
Better to stave off the inevitable and eventual feelings as long as possible.
“You ready to get started?” Damon asked. He had his own cup of coffee, thick and rich and dark—Xander could smell it even though he stood a few feet away. It made him want to crowd into Damon’s space, take the cup from his hand, and taste all that richness right off his tongue.
Yeah, kissing Nate had definitely not made him forget about wanting to kiss Damon. He looked down at his watch. It was seven minutes after eight. He’d been in Damon’s presence for four minutes, and he’d already felt it again.
What he should really do was bring up Damon’s ex-wife again, and pry a little, no matter how incredibly rude it would be. Maybe then he’d find some unassailable evidence that Damon was straight and his heart would stop wishing for shit it couldn’t ever have.
But even Xander, who had a reputation for being blunt as fuck, couldn’t figure out a way to bring up Damon’s ex-wife without torturing them both. So instead he nodded, and said, “Sure, let’s get started while we still have the day.”
“My granddad used to say that all the time,” Damon admitted as they trudged through the morning dew toward the barrel house.
“Funny, that’s a favorite saying of my stepdad, Frank,” Xander said.
“Let me guess, he thinks it’s awesome to get up early,” Damon said. “It’s still dark out and he’s chomping at the bit to get going.”
Xander shared a commiserating smile. “Basically.”
“God, morning people,” Damon said with a bright, blinding grin.
And Xander, who might have lumped himself in with that group until this morning, when guilt had weighed him down so much he’d had trouble getting his ass out of bed, simply nodded. Just to see that smile again.
“You’re not a morning person but you’re up this morning. Eager to get started?”
Damon unlocked the door to the barrel house, clipping the keys to his belt. “I’ve already started. I’ve been up early every morning since I started the garden. I’ve found it’s a lot easier to work in the mornings.”
“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” Xander admitted. Damon had already been committed to this project for a year. Because without a garden, there would be no garden-to-table restaurant.
“It’s okay, I get it. This building is the beginning for you. First,” Damon said, gesturing around at all the broken-down crap piled in the corners, “we’ve got to get all this out of here.”
Xander sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid to get your hands dirty?” Damon asked, shooting him a quick, slanted look.
Xander felt it along his skin, in the blood in his veins.
It was difficult to see this project and this partnership as a mistake that was only going to lead to a broken heart, but when he stood here, on this land, looking at the walls of this old, still majestic building, it was impossible to see himself anywhere else.
Some things, Xander decided, were inevitable, and some fates unavoidable.
And this was his. It had been crystal clear the moment he’d kissed Nate, but the truth was, he’d known it for a lot longer than that. He’d known it, deep down, the first moment he’d seen Damon’s figure through the pouring rain. Why else feel so compelled to stop?
“No,” Xander said. A lot more than his hands were going to get dirty on this project.
Some of the debris had to be broken down into smaller pieces of wood. Damon produced a pair of gloves for himself, and then surprisingly, a pair for Xander that fit him perfectly.
Xander flushed as he pulled them on, trying not to think that Damon had sized up his hands, and then gone and bought gloves to fit.
Damon must have seen, because he explained, sounding nearly the most self-conscious that Xander had ever heard him. “Your hands . . . you might put them through hell,” Damon said. “But I’m not going to let you get a splinter on my watch.”
“You realize I get worse than a splinter all the time,” Xander had responded, and hiding the fondness in his tone had been impossible. Maybe they couldn’t ever be in love, but Damon clearly cared what happened to him.
“Burns, cuts, scratches, right?” Damon asked and Xander nodded.
“Don’t care,” he concluded. “No splinters, not if I can help it.”
They’d gotten to work then, Xander trying to focus on the pile he was breaking down and lugging outside to the spot Damon had designated.
It was harder than he’d imagined it would be.
Not the work—that was easy. The wood was old and soft.
Easily broken down so it could be carried outside in armfuls.
No, the problem was Damon, and the flex of his biceps as he used a crowbar to pry the metal ring off some old wine barrels.
The problem was the little grunt he let out when he pried each one off.
Xander tried not to think about how Damon might sound as he fucked, that little grunt louder as he bottomed out every time. He totally failed.
“Something really interesting in that wall?” Damon asked, totally catching Xander in the middle of a really good, really explicit fantasy.
The other problem was that it had been so long since he’d had sex, and it didn’t look like that streak was getting any shorter, considering how the kissing experiment with Nate had gone.
Xander blushed bright red. The wall in question was the wall right behind Damon. “Uh no, just . . . thinking of a new dish.”
“What is it?” Damon asked, because of course.
“Uh, uh, it’s . . .” Xander was usually a lot quicker, even with a lie, but not much of his blood was in his brain at the moment.
“Sounds really good,” Damon said solemnly.
Xander resembled the color of the radishes Damon was growing outside. “Really good,” he managed to agree.
Damon laughed. “Whatever it is, I think I want some.”
The culmination of all of Xander’s problems: Damon probably didn’t want any, and probably wasn’t ever going to want any.
“Yeah, yeah,” Xander grumbled, turning back to his own pile and getting back to work before his inconvenient erection could be any more obvious.