Chapter Nine
Xander was fussing with a ravioli filling—simple but essential that it be absolutely perfect—when his phone rang.
He picked it up gingerly with flour-dusted fingertips and set it between his shoulder and ear as he continued to stir some caramelized onions on the stove.
“What’s up?” he asked Damon.
His heart still accelerated a little whenever Damon called him or texted him or otherwise acknowledged his existence.
At first Xander had been embarrassed by it, but then he’d caught Damon’s fingers trembling the other night as they’d sat on the couch, watching a movie.
Damon’s cheeks had flushed bright red, and all Xander could do was confess his own crush symptoms.
They were still taking it slow, because Xander was still irrationally worried that Damon might change his mind, and also because neither of them really knew how to just date someone.
Damon had been married forever, and other than few meaningless hookups, Xander had been celibate and alone.
They were still figuring it all out, and they had a mostly unspoken agreement that sex complicated a brand-new relationship that was already complicated enough.
“Good news,” Damon said. There was the sound of wind on his side of the line, like he was driving with the window open. Which made sense, because they were having a surprisingly hot spell. Xander was personally sweating his ass off in his un-air-conditioned kitchen.
“Did the permits come through?” Xander asked, continuing to stir his onions.
He was looking for a jam-like texture, after the onions had started to really break down and grow caramel in color.
The result was not quite there, but he was regretting deciding that today was the day he was going to perfect his ravioli recipe.
“Yeah, they’re in. David’s starting construction tomorrow. And good news, the HVAC people are going to be in pretty soon, installing the new air-conditioning.”
“If the building wasn’t going to be a mess of dust and dirt, I would seriously consider packing up and moving recipe testing there,” Xander complained. “It’s hot as hell in here, and for some reason I thought it’d be a great idea to hunch over a stove all day.”
“The ravioli recipe?” Damon sounded sympathetic.
Xander hummed in agreement, reaching down to grab a taste with a fingertip. Close, but not quite. He plucked his bottle of balsamic vinegar from the counter and added a splash, tasted again, and then splashed in some more.
“It needs pepper,” Damon said, his teasing tone light and happy. So far from the wounded despondency of a few days ago when his father had visited him. Xander wanted to believe he had something to do with Damon’s attitude bouncing back, but it was easy to doubt himself. Too easy.
“You think everything needs pepper,” Xander scoffed. “If you tell me this dish needs pepper, I’m going to throttle you.”
“Okay, no pepper. Does that mean we aren’t having the waiters come to your table with a pepper grinder for your salad?”
Xander made a wounded noise over the phone. “You’re physically hurting me. Of course not. Like I would ever make a dish that needs to be liberally coated with fresh ground pepper! That’s only for food that has no flavor and they’re trying to hide it by ruining your taste buds up front.”
“Huh.” Damon sounded thoughtful. “I never thought of it that way before.”
“That’s why you hired me,” Xander said, and this time he could say it without even a hiccup, had been practicing saying it and acknowledging it for the last few days.
Damon had hired him. He was technically Damon’s employee.
Yes, he was also more—they both believed that—but he couldn’t let himself forget that one fundamental fact.
He’d started this by pretending facts weren’t facts, and that wasn’t going to get either of them anywhere.
If he was going to commit to this relationship, he wasn’t going to let himself forget who he was, or where he’d been. Honesty—and self-honesty—was vital.
“It’s true,” Damon said casually.
“What else are you doing today?” Xander asked, finally pulling the onions off the heat. They looked perfect, and after taking another taste, also had perfect flavor.
“Weeding. Watering, at least after the sun goes down.” He sounded as eager for it as Xander felt.
Just as Xander was thinking of how much he’d pay for a dunking that wasn’t just a cold shower, Damon suggested, “You could come over, if you wanted. I’ll have the sprinklers out. We could run through them like kids. It’s not much but it’s something.”
Xander wiped the sweat from his forehead. Imagined Damon in a white tank, soaked through, outlining every one of his incredible muscles. It was not a tough decision to make.
“Count me in.”
“Dusk is about nine,” Damon said. “I can’t water until then.”
“I’ll be over then.” Xander paused. “I can bring over some of these ravioli. You can try them, but there’s one important condition.”
“I can’t say it needs pepper?”
Xander laughed. “That and you don’t complain that they’re hot. Or warm. Unfortunately they’re not meant to be eaten cold.”
“You could make a cold ravioli salad,” Damon suggested.
Xander couldn’t help it—he laughed again. “Pasta salad? With ravioli?”
“That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“It’s . . . different. But different could be good.
” Xander had an idea, and then three more, just in the quick pause before Damon answered.
They weren’t really high-end ideas, but every time he had that thought, Xander shoved the snooty voice of Bastian Aquino right out of his head, and did whatever the fuck he wanted.
So far that had seemed to work well for him. Whether that would work once the Barrel House opened and critics showed up, that remained to be seen. But nothing was more freeing than forcing himself not to care what other people thought.
“I like different,” Damon said loyally. “Especially your different.”
It was taking time, but Xander was finally beginning to believe he deserved that hushed, reverent note in Damon’s voice.
“Yours is pretty great too,” Xander admitted.
Silence stretched between them, full of things that Xander knew neither of them had the nerve to say just yet. I miss you. I’m craving you. I want you so badly it hurts.
Xander was left wondering how long this self-enforced celibacy could continue lasting. Probably not much further, if he was being honest with himself.
“I’ll see you tonight?” Damon finally said.
“Yeah, of course. About nine,” Xander said, repeating himself because he wanted to linger on the phone, just to hear Damon’s voice, even though what he really needed was to finish up the ravioli, get out of this boiling hot kitchen, and take a very cold shower—and not just because it was a hundred degrees outside.
“See you then,” Damon said, and finally clicked off.
Xander sighed as he set the phone back on the counter. It was now liberally smeared with flour, like just about every other surface in the kitchen, including his arms and probably his face.
Turning his attention back to the caramelized onions, he tested them with his fingertips, making sure they’d cooled down enough to incorporate them into the rest of his mixture, but they weren’t nearly ready yet.
He picked up the pan and hauled it over to the fridge, stuck it on a shelf and stood there for a good minute just letting the cool air billow over him.
“You’d better be paying a higher fraction of the electric bill this month,” Nate said from behind him.
Xander didn’t budge or even turn around. He still felt a shaft of embarrassment deep inside at how he’d treated his friend. Using him while he’d only ever wanted to kiss Damon. “It’s hot as balls.”
“And somehow you’re still in this kitchen, sweating them off.” Nate sounded amused, and it helped break the ice between them. Xander relaxed a fraction, and once he did, found it was easier to let the embarrassment go.
“I have work to do,” Xander retorted.
“What, working in the kitchen is work? I thought your new career was all about working Damon Hess?”
“That would be nice, but it’s not in the job description,” Xander said. He’d do it. He wanted to do it. Was slowly dying that he hadn’t yet. He was no stranger to celibacy but waiting for Damon to be ready to take things up a notch was giving him an epic case of blue balls.
“Yet.”
Xander turned around, bringing out his pan of onions, and this time when he touched them with a finger, they were cool enough. He shut the fridge and walked back over to the prep counter.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“That means that Nathan Hess is talking. About you and his son.”
“Fuck,” Xander swore. “I don’t like that guy. I wish he’d leave Damon alone.” And me, Xander thought.
Nate raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t sound like nothing’s going on,” he pointed out.
“We’re taking things slow,” Xander said, hoping that he wouldn’t regret confiding in Nate. He had a real ear for good gossip, and this was sweet stuff. Nathan Hess’ son hooking up with his new employee and an ex-Terroir chef? It had all the trademarks of a real juicy rumor.
“I can’t believe you’re not climbing that like a tree,” Nate offered.
“Me either,” Xander muttered. “Wait, how do you even know it’s Damon Hess? And what he looks like?”
“Kian told me. And after your aborted little experiment, I looked him up,” Nate pointed out, reaching in the bowl of filling and pulling out a bite before Xander could smack his hand. “But you don’t need me to tell you he’s hot.”
Xander definitely did not.
“He’s also technically your boss,” Nate continued.
Xander was beginning to remember why they hadn’t ever really been friends.
Why he had disliked Nate the moment Wyatt had brought him home the first time.
“I bet you don’t feel hypocritical at all, especially after the way you’ve been trying to get Kian to stop panting over Aquino. ”