Chapter Thirteen
It was tough to wrap his head around it, but Damon was about to open a restaurant, and after coming back to Napa, the reality of it hit hard.
During their San Francisco trip, they’d ordered the restaurant equipment Xander had picked out, and had purchased the rest of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture they’d need for the dining room.
As an extra bonus, he’d taken Xander to Michael Mina, where they’d definitely enjoyed the food, but more than that, Damon had loved the glint of determination that had emerged in his lover and head chef’s eye.
Xander might have felt like his rustic Italian food couldn’t find a place in high-end dining, but after eating Michelin-starred Michael Mina’s rustic Greek food, he’d been converted.
It could be done, and it could be done well—and Damon knew Xander was just the person to do it.
David had texted him to let him know the refinished floors were done, and that both the new addition for the kitchen and the bathrooms were now roughed in.
He gave the project another few weeks, and after reading his text, Damon had sat down heavily.
It wasn’t hard to feel overwhelmed. Opening a restaurant involved so many decisions, and a to-do list that was frighteningly long.
Still, as the week post-San Francisco ticked by, he and Xander were able to cross off a good portion of it.
The logo was finalized and Damon ordered the signage, and tonight, Xander was cooking him the rest of the dishes he’d yet to taste.
If everything was delicious as Damon knew it would be, the menu would be finalized too.
Of course, it was seasonal, so the menu development wouldn’t ever truly be finished, but getting that first one locked in was vital.
“I’m nervous,” Xander said as Damon sat at the dining room table in Xander’s rental house, watching as he wrung his hands.
“You shouldn’t be,” Damon reasoned.
Xander shot him a glare. Damon found it sexier than he probably should have.
That was the problem since they’d started sleeping together; everything Xander did, conscious and unconscious, seemed to turn him on.
He’d been celibate a long time, and he’d forgotten what it was like to be completely, head over heels attracted to someone.
He lifted his fork and tried to ignore the clanging voice in his head that told him that he wasn’t just head over heels attracted—he was head over heels in love.
He’d felt it before they went to San Francisco, but afterwards, there was no pulling back or rescaling the cliff.
Jumping off it had felt as natural as breathing, and it was undeniable, even if he wasn’t even close to being ready to admit it to Xander.
Though that probably had more to do with Xander than Damon’s own feelings.
“You take me to Michael Mina,” Xander said, starting to pace, “and then you came back and expect me to be satisfied with mediocrity. I can’t be. I won’t be.”
“Your food isn’t mediocre.” Damon had discovered in the last few weeks that his boyfriend—because that fact was also undeniable even if they hadn’t exactly discussed the label itself—had a secret dramatic side that only emerged when he was stressed.
Xander was absolutely, one hundred percent stressed right now. He threw his hands up and muttered. Probably something unpleasant about Damon’s father in Italian. Again, probably way sexier than it should have been.
Whenever Xander got a little worked up, it was so easy to distract him by kissing him or touching him or offering a convenient method to work off his extra energy.
But tonight, they had to finalize the menu; Damon had promised to send it to the printers in the morning.
They couldn’t get distracted with sex, no matter how much Damon might want to.
“It sure feels that way right now,” Xander grumbled.
“Well, why don’t you serve me some of it, and I’ll give you my honest opinion. I promise.”
Xander raised an eyebrow and shot him a very dubious look. “You promise to be honest?”
Like Damon hadn’t been honest, as honest as he could be anyway, for their entire partnership and relationship. Besides, if they could make it through his ex-wife showing up while Xander was still lounging around in bed, a whole chain of condoms on the floor, they could make it through anything.
Though Rachel, after Xander had gone upstairs, had smacked him in the shoulder then given him a high five. “He’s nice and really cute and a real catch,” she’d murmured to him while she was hugging him goodbye. “Don’t let him go.”
He hadn’t exactly let Rachel go, but in the end, it boiled down to that. How could he have asked her to stick around when the love between them had slowly been suffocating, strangled by Damon’s demons?
Still, he agreed with her. There was no way he was ever letting Xander go, even when it still sort of felt like he was getting away with the better end of the deal.
Stressed-out drama queen episodes and all.
Damon rose up out of his chair at the dining room table and crossed toward the kitchen, stopping right in front of Xander.
“You,” he said, reaching out and taking his hands in his own, “are special. Talented. But even more than that, I know you can do this because you used to do this every single damn night. Bastian might have been the seed of Terroir, but by the time you came around, he was just a supervisor. You and the rest of the kitchen staff earned him his stars every year. I know you can do this because you’ve already done it. ”
Xander stared at Damon like the thought had never occurred to him.
“How many nights did you turn out his tired dishes, reinventing them without ever changing the recipe? Making sure they were flawless? And how many nights,” Damon demanded, “did you stand there and wish you could make something else? Something better?”
Xander glanced away, like he didn’t want Damon to see the look in his eyes. The truth of what Damon was forcibly revealing to him.
“Every night,” he finally murmured. “I thought it every single fucking night.”
“This is your time,” Damon said, squeezing his hands. “This is your chance to do just that. I know you’re not going to blow it because there’s never been anybody less inclined to blow things.”
A laugh bubbled out of Xander’s throat, and Damon gave himself a mental pat on the back. He looked marginally calmer than he had a few moments ago, and he was laughing, relaxing a second at a time.
“I’d say I’m pretty inclined to blow things,” Xander pointed out with an amused voice.
Damon pulled him into a quick, tight hug, then lingered because each day they grew closer, and each day, he was less inclined to let him go.
“Hold that thought,” Damon said when he finally did. “Now, are you going to feed me or not?”
There was a new resolve in Xander’s expression and Damon wanted to believe that he’d helped put it there—but truthfully, Xander had a stockpile of steely reserve and all Damon had done was show him where it was.
Returning to his chair, he watched as Xander cooked the halibut, gently lifting it out of the pan with a thin metal spatula, arranging it on the prepared plate just so. He walked over and placed it in front of Damon.
“Halibut with lemon and a fresh tomato gastrique,” Xander said.
Damon lifted his fork. “Are you not eating?”
Xander let out a rueful laugh. “I’ve eaten this about ten times in the last five days. I think I’m good.”
The halibut was buttery on his tongue, with just the sour, yet impossibly sweet, tang of the lemon. The burst of tomato and fresh mint finished off the bite. It was glorious, and while Damon knew his expression said it all, he couldn’t help but add a single word. “Wow,” he said. “Just . . . wow.”
“It’s simple but it’s a perfect simplicity,” Xander said and he sounded justifiably smug.
It should have occurred to Damon long before this. After all, he’d sought out Xander in the first place, determined to make him his partner in the restaurant and any other way he was willing to be. Still, somehow the realization took Damon entirely by surprise.
Maybe it was the stray thought that he wanted to see that smug expression of Xander’s for years. For forever, if he had his way. He’d never tire of seeing the man he loved acknowledge just how brilliant and talented he was.
Because he did love him. Had started falling in love with him a long time ago, maybe even that night a year ago, and he’d simply never stopped falling.
Until now, when his heart fell right at Xander’s feet.
And Xander just stood there, smiling away, thinking that this was all about a perfect piece of halibut, when the truth was it was so much more.
“You really like it,” Xander stated, not even questioning it. Knowing it. Believing it.
“I love it,” Damon said honestly.
“I thought you might.”
Damon reached up a hand. He might not be ready yet to tell Xander—he still wasn’t a hundred percent sure he was even doing the right thing, involving Xander in his life, burdening him with his problems—but he could show him.
He grasped Xander’s hand in his and tugged him down, pulling him down to sit in his lap. “You really need to try this,” he said.
Xander made a face, but he was also smiling and looking undeniably pleased. As well as settling right into Damon’s lap like it was a throne made just for him. And as far as Damon was concerned, it was.
“I suppose you could tempt me with a bite,” Xander said.
Loading up the perfect bite on his fork, with a little bit of everything, Damon guided it gently to Xander’s lips. He chewed and swallowed, a pensive expression on his face. “It is pretty good,” he admitted, the smugness melting into a boyish, bashful pleasure at the taste.