Chapter Sixteen #3
“Miles said I’d have thirty,” Damon said, and the flippant edge to his voice just pissed Xander off. He did not get to waltz in here, no matter how shitty the things Xander had said were, and make jokes.
Xander glanced up and he knew his expression was hard as steel. “You got docked fifteen seconds because it turns out you’re not the good guy here. You’re an asshole.”
Damon’s eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired.
Something uncomfortable bloomed in Xander’s stomach.
Was Damon drinking again? Had their fight pushed him away from his sobriety?
As pissed as Xander was, he didn’t ever want that for him.
He loved him—still, always, forever—no matter what Damon had done. Even if Damon was an asshole.
“No,” Damon said wryly, answering the question Xander hadn’t asked. “No, I’m not drinking again, even if I look like shit. Apparently not sleeping for multiple nights in a row does that to you.”
“I’m still waiting,” Xander inserted testily. “I’ve got a job to do, a job you fucking hired me for.”
“I know, and I’ll leave you alone after this, to do it and do it brilliantly. I saw Bastian come in when I did, please make sure you knock his fucking socks off.”
“Well?” Xander asked again. “I’m still waiting.”
“I just didn’t want you to go through tonight without you knowing. I love you.” Damon said the words clearly and loudly, definitely loud enough for every interested party in the dining room to hear.
It shouldn’t have mattered, not after his behavior of the last few days, but Xander felt his eyes fill. For so long this was exactly what he’d wanted—someone to love him with zero shame or embarrassment, and he’d finally found that.
Except that Damon had still massively fucked up the last few days, and Xander wasn’t ready just yet to accept such a bad non-apology.
“I know,” Xander said calmly. “I know you do.”
“And I need to apologize?” Damon guessed with a heavy sigh. “I know I do. We’ll talk after dinner, and I’ll apologize the right way. I just wanted you to know I love you before you do this.”
“We’ll see if it’s the right sort of apology first,” Xander challenged.
Damon’s face broke into a bright grin. “Oh, it’s gonna be good.”
Xander’s hands stilled on the microgreens. “It better fucking be.”
Turning around, Damon sauntered out of the kitchen and to Xander’s surprise, he saw him walk over to where Miles was greeting guests at the host stand. They exchanged a few words, and Miles left, like he intended to give Damon the job he’d so callously forfeited.
“Chef,” Billy said, suddenly right next to him. “Chef?”
Xander’s gaze snapped over to him. He was still replaying watching Damon greet guests in a snazzy, sharp sport coat and jeans, one of his nicer plaid shirts underneath, smiling and shaking hands like he felt a real sense of pride in the Barrel House.
The pride that Xander had been convinced after the last few days that he’d felt alone.
Maybe things weren’t quite as they seemed.
“What?” Xander barked.
“Nothing,” Billy stammered. “I just . . . didn’t realize you were involved with the owner.”
Xander rounded on him. Was it nice that Damon had made that particular confession in front of everyone, so there was zero confusion about where he stood? Yes, but he also had zero intention of letting his staff turn into a bunch of gossipy grannies on shift.
“Right now,” Xander bit off, raising his voice so every single employee could hear him, including Chris who washed the dishes, “Bastian Aquino is sitting in our dining room. You might have heard of him. He’s the head chef at Terroir, he has Michelin stars, he’s my old boss, and he’s affectionately known as the Bastard.
Just in case you thought your distraction was going to slide for one millisecond. Now, let’s get to work.”
“Yes, Chef,” they replied in chorus.
“Damn right you will,” Xander said, and did something he hadn’t in two full days—he smiled.
It had been a really great night, Xander realized as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, releasing all the tension from so many hours bent over stoves and plates.
Tonight, Bastian had proved there were rare exceptions to his Bastard nickname by even sending compliments back to the chef.
He’d also said that he could tell Miles was working on his desserts, and his regular pastry chef better be up to Miles’ level, or the quality was going to suffer when he went back to his real job and his real life.
But Xander had been in such a good mood that he’d just laughed. Bastian wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know, and if he hadn’t offered any criticism, then Xander would have believed he’d been taken over by the pod people.
The kitchen had been scrubbed clean, and the staff had slowly been departing, even Billy high-fiving Xander on his way out.
He had a feeling that Billy wasn’t going to quit if they never put wine on the menu.
He’d bought in, and even though the waitstaff had reported a few odd looks and comments with no wine list on the tables, he felt like Napa was slowly buying in too.
It wouldn’t be easy, but they could build something with a lot of hard work and dedication.
They, Xander realized. He was still thinking about the Barrel House as a joint effort, something he and Damon shared together. To know that for sure going forward, he was going to have to leave the safety of his kitchen and go find him.
He was nervous and apprehensive about it. What if Damon’s apology wasn’t as kick-ass as he’d promised? What if after hearing it, Xander still felt angry and betrayed? How were they supposed to move forward if he couldn’t forgive?
And Xander wanted to move forward and put these two days of hell behind them so badly he could nearly taste it. The only problem was he couldn’t do that if he didn’t let Damon make his apology first. Besides, there was another apology that Xander still felt honor bound to make.
Whether Damon’s reaction was deserved or not, Xander still hadn’t had the faith in him that he should have. He’d been selfish and callous, and he needed to make that right.
He walked into the dining room, the lights turned down low, and when he didn’t see Damon anywhere, ventured outside. There were lights on in the distance, where Damon’s house sat, so he wandered that direction.
When he crested the slight ridge that hid the house from the restaurant parking lot, Xander froze.
There were candles on the table sitting on Damon’s patio, the same setup that he’d had the first night Xander had ever cooked for him.
The night that Xander had long believed was their first date.
But it wasn’t just the candles that stopped him, it was the wine bottle sitting on the table, a single empty glass next to it, glittering in the candlelight.
“What are you doing?” Xander nearly yelled, panic overtaking him as he raced down the ridge toward the patio. “You can’t drink. Not like this. Not for me. God, please don’t do this.”
But Damon just smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said as Xander skidded to a stop next to the table. “I’m not drinking. The wine isn’t for me. It’s for you.”
Xander sat down opposite him with a huff. He looked at the label, recognizing it as one of the most prized Hess vintages. One of the vintages that had helped Nathan Hess rule Napa.
“Where did you even get this?” Xander said, picking it up and reading the label carefully.
“My dad’s vault,” Damon said casually.
Xander looked up suspiciously. “Is this your really good apology? A thousand-dollar bottle of wine?”
“It’s part of it,” Damon said. “I know you haven’t been drinking around me.
I know you enjoy wine, and I want you to know that while what you said probably could have used better delivery, it was all true.
I don’t really want to drink anymore, not really.
I don’t want to be that man anymore. I want to be better; you make me want to be better.
The last thing I want to do is hold you back from things you like doing. ”
“I never said I enjoyed drinking wine,” Xander said. Which was technically true.
Damon laughed. “You never had to, sweetheart. I knew. I saw your face at Michael Mina, when they took the wine list away, and I realized then that I was the one holding you back. Then you tried to convince me, with a very logical argument, by the way, that we should serve alcohol at the Barrel House. And that’s when everything I believed, deep down, came back in spades.
I never believed that as an alcoholic I deserved happiness and hope and all that.
I thought I’d fucked up my life, and nobody should get dragged down with me. Nobody else deserved it.”
Xander opened his mouth to say that was complete and total bullshit, but Damon beat him to it.
“I know, that’s such asinine crap,” Damon said wryly.
“I can’t believe I took that to heart for so damn long.
But I did, and I’m still fighting against it.
I also want you to know that it’s not going to change overnight, no matter how much I want it to.
But I’m going to start seeing a therapist, who’s going to work with me on this stuff.
I’m going to be better. I want to be better. ”
“Wow,” Xander said softly. “This is a pretty good apology. Except that you haven’t really apologized yet.” He shot a quick grin at Damon. “But maybe I can have some wine first?”
Damon poured it without a single tremble in his fingers.
Maybe Xander shouldn’t have believed him, but he did.
He understood how it was so easy to believe that you were worthless and didn’t deserve someone to love who loved you back.
He’d believed that too, for a long time, and instead of figuring out he was wrong, he’d gotten angry and bitter.
That’s when Damon had found him—or he’d found Damon.
Xander took a long sip. The aroma was glorious, the flavor unmatched as it slid across his tongue. “This is really good wine,” he said. “Is your dad going to kill you?”
Shrugging, Damon didn’t seem particularly concerned. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe more in myself, and that I didn’t believe more in you,” he said seriously. “If you give me another chance, I swear you won’t regret it.”
“I believe you. I believe in you,” Xander said, either the emotion or the wine making his voice hoarse. “I love you.”
“I know,” Damon said, and his smirk made Xander’s heart soar. “Now come over here so I can kiss you.”
Xander wanted to and even got up from his chair because damnit, he wanted to kiss Damon too. It had only been two days but it had felt like an eternity. But then he looked over at his glass. He’d been drinking. He didn’t know what Damon’s tolerances were or what the rules really were.
“Oh, get over here,” Damon said with the brightest laugh. “I poured it for you, didn’t I? Do you trust me?”
“Forever,” Xander said, coming over and settling on Damon’s broad thighs. He linked his hands around his neck, pulled him close and kissed him.