Chapter Seventeen
Franco opened his eyes, and for one disorienting moment, he thought he’d dreamed it all: the steamy shower, the bed, Ben’s delicious frotting…
Then he realised he wasn’t alone. Ben lay facing him, still asleep.
He looks… different.
It took Franco a moment to pinpoint the change in him. Ben’s brow was smooth, as though wherever his dreams had taken him, there were no walls, no anxiety, only peace.
Franco watched the rise and fall of Ben’s chest, listening to the sound of his breathing, steady, regular. He wanted to memorise this version of Ben. The world outside could have its brooding restaurateur.
This softer version of Ben was all his.
Ben stirred, his opening eyes unfocused. Then he saw Franco and smiled. “You’re awake.” He pulled Franco to him with a low, contented hum, his voice rough with sleep. Franco turned, moulding himself against Ben’s front, and Ben put his arm around Franco’s waist .
“Only because someone snores,” Franco whispered, grinning when Ben pinched his hip in retaliation.
Ben pressed his forehead to the back of Franco’s shoulder, inhaling deeply as if he was breathing him in.
It was lazy, unhurried, and achingly domestic, as though they’d done it a thousand times before.
Franco didn’t want to move, for fear of breaking the spell that kept the real world beyond Ben’s front door.
Except he knew it had to end, especially when the lure of caffeine proved too much to ignore. A glance at the alarm clock reassured him they were in no hurry this time.
“I’ll put the coffee on,” he said, twisting to receive the kiss he knew awaited him.
Then he threw back the sheets and dragged his arse out of bed, walking barefoot into the kitchen and letting out a little yelp when he realised how freaking cold the floor was.
It wasn’t long before the drip, drip, drip of the coffee machine broke the morning quiet.
Franco perched on the counter, waiting for his caffeine hit while Ben dug out eggs and bread.
“You do realise you’re ruining my reputation,” he said, watching Ben crack eggs into a bowl. “If anyone finds out I let someone else cook for me, I’ll be finished.”
Ben glanced up, his lips twitching. “You’re not letting me—I’m feeding you. There’s a difference.”
Franco swung his legs idly. “Bossy.”
“Hungry,” Ben corrected, but a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
The smell of coffee filled the space, and Franco was content to sit there, useless, while Ben moved around the kitchen in an absurdly natural manner, stirring eggs in the frying pan, buttering toast, filling cups…
I could get used to this . For some reason the thought made his stomach flip.
Ben slid a plate toward him. “Eat. ”
“Yes, chef,” Franco said automatically, but it ceased to be a joke when their eyes met.
When something unfurled in his belly.
They sat side by side at Ben’s kitchen table, brushing shoulders, a comfortable silence lying easy between them as they ate. And between bites, Franco didn’t feel the urge to fill that silence.
Instead, he let his imagination run away with him, envisaging more mornings with Ben, more breakfasts, more quiet touches. A life made up not of frantic highs and inevitable retreats, but of moments like this.
And while it scared the hell out of him, it also made him ache with want.
He glanced at Ben, who was watching him with that steady, unreadable gaze.
If I were braver, I’d tell you I’ve already fallen for you so hard.
But he wasn’t brave, at least not yet.
Instead, he bumped his shoulder lightly against Ben’s. “Not bad, boss. You might make something of yourself after all.”
Ben’s resultant smile was small, but it was enough to keep Franco breathing.
Enough to keep him hoping.
Franco was still warm from both his shared breakfast and too many stolen kisses over coffee, when horror crept over him, leaving an icy trail.
“Oh, shit.”
Ben’s brow furrowed. “What?”
Franco gave him a wide-eyed stare. “The cake. Our… uh, enthusiastic redecorating of Raj’s prep table last night? Not to mention the table upstairs. We just left it all. If Raj gets there fi rst—”
Ben closed his eyes and swore softly. “Fuck.” Then he opened them. “I blame you.”
“Me?” The word came out as an undignified squeak.
He grinned. “You beguiled me. You fogged my brain.”
“Well, now the fog has cleared, we can’t sit here. We have to beat him to the restaurant.” Franco grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the door. “Come on, soldier, no man left behind.”
“Forget walking. We’ll take the first taxi we see.”
They left Ben’s place at breakneck speed, and it seemed luck was on their side when they encountered an empty taxi within a minute of reaching the street.
They burst into the kitchen like two kids sneaking home past curfew.
No sign of Raj yet, thank God, or anyone else for that matter, but the evidence was everywhere: smeared icing on the counter edge, a fine dusting of flour still clinging to the tiles, Franco’s jacket draped over a chair like a flag of surrender.
“Oh my God.” Franco clapped a hand over his mouth, laughter bubbling out before he could stop it. “I think Hansel and Gretel exploded in here.”
Ben shot him a look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Stop laughing and move. You deal with down here, I’ll go upstairs and assess the damage.” And with that he was gone, pounding up the stairs, grousing to himself.
The next ten minutes were frantic chaos: Franco wielded a sponge like a sword, while Ben got down on hands and knees to scrub the floor, both of them muttering curses and dissolving into snorts of laughter when Franco found a rogue button under the prep sink.
“Souvenir!” Franco held it aloft. “Proof of our crimes.”
“Franco,” Ben growled, although his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Focus. Finding one is good—now where are the others? We’re not out of the woods yet.”
The back door handle rattled.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Not only were they not out of the woods, but the big bad wolf had just arrived .
Franco dove for the last smear of icing on the counter, wiping it away as Raj stepped inside. He scanned the kitchen, his heart hammering.
Good enough.
Raj paused in the doorway, surveying them both. Franco leaned against the counter, flushed and out of breath. Ben stood stiffly beside him, a towel dangling from his hand.
“Morning.” Raj narrowed his gaze. “You two look… busy.”
Franco beamed, then reined it in a little. “Just, you know, spring cleaning. Nothing like a good scrub before service, right, boss?”
Ben’s jaw flexed. “Something like that.”
“I don’t know if this fact has escaped you, but we’re in the depths of winter.
Spring hasn’t even thought about making an appearance yet.
” Raj flicked his gaze from one to the other, suspicion furrowing his brow.
But then he shook his head, muttered something in Hindi under his breath, and headed for the pantry.
Franco waited until the coast was clear, then sagged against Ben’s side, muffling his laughter in his shoulder. “Whitaker, we’re gods. Untouchable. We’re talking criminal masterminds.”
Ben gave a low chuckle and dropped the towel onto the counter. “More like idiots who got lucky.”
Franco tilted his head back, grinning. “Yeah, but admit it. You love it.”
What shocked the hell out of him?
Ben didn’t deny it.
By mid-morning, the kitchen was humming. Lexie and Mina had claimed the prep stations, their knives flashing in rhythm. Ollie fiddled with the stereo until Willow barked at him to leave it alone.
Franco danced through the bustle like he always did, cracking jokes, throwing flour at Mina, and humming a pop song so off-key that Ollie winced.
Inside, he felt as if he was running on some secret current of energy.
As for Ben, he was attracting attention.
The man who normally barked orders like they were gospel was smiling.
Not much, but enough that the staff kept sneaking glances at one another.
His voice was still clipped, still precise, but when Franco brushed past him to grab a tray of herbs, Ben’s hand ghosted across the small of his back before he realised it.
And of course, everyone saw.
Lexie’s jaw dropped. Mina’s eyes went wide. Ollie whispered, “Holy shit,” under his breath.
Then Raj reached up to the spice rack for the cardamom tin, and his sharp eyes narrowed once more.
“What,” he said slowly, “is this?”
The entire kitchen froze.
Raj glared at Franco and Ben, holding the tin as if it was Exhibit A in a trial.
The tin that bore a telltale fingerprint-shaped streak of dried chocolate icing.
Ben stiffened, and Franco nearly choked on air.
“You two,” Raj said flatly. “Don’t tell me—” He stopped, then inhaled deeply through his nose. “On my prep table ?”
Mina clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle a squeal. Ollie turned away, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. Lexie muttered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Franco prepared to bluff it out.
He put a hand to his chest, his eyes wide in a show of innocence. “Rajesh, darling, please . Do you honestly think I’d sully your sacred prep table?” Raj lifted an unimpressed brow, and Franco cracked. “Okay, okay, maybe a little bit.”
Willow appeared in the doorway, clutching a sheaf of menus. “Can anyone tell me why these are sticky? ”
Raj’s eyes were like saucers. “Do I even want to know?”
“It’s cake batter!” Franco blurted. “Or possibly… icing?”
Raj placed his hands on his hips. “Is any flat surface safe when you two are around?”
There was stunned silence for a second before the kitchen exploded into laughter that bounced off the tile walls. Mina doubled over, Ollie howled, and Lexie managed to curse and laugh at the same time.
Raj folded his arms, glowering. “Unbelievable. Absolutely fucking unbelievable. You owe me a deep clean and a bottle of whisky.”
Ben’s ears burned crimson. “It won’t happen again.”