Chapter Twenty-One
Franco watched as Ben got dressed. “Something I said?” The bed already felt empty, and Ben had only been out of it for less than ten minutes.
Ben gave him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, but I need to go home. If I walk into the restaurant one more time in the same suit I left in the previous night, not to mention the same shirt, tongues will definitely wag.”
Franco snickered. “You mean they aren’t already? Want me to come with you?”
Ben laughed. “We also need a night apart to prove we can actually survive.” He leaned over to kiss Franco on the lips. “Stay in bed. That’s how I’ll picture you when I’m alone in my flat—already missing you.” He picked his messenger bag up and slung it over his shoulder.
“No going home and firing up the laptop, okay?” Franco admonished.
He chuckled. “I promise. I intend to grab a quick shower, then slip between the sheets that probably still smell of you from two nights ago.” Another soft kiss. “So I’ll pull them around me and fall asleep with the smell of you in my nostrils.”
Warmth stole through Franco. “The things you say…”
Ben smiled. “And you love it.” He brushed his lips against Franco’s. “See you in the morning. Sweet dreams.” His eyes twinkled. “I know mine will be.” And with that, he left Franco in his bedroom, the click of the front door following a moment later.
Franco flopped onto his back, his arm thrown across his eyes. The sex had been phenomenal as always, but what was even better were the intimate moments when they’d lain wrapped up in each other, sharing laughter and kisses. Sex made him ache in the best way.
What followed fed his soul.
The ping from his phone next to the bed jolted through the quiet like a firecracker, and he grabbed it, smiling.
He’s only just left.
He peered at the screen, its blue-white glow casting shadows across his ceiling. It wasn’t a text, but an email.
Who is emailing at this hour?
Then he saw the subject line, and Franco forgot to breathe.
Subject: Invitation to Stage – Chef Gallo
His heartbeat raced, and he hesitated for a fraction of a second before tapping it open.
Franco,
We loved your video and hearing about your approach to hospitality. We’d like to invite you to join us for a three-month stage in Florence, beginning the first week in September. It was a tough process choosing the right people, and my apologies that we didn’t get back to you sooner.
Let me know if you’re interested. I know this is short notice, but I hope that doesn’t prove too much of an obstacle. As indicated in the application, there is accommodation provided, and your weekends will be yours to do with as you wish.
I look forward to hearing from you.
– Chef Gall o
He read it once. Twice. A third time, until the words blurred and all that remained was the thrum in his chest, faster and faster, a snare drum rattling against his ribs.
Oh my God.
This had been his dream, the thing he’d once scrawled on the back of his notebooks in school, doodles of the Duomo mixed with pasta shapes. To cook in Italy, under Gallo of all people. To stand in those kitchens and belong there.
Franco sat up, then flopped back down again, pressing the phone to his sternum. The ceiling swam above him.
He should’ve been ecstatic. He felt as if he was fourteen again, barefoot in Nonna’s kitchen, dusted in flour and daring to imagine he’d make it out there, in the big wide world where food was art and life and home.
But now…
His eyes slid to the other side of the bed, the empty cold side where Ben had been not half an hour ago. His scent lingered in the sheets, cedar and something deeper that clung to Franco’s skin.
Ben, with his steady gaze that saw through every deflection.
Ben, who made Franco’s chaotic heart feel safe.
The phone slipped to the blanket and Franco pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he’d applied for the stage months ago, he hadn’t thought twice about putting oceans between himself and anyone else. He never expected to hear back.
Now everything was complicated.
The dream was in Florence, but the things his heart kept tripping over, the warm arms, that quiet steadiness, the look that made Franco feel known, were here.
For the first time, Franco wasn’t sure which terrified him more: the idea of leaving… or the idea of staying.
The next morning, he walked into the restaurant, jittery from too little sleep and way too much thinking. When he saw Lexie at the stove, he frowned.
“Where’s Raj?”
She rolled her eyes. “He is allowed to get one day off a week, don’t you think? And Mondays are usually pretty peaceful, so I don’t expect to be run off my feet.” She held a spoon out to him. “Wanna try this new sauce I’ve been working on?”
Franco waved a hand. “Not right now. I need to talk to Ben.”
Lexie smirked. “I don’t suppose you two spend too much time talking, do you?”
He pointedly ignored her teasing and headed for the office.
Ben was seated at his desk, his sleeves rolled up, his broad shoulders hunched over as he peered at the laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration. The sight of him did something to Franco’s chest he couldn’t explain.
It felt precarious.
“Morning,” Ben said without looking up.
The effort to act normal took everything Franco had.
He walked around Ben’s desk and leaned back against it, trying for casual. “I missed my morning kiss. And I had to make the coffee myself.”
Ben glanced up, one eyebrow lifting, his lips twitching. “You want coffee?” He pointed to the bookcase. “There’s a pot.”
Franco’s grin was automatic, but his hand slipped into his pocket, his thumb brushing his phone as if it was a secret.
Tell him. The email. The offer. The chance of a lifetime. Tell him before it swallows you whole.
Franco’s throat tightened. “Actually? Something’s happened.”
Ben closed the laptop, his gaze sharpening. “What?”
This was it. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue.
I got the offer of a lifetime. Chef Gallo. Florence. Three months. And I don’t know what to do because of you .
But when Franco opened his mouth, what came out was: “I just found another of those buttons you lost.”
Ben’s eyes danced with amusement. “That I lost? Who was ripping my shirt off me, exactly? Or are you suddenly suffering from selective amnesia?”
Franco cackled. “Then you really need to invest in sturdier shirts.”
Ben exhaled through his nose, smiling. “You’re impossible.”
Franco laughed too loudly, his heart hammering, his stomach clenching. “And yet, you still keep me around. That’s on you.”
Ben shook his head, but then he brushed his hand against Franco’s in passing.
Franco felt the pull, the ache, the urge to blurt it all out.
To tell him about Florence, about the fear of making the wrong decision, about how terrifying it was to imagine leaving and how much worse it was to imagine staying.
He swallowed it down. Not here. Not yet. Later.
He’d find the words, he promised himself.
Except, deep down, Franco wasn’t sure if “later” would ever come.
I have to talk to someone .
His heartbeat raced. “Is it okay if I take an hour off this morning? Before it picks up for lunch? There’s someplace I need to be. An appointment I completely forgot about.”
Ben frowned, then checked the clipboard on his desk. “I don’t see why not. Chloe’s in this morning. Sure.” He tilted his head to one side. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” he lied.
Everything should have been fine.
Ben smiled. “Then get out of here. Just don’t make a habit of it.”
Franco thanked him, and headed for the door.
“Hey! Aren’t you forgetting something?”
He turned back, heart in his mouth.
Ben arched his eyebrows. “Don’t I get a kiss?”
Franco chuckled. “Not in front of the children. Later.” And then he was out of there, reaching for his phone, his thumbs sliding over the screen as he composed a text.
Please say yes.
The apartment smelled like curry and fresh basil, the kind of scent that made Franco feel simultaneously comforted and conspicuously out of place. Raj and Arun moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, filling the air with chatter and laughter that made Franco’s chest tighten.
They seem so normal, so happy.
He’d had that a little more than twenty-four hours ago. Now he wasn’t sure he’d have it again.
He perched on a stool at the counter, mint tea in front of him, the steam rising in lazy spirals. Franco tried to focus on its fragrant warmth instead of the gnawing in his stomach.
Raj leaned against the counter. “So… what couldn’t wait until tomorrow? Not that I’m unhappy to see you,” he added quickly, “but we don’t get many mornings when we can just… chill.”
Arun placed a plate of cookies in front of Franco. “Hush, honey. Whatever’s brought Franco here is obviously important.” He gave Franco a warm glance. “Oatmeal cookies. And before you ask, Raj didn’t make them. I bought them at the supermarket.”
“I got the offer,” Franco blurted. “From Chef Gallo.”
Raj widened his eyes. “No kidding. That’s great.” He frowned. “Isn’t it?”
When Arun gave him an inquiring glance, Franco filled him in on the key details.
Arun beamed. “Raj is right. That’s amazing.”
Franco’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “It’s huge. ”
“It sounds as if it’s a dream come true,” Arun commented. “So why do you look as if the world is about to end?”
Raj expelled a breath. “Ah. I think I see your dilemma... Ben.”
“This is so… new. And I can’t escape the feeling that the slightest thing could disrupt it.
” Franco took a cookie but set it down after one bite.
He chewed absently, his mind running over the options.
“What if I go, and it all falls apart? What if… what if I leave here, and… and it doesn’t work out with Ben? ”
Raj quirked an eyebrow. “Since when do you let ‘what if’ stop you?”
Franco laughed, but it sounded hollow. “I don’t…
I don’t know. I’ve never done the normal thing,” he air quoted.
“I mean, come on . I’ve never had a relationship that didn’t end in flames or tears.
And Ben… he’s not just anyone. If I tell him how I feel and it doesn’t work out, I don’t know if I could handle it.
I’d lose more than just him. I’d lose… me. ”
Raj’s eyes softened, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Franco, you’re giving up before you’ve even given you and Ben a chance.”
“I know,” Franco whispered, staring into his tea. “I just… it’s easier to leave than to risk everything. Risk him . Risk me . I can do the stage… learn, grow, travel…That’s only nerve-wracking. Terrifying. Exciting. I can’t—” He stopped himself. He couldn’t say bring himself to say the words.
I can’t risk being happy.
Arun placed a hand over Franco’s. “Predictable isn’t always better,” he said in a gentle tone. “And Ben… he’s not going anywhere if he’s worth it.”
Franco swallowed hard. “That’s the thing. What if he’s not? What if I ruin it by leaving, or worse, by staying and screwing it up anyway? I… I don’t know how to be normal with him.”
Raj sighed. “You don’t have to be normal. You have to be brave, your true self. Sometimes the hardest thing is letting someone in, even if you’re scared. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices: stay frozen in fear, or take the leap.”
Franco’s fingers trembled around the mug as he swirled the tea in meaningless circles.
Every reason not to go crowded his mind: fear, uncertainty, the potential for heartbreak.
And yet, beneath it all, a fierce, stubborn desire throbbed.
He wanted this. He wanted the stage, the adventure.
He wanted to grow, but on his own terms.
His gaze drifted, fleeting, to the window, imagining Florence: the cobbled streets, the scent of fresh pasta and olive oil, the challenge and thrill of learning from a master chef. And then his thoughts returned to Ben, the man he’d fallen for in ways he still hadn’t fully admitted to himself.
He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the decision settle. With an almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’ll do it. I… I have to. For me.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and final, carrying both relief and an ache he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t look at Raj or Arun; he didn’t need their approval. He just needed to hold onto the choice he had made, and the reality of what it would cost him.
For now, this was his choice.
His leap.
And now all I have to do is tell Ben.
There was no time like the present.