Chapter Twenty-Two
Ben sat at his desk with the books open in front of him, but his eyes weren’t on the numbers. His attention drifted out into the restaurant, where the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking plates floated in from the kitchen. For once, it didn’t grate on him. Quite the opposite.
He felt proud.
It was strange, thinking back to the first day he’d arrived.
They’d been nothing but names on paper then: Raj, Lexie, Willow, Mina, Ollie, Chloe, and Franco.
A collection of strangers who’d eyed him with varying degrees of suspicion and weariness, as though he was just another owner passing through, bound to either cut corners or throats.
Now?
Raj was his quiet right hand, always steady, always reliable, with a knack for knowing when Ben needed space and when he needed someone to shove a coffee into his hand.
Lexie, sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed, had become something of a sparring partner, someone who challenged him, pushed back, and in her own brusque way made him better.
Willow’s warmth reminded him of the sunniest days of his childhood. She was always fussing, always trying to make sure everyone else was okay, but she could be strong when they needed a firm hand.
Mina, all nerves and determination, had started to stand taller in her role, as if she’d finally realised she belonged. She was still given to bouts of clumsiness, and squeals pitched so high they were ultrasonic, but beneath it all was a sweet soul.
Ollie was still rough around the edges, but he had a spark Ben admired, a hunger that reminded him of himself, years ago. And Ben could see he was trying to drink less. It was a battle only he could fight, but Ben would give him all the support he needed.
Chloe, quiet but observant, saw more than she ever said, grounding the chaos with her calm presence.
And as for Franco…
He was harder to put into words. A burst of colour and heat and laughter, Franco was someone who could draw Ben out of his head in an instant, who made the long nights not only bearable but something else entirely.
And on a personal level, Franco was the man Ben was starting to believe he couldn’t live without.
They were more than staff now. They were a family.
Ben’s family.
The realisation settled in his chest like a warm ache. He’d never have expected this when he first walked in the door. He’d thought he was there to run a restaurant, to prove himself. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten more than he bargained for. He’d gotten people who mattered.
Ben closed the ledger and leaned back in his chair, allowing himself one quiet, private smile.
The door creaked open, and Franco stepped in, his usual swagger tempered by a tautness in his shoulders, something restless in his eyes. He closed the door behind him, and for once, didn’t immediately fill the room with chatter.
“Ben,” he said quietly.
Ben straightened, the hairs on his arms standing to attention. “ Everything okay with your appointment?” He couldn’t deny he’d been dying to know more.
Franco frowned. “My what? Oh. Yeah. That. Yeah, everything’s fine.” He swallowed. “I need to tell you something.”
The hairs on Ben’s nape got in on the action.
“Okay.”
Franco took a couple of deep breaths before speaking.
“I got an offer. From Chef Gallo. In Florence. A three-month stage. Which has always been my dream.” The words tumbled out fast, as if they were hot in his mouth.
“I don’t expect you’ve ever heard of Chef Gallo, but trust me, he’s big news.
And a stage is where you get taught to cook.
It’s unpaid, but you get the chance to work with some really great chefs.
The thing is, I applied ages ago, before…
everything. I didn’t think I’d even hear back, but then—” He broke off, hands flailing uselessly. “Now it’s real.”
For a moment, Ben couldn’t breathe. His chest felt as though it had caved in, as if someone had carved a hollow space under his ribs. His mind did its best to keep up. Florence. Italy. Franco’s dream.
All that came to mind was that the life he’d thought was perfect was about to go off the rails, like every relationship he’d ever had.
Is it me? Am I never going to find someone who stays? Who I want to stay?
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “It has to be your decision,” he said quietly. “Not mine. If you say yes, I’ll… I’ll adjust.”
Franco blinked, as if he’d been waiting for something else, an argument, maybe, or for Ben to throw himself in front of the door and beg him not to go.
“But… I’ve already made my decision. I’m going.” Franco’s voice was low but certain.
Oh fuck.
The words landed like a knife between Ben’s ribs. He let the silence breathe for a moment, steadying himself, making sure the hurt didn’t leak into his voice. Franco deserved more than that.
“I see.” Ben’s words came out even, but inside, something was shattering. He clenched his jaw, keeping his face still. “That’s… incredible. So you’ve wanted this for a long time?” And how come I didn’t know this?
Because Franco hadn’t told him, that was why. So maybe Ben didn’t know Franco half as well as he thought he did. He swallowed the words he wanted to say. Stay. Choose me. Don’t leave. Because what right did he have to ask that? This wasn’t about him. It was Franco’s life, Franco’s dream.
A dream that didn’t include Ben.
“You’re not even going to try to stop me?”
Ben frowned. “Why would I do that when you’ve already made your mind up? You’ve worked too hard to turn this down. And if you’ve wanted this forever, you can’t let me—or anyone—be the reason you walk away from it.”
Franco blinked, his lips parting as though he wanted to argue, but no words came.
Ben leaned back, forcing his shoulders to loosen. He kept his tone calm, measured. “Besides, three months isn’t forever. And if… if this—” he gestured between them “—is real, then it will still be real when you come back.”
The words were right there.
If you come back.
For a moment they looked at each other, the air thick with all the words Ben couldn’t bring himself to utter. The ache in his chest deepened, but he forced a small smile.
“I’m proud of you,” he said in a low voice. “I hope you know that.”
Franco’s breathing hitched, and he glanced away quickly, as though afraid of what might show on his face.
Ben knew he appeared steady and composed, but inside? Fuck, he was hurting. And what pained him most was the knowledge that sometimes the right choice for someone else was the hardest one for yourself.
Franco’s stomach turned. He’d thought—no, he’d hoped—Ben would argue. That he’d grab his shoulders, shake him, tell him not to leave. That he’d finally admit this thing between them was too big, too real, to throw away.
Instead, Ben just sat there, so steady, so heartbreakingly calm, giving Franco the freedom he wasn’t sure he wanted.
Franco’s throat closed up. He wanted to laugh, to crack a joke, to wave it all off, but the truth clawed at him from the inside. What he’d really wanted was proof Ben needed him, that Franco wasn’t the only one falling so hard it terrified him.
And it truly did terrify him. Because if he left, he might lose the best thing he’d ever found. But if he stayed—what if it all fell apart anyway?
What if I ruin it, like I’ve ruined everything?
Instead of proof, Ben was giving him something else instead: trust. Respect. A kind of love Franco wasn’t sure he knew what to do with.
He forced a smile, but it wavered at the edges. “You don’t make things easy for a guy, do you?”
Ben’s expression softened. “If I could, I would. But this one—this is a decision only you can make.”
Franco’s aching chest felt perilously close to breaking.
Franco’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the sharp trill slicing through the silence. He glanced at the screen, muttered something under his breath, then shoved the device away.
“I should get back,” he said, his voice thin. “Lunch service, you know. ”
Ben nodded, his throat too tight for words. He watched Franco hesitate at the door, as if he wanted to say something more, something that might soften the jagged edges between them, but in the end, he only offered an awkward smile and slipped out.
The door clicked shut.
The world went quiet.
Ben sat perfectly still, staring at the closed door, waiting for his chest to stop aching. Instead, the silence felt tangible.
Finally, he turned back to his laptop with slow, mechanical movements.
The cursor blinked in a half-written email, patient, unbothered, the one steady thing in the room.
Ben’s hands hovered above the keys, but nothing came.
His head was too full: images of Florentine streets he’d never seen, of Franco’s face lighting up at the thought of a future that didn’t include him.
Who the hell is Chef Gallo anyway?
Ben did a search. After reading three or four posts, he understood why this was such a big deal. The man was legendary in the world of Italian cuisine.
No wonder Franco wants to go.
Ben learned something else too from those testimonies of chefs who’d followed the same path Franco was about to embark upon.
Being selected to attend was more often than not a springboard to a bigger and better future, even fame and fortune.
There was every possibility Franco’s future might not include Sage & Thyme .
He closed the lid with a snap.
This is what Franco deserves . Opportunity.
Growth. A chance to fly. Ben knew that. Hell, he even admired it.
But admiration didn’t stop the hollow ache under his ribs or silence the poisonous little voice whispering that when Franco left, it wouldn’t just be for three months.
It wasn’t only the thought of a bright new shiny career waiting for him: maybe three months was enough for someone like Franco to realise there was more out there for him than a man like Ben .
He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Christ, when did I get so bloody soft?
He’d promised himself when he came here that he’d keep things simple. This was business. A project, not a life. Now here he was, gut-punched by the thought of losing someone who’d made cracks in Ben’s walls, widened them, and slipped right through.
The worst part wasn’t the leaving—it was the not knowing if Franco would come back. Not knowing if he’d want to.
Ben let out a shaky laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. “Pull yourself together, mate,” he muttered, rubbing at his jaw. He had work to do. Numbers to check. Orders to finalise.
But when he opened the laptop again, the figures blurred into nothing. All he could see was Franco’s face at the door. All he could hear was the certainty in his voice when he’d said, I’m going .
And all Ben could feel was the silence that came after.