Chapter 8 #3
“Well, I’m not going to do something shitty and expected,” Sean announced. “You can do whatever you want, but that’s not something I’m participating it.”
“Except I can’t,” Gabriel argued. “We’re supposed to work together. This stupid thing is supposed to be a representation of both of us.”
“Yes, well,” Sean said snippily, “if that was what Tony really wanted, maybe he should have started with a different pairing.”
“What, so we can only work together when we’re fucking?” Gabriel asked, even though he was afraid to hear the answer—because of everything, that was the thing he feared the most.
Sean glanced away. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” Gabriel told himself that it didn’t matter what Sean said, but that was such a blatant lie.
“I just mean that we approach things so differently,” Sean said. “You see that, don’t you?”
“Maybe instead of thinking about all the ways we’re different, we should think about what we do that’s similar.” Gabriel wasn’t stupid enough to think that would work; it was a pipe dream, born of too many fantasies where they could be more to each other than just enemies and fuck buddies.
“What is that?” Sean asked.
Gabe had not really been expecting that question. Right or wrong, he’d thought that Sean would keep arguing with him. And he was left grasping for straws. What ways were they similar? He didn’t even know.
“We both really care about our food,” he said. Which was true. “As long as what we make is delicious, what does it matter if it’s innovative or not? The point is feeding people and bringing joy to their lives, right?”
“Right,” Sean said suspiciously. “So you really want to do this meatball wrap.”
“I mean, it would be the easiest way to accomplish the goal,” Gabe said. But Sean still didn’t look convinced.
“I guess we could give it a try,” Sean said. “I’ll go grab a few wraps from my truck.”
Gabriel nodded, beginning to pull a few tubs and bins out of the under-counter fridges where they stored their leftover prepped ingredients. “I’ll heat up some stuff,” he said. “Meatballs and sauce.”
He also grabbed a tub of their famous roasted garlic butter, which got slathered all over the roll before it was dressed with meatballs and sauce and then a healthy helping of cheese—provolone and mozzarella.
He was just heating a pan on the stove when Sean showed back up. He was carrying a whole bunch of stuff—bins and bins and not just the plastic package of oversized tortillas he used for his wraps.
“I brought two kinds,” Sean said, setting everything down on one of the shiny stainless steel counters. “Tomato basil and spinach.”
“Tomato basil might be too much tomato,” Gabriel said, after thinking for a second. “Why don’t we try the spinach?”
“Works for me,” Sean said, opening the package. “I’m just surprised you’d allow a vegetable this close to your workspace.”
“Hey, I have vegetables,” Gabriel argued. “I freaking import tomatoes from Italy.”
“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Sean pointed out.
“And there’s some ground onion in the meatballs,” Gabriel said, ignoring the fruit jab.
“Oh wow, onions. Next you’re going to be claiming garlic is a vegetable,” Sean said, as he pulled a spinach wrap out of the package.
“I’m Italian, aren’t I?” Gabe said. “Garlic is practically our national vegetable.”
“Exactly,” Sean said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Where do you want to heat this up? On the flat-top grill?”
“Yeah, sure,” Gabriel said absently, as he spooned sauce into his sauté pan, enjoying the sound and smell of the tomatoes hitting the heat. His stomach growled, and Sean glanced up, laughing.
“Was that you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Gabe said, trying not to be embarrassed. “It was coffee or food, and well, unsurprisingly, coffee won. Hands down.”
“Of course it did,” Sean said. “Well, good news. You’re gonna get something to eat soon.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel said, as he tossed three meatballs into the sauce, and then added another for good measure. He wasn’t sure it was all going to fit, but he didn’t want Sean to accuse him of being stingy.
Shaking the pan, letting the sauce continue to sizzle and the meatballs heat through, he grabbed the cheese. The mozzarella, of course, and the provolone slices, and even a little dusting of parmesan for good measure, he thought.
“Three kinds of cheese?” Sean asked, raising an eyebrow, as he flipped the tortilla on the flat top. “Should we try to melt them now, when this is heating up?”
“Yeah, good idea,” Gabe said, and passed the three bins to Sean.
He watched as Sean placed the bare minimum of cheese on the tortilla. “Really?” he asked. “Cheese is glue. You should know that.”
“Cheese is also full of fat,” Sean argued.
“Well, I’ve eaten my weight in cheese over the years,” Gabe retorted, “and it’s not like you were complaining the other night.”
Sean didn’t say a word to that, but did, Gabriel notice, surreptitiously add another handful of mozzarella shreds.
When he glanced up and saw that Gabe was watching, he just shrugged. “You’re right, it’s like glue. And I have no idea how this is going to work with all that sauce.”
Gabriel thought, that was what you said about my cock and your body, and it worked better than either of us could’ve imagined.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. Even though it was stupid to assume that Sean would believe a relationship might be possible if this mashup of their two most famous dishes worked out.
“It’s just going to be a little wet, that’s all,” Gabriel said. “Messy, maybe. But nothing a few extra napkins won’t fix.”
Sean looked skeptical at this, and the skepticism in his expression only deepened as he slid the tortilla onto a plate, and watched as Gabriel attempted to spoon the meatballs over the cheese. They wouldn’t stay contained, and rolled everywhere they weren’t supposed to.
“Funny,” Gabriel ground out, “we don’t have this problem with the roll. Because they’re nestled in all nice and easylike.”
“Well, we’re not using a roll today,” Sean shot back. “Here, let me help you.”
Gabriel had noticed that he’d kept his distance this morning, but now Sean crowded in close, and Gabe’s fingers trembled as he tried to help him roll up the tortilla.
But Sean was right. It was wet from the sauce he’d drizzled over the meatballs, which had taken a detour around the wrap, and now everything was covered in it.
“This isn’t going to work,” Sean finally said.
“What if I cut the meatballs in half,” Gabe offered. “Might keep them in place better.”
“Alright, that’s a good idea,” Sean agreed, his tone begrudging. “Let me heat another tortilla.”
Gabe slid the meatballs and all the sauce he could salvage back into his sauté pan.
“You should get one of those smaller flat tops, and put it in your truck,” Gabriel said as he watched him competently flip the tortilla and then load it with cheese. “It’d be a lot easier than that heat press you’re using.”
He realized a second too late that he shouldn’t have said it.
They were already prickly with each other this morning, and always before, Gabriel trying to be helpful and share his knowledge after spending his entire lifetime in professional kitchens, would have resulted in Sean getting even pricklier, and probably a big argument.
But to Gabriel’s surprise, Sean just glanced up at him. “I’ve actually been thinking of that,” Sean admitted. “Upgrading in general. I could use some help, actually, and some more space and well . . .”
“Your truck is barely big enough for you?”
“Barely,” Sean admitted with a quick grin. “And you know, I’ve got plans. I’d need something like this if I wanted to add the quesadillas to the menu.”
Gabriel did not mention that upgrading his truck and his kitchen would be a great opportunity to change the name of it. Why? because he wasn’t stupid. He could hear Ren in his head, telling him that if he actually liked Sean, then he shouldn’t do everything in his power to antagonize him.
“I know some great secondhand kitchen supply stores,” Gabriel offered casually. “We could make an afternoon of it next Sunday.”
“You really think we could find something that would make it work?” Sean sounded skeptical as he slid the warmed tortilla onto a plate and handed it to Gabriel. He’d roughly cut up the meatballs with the side of his spatula, and it definitely helped to get them in the right spot this time around.
“Yeah, you know they’ve got portable ones. We’d just have to find one of the smaller ones,” Gabe said. “But if you took out that press and rearranged a few other things, I think you could make it work. Maybe keep your truck for a few months longer. Maybe even til the off-season.”
Gabriel finished scooping the meatballs in and this time only layered in a little bit of sauce—which went against everything he was as an Italian—but he didn’t want to end up with another soggy mess.
They needed something to prove to Tony that they could work together. Because that, despite all of Tony’s posturing and ideas about bringing new customers into the food truck lot, was really what this was about.
“Here, let me,” Sean said, but instead of sounding patronizing, like he couldn’t believe that Gabriel couldn’t fold up the wrap with the same terrifyingly quick efficiency, he sounded like he genuinely wanted to help.
He leaned over, and with a few motions, had the sides overlapped and then tucked in, in a very loose interpretation of a wrap.
Sean took a step back and looked at the lumpy mass critically. “It looks terrible,” he said. It kind of did.
“Maybe it’ll look better if we brush it with garlic butter.”
Sean raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, or that could make it impossible to hold,” Gabriel amended. “But maybe if we cut it in half?”
“Why not,” Sean said. “I’m not sure we can make it look worse.”
Gabriel had argued with Sean’s assessments on everything from food to lighting to kitchen supplies to whether or not paper straws were an abomination. He really wished that he could argue with him now, but he really couldn’t.
Because he wasn’t sure it could look worse.
He grabbed a knife, and carefully sliced the wrap in half.
Immediately sauce and cheese started oozing out of the middle, and half a meatball plopped onto the plate.
“Maybe it tastes good?” Gabriel said, and reached in, picking up one of the halves and juggling it awkwardly as it began to drip sauce.
The tortilla, while plenty sturdy enough for Sean’s fillings, clearly couldn’t handle anything this saucy, and it began to split down the middle.
Gabriel barely managed to shovel half of it into his mouth before it totally began to disintegrate, sauce landing with a plop on his chin and then the floor.
The flavors he expected exploded on his tongue. The ripeness of the tomato, the rich unctuousness of the meatball, the sharp bite of the provolone and the mild creaminess of the mozzarella.
It was delicious. But even though it tasted great, Gabriel knew that construction issues notwithstanding, they couldn’t sell this. It was basically a worse copy of his most popular menu item.
He watched as Sean juggled his own half, narrowly maneuvering it to his mouth before it fell apart on his fingers, leaving them smeared with red sauce and melted cheese.
“Well,” Sean said after he’d chewed and swallowed, “that was an epic fail.”
Gabriel nodded, and Sean actually had the nerve to look surprised. Like he’d thought Gabe was going to try to argue that this was still a good idea.
Half of the wrap was currently dripping down his previously pristine stainless steel cabinet and the other half was on his chin. He was hardly in a position to argue.
Grabbing a handful of paper towels by the small sink, he wiped down, and then handed a fresh one to Sean, who shot him a grateful smile.
It was nothing. It should have meant nothing. But it meant everything.
Gabe cursed the day Sean had showed up in Los Angeles and had, without even trying, tied him up into so many knots he wasn’t sure he could ever untangle himself.