Chapter 4
“You’ve been glued to that tablet for the last week. What are you even doing?”
Ren had considered not saying anything to his cousin—if only because he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he’d been equally as distracted, because he’d spent the last week grabbing stolen moments to chat with Jake.
He didn’t know what they were doing, and to his surprise, it turned out that was part of the fun of it.
Neither of them had brought up meeting in person yet. They hadn’t even sexted yet, and Ren hadn’t once been tempted to suggest it—though he wanted the guy, that much was crystal clear.
He had been tempted to ask him for a picture. It was difficult, with Jake’s faceless picture, to not insert someone else’s face.
Ren wasn’t proud of it, but in his mind, when it was just him and his phone in his bed late at night, it was always a certain face.
Seth’s face.
He knew Jake wasn’t Seth. But they did have some things in common. They both worked in security, and they both owned their own business with their best friend and partner. But that, Ren reasoned, was hardly unusual. After all, so did he.
But he hadn’t asked for a better picture, because the last thing he wanted was for Jake to think he was some kind of shallow asshole who only gave a shit about what he looked like.
Okay, maybe at some point, he’d been that guy. But Ren could at least be honest with himself: he’d been evolving from that for years now.
“Are you even paying attention to me?” Gabe barked, and Ren snapped his attention back to his cousin.
Oh, right. He’d asked him about why he’d been staring at the tablet like it could cure world hunger, and then he’d promptly started daydreaming about Jake.
It was a problem.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was . . . I’ve got stuff on my mind.”
Normally, Gabe wouldn’t have let it go until Ren told him all about it, including how he felt about it, but when he didn’t, Ren felt a thread of suspicion begin to snake through him.
“I’ve been doing some research,” Gabriel said. “Sean was telling me how he analyzes his sales data, and figures out what he should be selling and what he should be dropping off his menu. And I realized, I used to do that, all the time, but I haven’t since we changed the menu.”
Ren nodded. “And?”
“There’s a lot we should be changing,” Gabe said.
“What?” Ren couldn’t believe it. “Our sales are really strong!”
“Yeah, we’ve doubled our income from last year.
Expenses are up—we should also consider raising our prices to compensate for it—but we’re still healthy financially.
But there’s no point in prepping for and keeping items on the menu that don’t sell as well as some of the others. We need to focus on our best sellers.”
It wasn’t that Ren thought Gabe was wrong—but Gabe was wrong.
“So, we’re selling some things more than others,” Ren said, “maybe we need to look at why that is, instead of just getting rid of the dish.”
Gabe shot him a look. Patronizing and superior.
He’d always had a version of this; being fifteen months older, Ren had always assumed that he couldn’t help it.
But this new Gabe—confident in his relationship, and in the developing success of their business—had brought many positive changes, and a few negative ones.
Like that he always thought he knew best.
Like that he thought he got to make all the decisions.
Before, it had been different, because Ren hadn’t been officially an owner, too, but when they’d changed the name and Gabe had paid Luca back for his initial investment, they’d filed paperwork which meant that they both owned fifty percent of the truck.
Officially, Gabe wasn’t allowed to make all the decisions.
Of course, he seemed to have forgotten that entirely.
“I think we need to cut the stuff out that isn’t selling,” Gabe repeated. “Why would we keep it? If we were a brick-and-mortar place, you think we’d keep stuff on the menu that doesn’t sell? We’re not the fucking Cheesecake Factory.”
“We’re not the Cheesecake Factory,” Ren said between clenched teeth. “And we’re not a brick and mortar either, which is why we can do more. We can be creative. We can change the fucking menu whenever we want.”
Gabe’s expression was superior and annoying. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you being so difficult about this?”
Ren glared. “Because you aren’t always fucking right about everything. We got into a rut before—you got into a rut before. Why do you want to put us right back into that rut? Because Sean said we should?”
“Oh, so this is about Sean, then,” Gabe said, insufferably.
Ren hadn’t thought so, because he wasn’t wrong about what he was saying.
Gabe wanted to put them right back where they’d been.
Bored as hell, making only Nonna’s recipes, because of course those were going to be the bestsellers on the menu.
There was a reason Luca managed a whole chain of restaurants based on her recipes.
They were delicious and they were dependable.
But was it a little bit about Sean and how Gabe had gradually started to listen to him more and more? How being with Sean had given Gabe confidence—and then overconfidence?
Oh, yeah, definitely.
“It’s not really about Sean,” Ren said. “But of course it pisses me off when you listen to your boyfriend more than your partner.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “And you call me the King of Feelings. You’re so bitter that you’re alone and you know what? That’s on you. You chose that.”
He couldn’t quite believe that Gabe would say that to him, and yet he could.
“This isn’t about that at all,” Ren spit out.
Nobody could piss him off like Gabriel Moretti, especially when he was sulking over his ideas not being instantly embraced.
“You’re just being an asshole because I didn’t want to just go along with whatever you want this week,” Ren continued. He straightened. “I’m taking my lunch early. Have fun without me.”
He stormed out, letting the door slam behind him.
He was angry, yes, but he was also leaving because he knew himself—knew Gabe—and they’d keep trading barbs until they landed one that really stung.
They didn’t fight much, but they’d done it enough times that Ren knew he had to walk away now, before it got worse.
Worse, he wondered as he stalked over to his regular picnic table, than the worst fight you guys have ever had?
Flopping down onto the bench, he pulled out his phone.
Jake worked with his best friend. Surely that got heated, too, sometimes.
Ren: I’m going to kill my cousin.
It shouldn’t have been amazing how quickly Ren had become the one person that Seth couldn’t stop talking to.
After all, he’d wanted to talk to the guy from the very first moment they’d met, when he’d stuck his head out of the food truck he owned with Gabe and the amusement in those bedroom eyes had pinned him to the spot.
For the last few mornings, as soon as his alarm went off, he rolled over and immediately checked his phone. He’d never enjoyed being an early riser but the Navy had convinced him that while he’d never like it, it was a better way to live.
He’d gotten out of the habit when it came to the ridiculously early hours, but he still got up earlier than most people.
But Ren was up even earlier.
“Food service,” Ren had explained when he’d asked the day before why he always seemed to be up before Seth. “It’s a brutal industry. Long hours.”
Seth knew it. He’d learned more about it during the whole mess with Ash and his father and Aaron, and realized that drug use in restaurants was usually for one purpose and one purpose only: to make sure they could keep working the same insane hours.
For a split second, he nearly told Ren that he understood, but he was supposed to not be giving himself away, and Ren was smart.
Too many coincidences and he’d figure out the truth before Seth was ready for him to.
They chatted in the mornings, sometimes, but usually during Ren’s lunch break in the early afternoons, and always in the evenings. It had been less than a week and they already had a routine.
Sometimes they would talk about nothing, the everyday minutiae that made up their day. Sometimes about things that were more serious.
Ren: How’d you get into security?
Seth: I was in the military, actually. When I was discharged, it seemed like the most obvious thing for me to do. The only thing I knew how to do: protect people.
Ren: You really are a big, strong hero, aren’t you?
Seth: I’m not a hero.
Ren: The people you protected and the families of the men and women you saved would probably have something to say about that.
Seth: Probably, but if I think that way, I’m going to get lazy and sloppy.
Ren: Somehow I doubt that very much.
Seth: Well, why did you end up becoming a chef?
Ren: How do you know I’m a chef?
Seth: You work at a restaurant?
Ren: Doesn’t mean I’m a chef. Chefs are formally trained. I’m definitely not formally trained.
Seth: So where did you learn how to cook?
Ren: My grandmother, actually.
Ren: A cliche, I know. But everything I learned, I learned from her first. She’s why I do what I do.
Seth: I’m sure she’s very proud of you.
Ren: She tells all her friends at the retirement home about me and my cousin, so I think so.
He’d considered asking Ren to meet him at the Fickle Cup opening night party, because there’d be plenty of friends there, if things got awkward or difficult. But he’d decided against it.
Seth told himself it was because it was too early. They hadn’t even been talking for a week. After a long time of not dating, of only fucking, Ren might not be ready for that yet.
But that didn’t mean, Seth told himself firmly as he finished typing up the proposal for the Protectorate’s new clients, Benji and Diego Schmidt, that he could keep daydreaming and letting Ren distract him until he slacked off.