Chapter 4 Elias #2
Isaac’s words are sealed with a kiss to his lips and teeth because Elias can’t stop smiling.
It’s always been the two of them. And while they both know it might not always be that way, as omegas are statistically more likely to find themselves as part of a pack, for now, they’re more than happy together.
It’s second nature for Elias to slip an arm around Isaac’s waist and pull him in. Without breaking his gaze, he licks along Isaac’s lower lip, tongue soft and slick. What he wouldn’t give for there to be enough time to push him up against the side of the cafe and—
Darius’s loud wolf whistle interrupts Elias’s runaway thoughts.
It’s easy for him to raise his middle finger at their friend. “Dammit.”
Isaac giggles and loops his arm through Elias’s. “Come on, we’re going to be late. You can make that up to me later.”
The rest of the walk to Quest is short. In the heart of 12th Street in The Gulch, it doesn’t look like much from the outside.
Just an old brick building tucked between flashier neighbors, its red facade faded from decades of sun and storms. The original arched windows were re-glazed several decades ago and are still imperfect, a mismatched vibe to the sleek sliding glass doors along the street-facing wall, so diners can be both inside and out during the best weather.
A matte black awning hangs above the entrance, stenciled with the name in weathered gold: QUEST.
Abrupt and to the point—much like its creator—it held meaning that Gideon had never shared, but had made them promise would remain unchanged under their new management.
To the right, where the sidewalk widens slightly, a small patio spills into the open air.
Mismatched iron chairs and rough-hewn wooden tables dot the space, framed by raised planters bursting with lemon balm, thyme, and creeping jasmine.
A low brick wall wraps around the patio’s edge, old but sturdy, allowing the diners to see and be seen but still set apart from the hustle and bustle of pedestrians.
On weekends, the patio thrums with laughter and the clink of iced tea glasses.
During the week, it’s quieter, but today, it’s empty, the tables and chairs tucked away inside until Wednesday’s lunch crowd, when twinkle lights will trace the roof line and a small speaker by the door will hum lo-fi jazz.
Like Darius’s sidewalk sign, Quest has one too, that sits just inside the threshold. Nowadays, it shows the specials, but when Gideon had been head chef, it had read: “Come in. We’ve been waiting.”
Elias had never known if it had been an invitation or a threat. Knowing his mentor, probably both.
Today, the board is empty, as Elias will be a one-man crew for Gideon and his VIP guest. Unsurprisingly, the front door is unlocked when Elias pulls the heavy wooden door open, signaling that Gideon is already on site.
Much like the outside, the interior looks uncurated, the tables and the chairs mismatched but comfortable, reflecting the restaurant’s unhurried vibe.
Patrons are never encouraged to turn over their tables, even though they have reservations booked into next year.
In keeping with Gideon’s commitment to good food for everyone, they always leave room for walk-ups, though those often fill up long before dinner the same day.
In addition to the bright lights coming from the kitchen, the house lights are on, and Gideon has table service set up for four in the private dining room when Elias pokes his head in.
Isaac whispers, “I thought you said it was Gideon and one other guy?”
“Plans change, it’s no big deal. I can handle five mouths to feed.”
“Five?”
“Yeah, them and you.” Elias boops him on his upturned nose.
There was no way Isaac wouldn’t eat his fair share of whatever Elias cooks, as he is undeniably Elias’s biggest fan.
“Oh, thank god. I am starving.”
“Come on, let’s go see what he has planned for us.”
They head through the door into the spotless kitchen to find Elias’s old boss at the stainless steel counter, slicing beef into thin strips, knife flying in his large hands.
They’re met with a half smile; one that Elias has come to recognize as meaning “happy” rather than “you better run.”
It changes his face, even though, undeniably, Gideon Carnell is one of the most attractive men Elias has ever met. Six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, with bronze hair that covers the top of his perfect ears in waves. A matching persistent six o’clock shadow covers a strong jaw.
His work partner, Maureen, once described him as having the look of a 1940s film star, like Cary Grant or Clark Gable.
If that weren’t enough, he is magic in the kitchen. He’s able to finesse even the most subtle of flavors from the dullest of foods. He’s a mentor, and despite being only a few years older than Elias, he has an air about him of someone much older. It’s like he’s seen shit…maybe even done shit.
“Elias, hey. And this must be Isaac.” It’s not a question, and certainly in all three years Elias had worked here, they had never met.
“Hey, Chef. Yes, this is my mate, Isaac Fletcher. Izzy, this is Gideon Carnell.”
Elias turns in time to see Isaac standing just inside the kitchen with his arms crossed and a small frown marring his perfectly waxed brows.
Gideon raises an eyebrow of his own. No doubt he’s at a loss about what has Elias’s mate feeling salty when this is the first time they’d met. Elias is confused, too, when his mate has never met a person he hasn’t wanted to make his new friend.
“This is Elias’s kitchen now. He’s Chef.”
“Oh my god, Izzy.” Elias feels his face flush with embarrassment. Not at Isaac’s defense of him because that’s sweet as fuck, but because his mate is repeating his own words from the other day back to him.
He’d bragged that his co-workers call him Chef now and that as long as he and Maureen could keep Quest afloat, he would never have to call anyone else Chef again.
Gideon tilts his lips, stops what he’s doing, and lays one of the kitchen’s knives down on the stainless steel beside the steak. It’s not one of Elias’s knives. Gideon would never disrespect another chef by using their personal tools.
“You’re absolutely right, Isaac. I hoped Elias wouldn’t mind if I helped myself, as the beef needs to rest before it’s cooked.”
“I don’t mind, Ch—Gideon. You’re welcome in this kitchen anytime. Okay, Iz?”
Isaac nods, as if granting the Gideon Carnell leave to continue. “As long as you say it’s okay.”
“I do, baby. Thank you for…” He hears Gideon cough, and his face flushes again. “Why don’t you go to the office while I do this, and you can order that stuff for Di’s bag for pickup after six, okay?”
“You’ll be okay?” Isaac nods towards Gideon, who has moved on to washing vegetables in the sink, his back to them, pretending not to hear them with his excellent alpha ears.
“I worked with him for three years. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Izzy kisses him hard on the mouth before skipping into the office and shutting the door.
“Wait—” Gideon says, just as there’s a shriek and a squeak.
“What the…” Elias starts for the door.
“Eli, just give them a minute. I brought Luca, and he was sleeping in the office. Sorry, I should have said something. Our girls were up all night teething, and he didn’t get any rest.” Gideon’s eyes go soft.
“He can’t rest as well when I’m away, and I’m meeting my cousin.
He didn’t want to miss out, so I brought him along. ”
It’s more words than Gideon has ever spoken to him at one time, and he stops abruptly when the voices in the office get loud.
“This isn’t Gideon’s office. It’s Elias’s now.”
“It was his office way longer.”
“You shouldn’t be in here; it’s private stuff.”
“Listen, Rainbow Bright—”
Oh, shit. Elias flinches, but Gideon’s face cracks into a huge grin.
“No, you listen, Rockstar Barbie. I don’t care if you’re famous—”
“Who said anything about being famous? I care that you’re being rude—hey, does your headband have wieners on it?” Luca’s voice goes from angry to excited in a millisecond, and it’s enough of a sign for Gideon to shrug and go back to chopping his onions.
There is a beat of hesitation before Isaac answers, “Uh, yeah. I made it.”
“You made it? It’s gorgeous. Do you make other ones?”
“Yeah, of fucking course. Look.” Knowing Isaac, he’s got his phone gallery open and is paging through the photos of all the headbands he’s made.
“OMG. Are those dicks?”
Gideon’s eyebrows shoot up, and Elias has to laugh.
“They’re real wieners, not dicks,” he mutters and throws his bag on a hook by the back door, pulling his beige sweater over his head before hanging up that, too. Grabbing an apron instead of his Chef’s whites, he washes his hands in the sink.
“Although I think he does have one with dicks, too. All kinds of shit.”
A tiny man with big curly black hair and miles of golden skin bursts into the kitchen from the office, Isaac’s phone in one hand and Isaac’s hand in the other.
“Sugar! Izzy makes dick hairbands. I want to make some, too. Can we stop at the craft store on the way home? He says we need to use polyamorous clay.”
“Polymer clay…” Isaac whispers.
“Oh, yeah? One Christmas, I made a million dicks for Ro, but I had to bake them in the oven.” He drags Isaac back into the office, and the door closes behind them.
“He made a million dicks?” Elias asks, pulling out the ingredients for his tortillas.
With a laugh, Gideon nods. “Not quite a million, but they were incredibly life-like. Rowan was thrilled.”
Rowan and Luca were two of Gideon’s seven mates. Four are international celebrities. Real-life rockstars.
There’s a howl of laughter and a thump, and both Gideon and Elias stop. Looking at each other when nothing more comes of it, they shrug simultaneously.
“Should we be worried?” Elias has to ask.
“Nah. Luca is a bit territorial about that office, and we haven’t been at Ruckus much. I think he’s not quite ready to let this place go yet. I’m sorry about that.”
“No, it’s me who should say I’m sorry. Not for Isaac, he wouldn’t appreciate that at all, but because he’s all worked up because of me.”
Elias stops kneading his dough so he can look at his former boss and mentor.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I’m truly grateful you believed in me from the beginning. And especially now. I never would have been able to be the head of my own kitchen without—”
“Elias,” Gideon sighs, laying his knife down again and turning so he can give Elias his complete attention. “Have I ever in all the years we’ve known each other been the kind of man who suffers fools lightly?”
It’s easy to say, “Absolutely not,” and mean it. Gideon Carnell did not do stupid, and he rarely did second chances—or at least he hadn’t.
“Right. So I will say this once more, and then you will cook for me in your kitchen. You have earned this place. You and Maureen both. You kept it afloat while I was dealing with my family’s shit, and you have enabled me to pursue a new adventure.
I trust you to keep my mother’s legacy alive and earn us both more money than we know what to do with. Got it?”
A surge of personal pride makes his eyes burn. He wishes he could say it was the onions. Gideon doesn’t comment on it; he just waits, gaze unwavering, as if Elias’s answer is important to him, too.
At Elias’s nod, he nods back and picks up his knife. “Good. Now, what are you cooking for us?”