Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRANKIE
God, he needed to stop flirting. It was damn near impossible not to, and Lucas made it so easy. He also didn’t shy away when Frankie did. He leaned into it. He smiled. He laughed. He made Frankie’s insides feel like they were filled with tiny butterflies.
But there was no indication that Lucas was interested in anything more than friendship. Hell, he probably felt bad for Frankie and his shit situation.
Taking a calming breath, he made his way into the house and felt a little pulse of annoyance at the mess. Fallon had clearly let Elodie go wild today, and he wasn’t the best at picking up after himself. But Frankie wasn’t in the mood to clean or to deal with the irritation of an untidy house.
He wanted to take what Lucas was offering: a relaxing night where he didn’t have to think. His brothers putting together a sleepover had been a welcome surprise, and even when he offered to go with them and spend family time, both of them had told him to enjoy a night of peace.
He would take it where he could get it. Elodie’s adoption hearing was just on the horizon, and he knew that in a few weeks, he was going to be consumed with all of that, along with work.
So being able to indulge in a long shower to scrub fish guts and goo off his feet, and then to get dressed in comfortable clothes and not really worry about how he looked was… nice.
He hated thinking that Lucas’s blindness was a gift, but hell, maybe it was. Maybe that’s how Lucas thought of it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be brave enough to ask, but it seemed like the kind of thing Lucas would think.
Combing fingers through his hair, he stared at himself, then grabbed his toothbrush before putting it back. Probably a bad idea right before dinner. He put a little scented lotion on instead, then sat down to slip on socks before grabbing his keys and phone and making his way into the hall.
It smelled like fresh herbs—something Italian, he was pretty sure. He followed his nose to Lucas’s door, hesitated, then turned the knob and walked in. He heard the sound of soft classical music and someone humming.
When he passed the foyer, he saw Lucas at the kitchen counter, nodding his head along to the rapidly playing cellos on whatever he was listening to.
“I’m here,” he said.
Lucas stiffened, then grinned. “Oh, good. I was half expecting a text telling me you had second thoughts after the whole fish thing.”
Frankie sighed as he walked up to the counter and stood right in front of Lucas.
It was odd to be able to look at him without being self-conscious, like he was staring too much.
He took in Lucas’s curved smile, and the way his teeth touched his lower lip when he grinned, and the slight dimples in each cheek.
He really was so gorgeous. “I actually like fish. And it smells amazing.”
“Amazing smelling food is what I do. I will never be one of those fancy plated Instagram guys. I’ve tried, but no matter how people try to explain it to me, I can never get it right.
” He wrinkled his nose as he scooped something into his hand, then turned and opened the oven to sprinkle it over what looked like potatoes and carrots.
“Anyway, this’ll be ready in like fifteen minutes. Do you want a drink?”
“Like booze?”
Lucas chuckled. “I probably have something Gage left behind, but I don’t drink.
I have water though. And chocolate protein milk that my uncle keeps buying me.
Probably something else.” He walked to his fridge and opened it, his long, delicate fingers passing over each item. “Sodas. I don’t know what this is.”
“Sprite,” Frankie said absently after seeing the green can.
“I don’t drink that either. I don’t like the bubbles.”
“Let’s keep it easy. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Lucas made a face Frankie couldn’t read, but he pulled two glasses out of the cupboard, then grabbed the water pitcher out of the fridge and froze.
“You okay?” Frankie asked after a beat.
Lucas let out a tense laugh. “You’d better do it. People get really weird when I put my finger in their drinks.”
Frankie sighed quietly. “Lucas. I don’t mind. You’re a chef. I know you know how to wash your hands.”
Lucas’s eyes blinked very fast, and then he burst into a fit of laughter.
“You are the only person who has ever given me an answer that makes sense. Gage always makes a dirty joke, my dad says I used to shove booger fingers in his mouth, so he doesn’t care where my hands have been, and everyone else just…
tries to act like it’s no big deal while probably making gross faces at me. ”
Frankie didn’t know if that was meant to be funny or sad, or just a fact of life. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m making it awkward.”
Frankie bit his lip, then said, “I’m really thirsty.”
“Oh my god, you are such a priss.”
“That would be you, but okay.” Frankie smiled when Lucas laughed again, then turned back to the water pitcher, put his first finger over the rim of the glass, and filled it exactly. “Thank you,” Frankie said when he took it and gulped half of it down. “Now. Can I help with anything?”
“Bro. You already told on yourself and your kitchen skills. You’re not touching my stuff. Just get comfortable somewhere and be patient. It’ll be ready soon.”
“Sure thing, princess,” Frankie said. He was playing with fire.
He watched color rise on Lucas’s cheeks and his hands stutter a bit as he tried to find his spatula.
But the moment passed. Neither of them spoke another word, and soon enough, Lucas was plating the food and inviting Frankie to the table.
“Full?”
Frankie smiled. “Mm.”
“Good mm or bad mm?”
“Amazing mm,” Frankie answered. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes. Unless it’s how I know when to stop wiping or how did I know I was gay if I can’t see penises.”
Frankie choked on his swallow of water. “Uh. What?”
“Trust me, it’s a thing people ask a lot. Also weird questions about masturbation, like you can’t jerk off if you can’t see. I mean, I know those bitches are tossing themselves fucking raw under the blankets in their pitch-black rooms. The ass-wiping question annoys me the most.”
Frankie had no idea how to respond to that. “Well, uh. That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
Lucas smiled, his nose wrinkling, which showed off his top teeth a bit more than usual. “Fire away.”
“Why a food truck?”
“Because I can’t drive?”
“Because your food is amazing. And I know that some seriously gourmet cuisine can come out of food trucks, but you usually see that in New York or LA or…I don’t know, London.”
Lucas snorted. “Yeah.”
“Not here. So…if it’s not too offensive, why a food truck selling grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”
“Well, A, you’d be really fucking sad if you couldn’t drop by anymore and get your fix, and B, because I don’t have capital to start my own restaurant, and my options were either getting a disability check or the pity hire my dad’s best friend gave me.”
“I think I might need you to explain more,” Frankie admitted.
Lucas sighed, then pressed his hands to the table and stood up. “Okay, but this calls for blanket nest.” He stopped halfway from stepping back from his chair. “Gage didn’t clean it up, did he?”
Frankie leaned back in his seat and peered around the half wall into the living room. “Just like it was this morning.”
“Sweet. If you’re not too cool for a blanket nest, we’re going in there because I’m tired and need comfort.”
Frankie wasn’t going to argue with that.
He followed Lucas into the living room and waited for him to get situated before lowering himself down.
There wasn’t much space for him to fit. He was broader and taller than Gage, and the space left behind had been for the other man.
When he settled in, his shoulder was pressed right up against Lucas’s.
“Is this—”
“You’re fine,” Lucas said, cutting him off. “I get touchy-feely. It helps me stay oriented and also keeps me from panicking that someone’s left the room without telling me and I’m just sitting here talking to myself like a total jackass.”
Frankie pressed against him harder, and then Lucas turned his body onto his side and let his chin rest against Frankie’s arm. It was heaven.
“My old school had this weird thing where, when you were young, they put it in your head that you can do anything. You could be an astronaut or the president or…I don’t know.
A NASCAR driver. They wanted all of us kids to think that there were no limits.
Then we got older and closer to an age where we could go out into the world and start working, and suddenly, it was like, let us teach you how to file for disability because most people won’t hire you and you don’t want to starve to death. ”
Frankie’s brows dipped. “That sounds…complicated.”
“It was confusing. And to be fair, most of the teachers and the staff at our school were sighted, so no matter how long they’d been working with kids like us, they had zero personal experience what it was like to navigate a world blind.
” Lucas took a slow breath. “And I do not count them walking around for ninety hours or whatever the fuck they do with a blindfold and a white cane.”
Frankie heard the tension in his voice, so he took his hand, and Lucas immediately began to trace a touch all over his fingernails and knuckles. It was an absent gesture, like he wasn’t aware he was doing it, but it felt so fucking good Frankie wasn’t about to stop him.
“I didn’t graduate from that school. My dads got divorced, and we moved here, and I did my senior year at Gage’s high school.
It was harder, but in a way, it was kind of better.
It showed me firsthand how shitty things could and would get.
” He licked his lips and turned Frankie’s palm over to touch the lines there.
“At that point, I was really good at cooking and probably saved my dad from a life of fast food and bullshit from gas stations.”
“So you’re a hero in many lives?”
Lucas pressed his face forward to hide his laugh in Frankie’s sleeve.
“Mm. I guess. I think I knew I wasn’t going to get a job job, you know?
Like there was no way in hell I was going to apply, and some chef was going to be like sure, let’s spend a shitload of money to make this kitchen accessible so I can pay you minimum wage. ”
“Maybe they should,” Frankie murmured. It was in that moment he realized he hadn’t come across a single chef with a visible disability. Not one. And none of the kitchens he’d ever inspected had anywhere near the equipment Lucas’s truck did.
“I mean, should and would are two very different things. It is what it is. One of my dad’s friends hired me.
It was a total pity hire, but he loves me, so I was okay with it.
He and his sous taught me everything I know in the food truck and in his restaurant.
Then they gifted me the food truck. Well, I paid for it, but I’m not going to tell you how much because it’s probably considered tax fraud or something. ”
Frankie laughed softly and turned his head, laying his cheek against Lucas’s temple. “I’m not with the IRS, so don’t worry. I’m not a mandatory reporter.”
“Thank god. Anyway, yeah. So now I have this truck I can’t drive, but I don’t care because it’s mine, and I run everything in it. Even when I need help, I’m still the boss, and that’s important to me.”
“I get it. I’m sorry I thought—”
“Whoa, no. It’s so fucking flattering that you think I’m good enough to work in some fancy kitchen.
” Lucas leaned back and tilted his head up.
Frankie stared at his eyes. Up close, they didn’t look as real.
They were too…perfect, the color in them like gemstones.
He lost the fight against his urge to touch Lucas and traced a line over his jaw.
Lucas shuddered. “Anyway.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat as Frankie gently pulled his hand away.
“I hope one day I can get a café. I want one of those cafés and bookshops that sell nerdy shit like DnD and Warhammer figurines and indie books by authors who never get to see their books on shelves. So when I die—single and probably still a fucking virgin—at least I’ll have accomplished something. ”
It took Frankie a moment to process that last sentence, and when he did, his entire world flipped upside down. “Virgin?”
Oh, fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.