Chapter Two
Gil
God, it was torture.
He should be thinking about inventory, reordering, and seasonal promotions. Fall and winter were his biggest seasons with all the spices people used for their holiday meals and baking.
Baking…cookies…muffins….
At the thought of all those goodies, his thoughts shifted to the adorable, curly-haired man across the street. Those big blue eyes. That cute smile.
Dammit, no . He refused to allow himself to feel again. He couldn’t. How could he move beyond this grief and the love he and Rob had shared? Six years had passed since his death, and the pain hadn’t waned. His parents kept saying to give it time.
“A change of scenery is good. This new business sounds like the perfect opportunity to start over. Fresh. A totally new environment. We thought you’d come home, but maybe this is best.”
For the best? He doubted that. Best would be to still have his husband with him. Best would be growing old together and pretend-fighting whether the Mets or Yankees would make it to the postseason. Best wasn’t getting a middle of the night visit from state troopers informing you that the love of your life had been critically injured in a car crash.
And yet…this baker. Benji. This cheerful, sweet-faced, blue-eyed man had awoken something he’d buried deep years ago. Apparently, not deep enough, as every time he walked into the delicious bakery, something stirred within him. His heart pounded, his palms turned sweaty, and he became unable to formulate a coherent thought.
He could buy premade muffins or eat healthier and have oatmeal. He should stay away. And every morning he told himself this would be the day. Instead, his feet were obviously ruled by his heart and not his head, as he crossed the street and found himself inside Zis, ordering his muffin.
He opened the bag and pulled out one of the pieces of rugelach Benji must’ve slipped in there. Was that a sign of something? Was Benji flirting? He’d never come out specifically and said he was gay, but he put Pride flags in his window and went to the town parade. He wasn’t afraid or denying who he was; it just didn’t seem to be anyone’s business who he had sex with.
Sex. It had been so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like. He sat and closed his eyes, imagining sinking into another body, losing himself in the sounds and smells of another man. Touching someone else. Kissing them. In his dreams, the man had always been nameless and faceless.
Until lately.
Now it was Benji Roth he hungered for. Benji’s hands on his body. That full mouth on his dick. His—
“Gil?”
His eyes flew open to see Jacob, the owner of Lucky’s, the local bar, standing in front of him, wearing a curious expression. Normally Gil would stand up to greet him to shake his hand, but with his raging hard-on, that might prove to be embarrassing.
“Oh, hi. Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Headache.”
“Damn. Sorry. Maybe it’s hay fever. I’m here to pick up our order of mint for the mojitos and the special margarita salt.”
Willing his dick to cooperate, he pushed up and breathed a sigh of relief. Problem solved. “I’ve got them in the storeroom.” He left the main part of the store past the door marked “Employees Only.”
He decided to give Jacob a bag of spicy wasabi mix. Herbs and salt in hand, he rejoined Jacob, who wandered around the store, picking up items and studying them. “Try this. Customers usually love to nibble on it and because it’s so spicy and salty, it makes them order more drinks. On the house.”
“Wow, thanks, dude. Sounds great. I usually just put out pretzels and peanuts.”
“Up your game, and let me know what you think.”
“Thanks. I’ve never seen any of these kinds of spices. Where are they from?”
Gil placed the mint in a gauze bag to keep it aerated and the salt and bag of wasabi mix in a paper bag. “Different countries in the Middle East and the Mediterranean. That jar in your hand is harissa. Sort of a spicy chili sauce. Then there’s za’atar, which is a mixture of Middle Eastern spices. People sprinkle it on bread or chicken or potatoes and bake it.”
Jacob squinted at the label, then returned it to the table with the other jars and bottles. “You’ve got a lot of different stuff here than I’m used to seeing. We just use salt, pepper, and garlic. Most of the stuff is from a bottle, and we just pour it on our chicken or meat, then cook it.”
Gil’s lips twitched. “That’s typical. I figured it would be good to bring a little something of the world here. I’ve got a whole section of Asian spices as well.”
“ Hmm . Maybe I should send Alyssa here. She’s always trying out new recipes.”
Gil felt like he should know who Alyssa was and after a moment, he realized she was Jacob’s wife, and he’d met her several times.
“Yeah. Sure.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“People will love this stuff at the Fall Festival. Are you gonna do a booth?”
“What’s that?”
Jacob’s brows shot up. “Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting you’re pretty new here. Every end of October Serenity has a big get-together—there’s pumpkin carving, stuff for the kids, and lots of the local artists come and sell their crafts, and lots of the restaurants cook food. Some local folks, like my Aunt Daisy make their specialties. Hers is fried chicken, and it’s the best you’ve ever tasted. All the money raised goes to the volunteer fire department.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Dude, there’s literally a flyer posted outside your store.” His laughter boomed throughout the small store. “Seriously, you could meet so many people, and I bet your business would double.”
Gil winced. It sounded terrible. He’d escaped to a small town where no one knew him so he could blend in and live unnoticed and in peace. Money wasn’t an issue for him—Rob had taken out a very large life insurance policy, and after the payout for wrongful death from the insurance company and selling their co-op, Gil could easily live on the interest from his investments.
“Maybe,” he hedged. “It might be too late.”
“Nah. Don’t worry. I can ask Mayor Pete. He’ll be at Lucky’s tonight, campaigning for re-election. Why don’t you come? You can talk to him yourself.”
“Thanks for the invite. I’ll see.” Having a root canal with no Novocain sounded more fun. Gil had to bite back a smile—his father, an endodontist, wouldn’t find that funny at all. He hated dentist jokes.
“We’ve got pumpkin beer and hard cider I made myself. I’m gonna save you some, so you’d better show,” Jacob warned, pretend-frowning.
Gil didn’t answer.
Finally Jacob left, and Gil blew out a long breath. Conversation had always been hard for him—he was a naturally reticent person, even with his parents and brother. Lucky enough to have learned the family business of importing spices while going to school and working at his mother’s store, he’d met Rob, a private chef in the city, when he’d come in to purchase some special, very expensive saffron.
On the counter, he kept a memento of their first date—Rob had cooked them dinner and made a printed menu. Gil had it framed where he could look at it and remember the warm lentil soup, the juicy filet, and the tang of balsamic glaze on the vegetables. The sweet but tart lemon chiffon pie. They’d rarely been apart after that first night and were married after Rob graduated from the Culinary Institute of America. He’d gotten a job in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and Gil had made the hard decision to move away from his family. He’d opened a spice store and business boomed. Everyone had wanted to try the ‘exotic’ spices he featured. Rob flourished and started his own bistro and there was talk of opening another restaurant, maybe appearing in a weekly spot on a morning television show and a newspaper cooking column. They’d spent weekends antiquing, visiting farmstands and driving through small towns. They’d even passed by Serenity, having read in a gay newspaper about the owner of a successful bed-and-breakfast owned by a gay man who’d recently gotten married.
They talked about how one day they’d like to buy a little place where Rob could grow all his own vegetables and Gil could cultivate plants for his spices. They’d dreamed of opening a farm-to-table restaurant and having a country store selling his spices and Rob’s sauces and glazes. So many plans.
Life had been good.
One cold winter’s night, a car full of drunk teenagers spun out of control, slamming head on into Rob’s, killing him instantly, and Gil’s dream life became a nightmare. He’d become frozen in time, his blood turning to ice in his veins.
Until a gregarious baker with a smile as sweet as his babka moved in across the street and melted his heart. Still…it wasn’t right, to be thinking of someone else.
Was it?
“Get a grip. An extra piece of rugelach doesn’t mean anything. He’s probably just being friendly.”
The door opened, and he recognized the mayor of Serenity. A husky man with silver hair and a luxurious mustache to match, he was as canny a politician as if he came from a big city and not a small, country town. “Mayor Pete,” as he liked people to call him, possessed that enviable quality of charm and folksy warmth, no matter if someone was complaining or complimenting him.
Twinkling brown eyes crinkled almost shut with good humor as he hailed Gil from the doorway.
“Gil. How are you this fine morning?”
“Fine, just fine, sir. How are you? What can I do for you?”
“Had to come tell you. My wife made a Moroccan chicken dish with those spices you sold her, and it was the most delicious thing I ever tasted.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you stopping by to tell me.”
Mayor Pete chuckled. “Well, now, I’m not that altruistic. I do have an ulterior motive.”
Gil’s lips twitched. “What might that be?”
“I’m having a fund raiser tonight at Lucky’s, and I want to personally invite you.”
His heart sank. “I think I heard that was happening.”
“Good, good. So I can expect to see you there? I love supporting all the small businesses in Serenity. You’re the backbone of the community.” Those suddenly shrewd eyes met his, and Gil mustered a faint smile.
“I’ll try my best.”
“Glad to hear. See you around eight.” With a cheery wave, he left and Gil huffed out a sigh. The gods were against him, it seemed, and for better or worse, it looked like he’d be showing up at Lucky’s that night.
**
Gil figured it would be better to come early than late—less of a crowd and he could show his face, have a beer, and go home. He drove into the parking lot and was dismayed to see that it was three quarters full.
“Dammit,” he cursed. “I thought I was being smart.”
It wasn’t that he disliked people. He simply didn’t want to rehash his life story and have to deal with sympathy. They’d had a small circle of friends but the reality was, Gil generally preferred spending time at home, by himself.
Well, no backing out now. He shoved the car keys into his pocket and headed toward the bar. It was all lit up, and he could hear music from behind the doors. Gritting his teeth, he pushed open the door to the fresh hell that awaited him.
A live band was set up in the corner and many of the tables were filled with laughing customers, their faces flushed from the beers they’d already consumed. Gil winced when he heard his name above the fray.
“Gil. C’mere.”
Jacob waved from behind the bar, and Gil managed a faint smile as he wove his way through the people. “Hi. Big crowd.”
“You know it. So, pumpkin beer or hard cider?”
“Uh, cider’s fine.”
“Here you go. Tell me what you think.”
Although he was not really much of a drinker, the cider tasted surprisingly good and he finished the glass.
“I guess you liked it.” Jacob snickered and poured him another before he could say no.
“I did. You should try it with some mulling spices.”
Jacob’s brows drew together. “What’re those?
“Cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, cloves, star anise…there’s a whole list. It would give the cider a little more depth and a touch of heat.”
Jacob scribbled the spice names on a napkin. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe you could show Alyssa the next time she comes in.”
“Sure.”
Jacob left him to serve other customers and he watched as Matty Wilcox, the owner of the bed-and-breakfast, came in with Bryce, and they made a beeline for the bar. Knowing he’d no longer be able to make a quick exit, frustration nipped at his nerves. Following in their footsteps were the dairy farm owners, Emma, and her husband, Cole.
“Gil, good to see you,” Bryce said with a smile.
“Same.”
The others greeted him and Jacob poured them all beers, except for him and Bryce, who wanted to try the cider.
“This is good.” Bryce gulped more down. “Matty, you should get some for the guests. They’d love it.”
“You’re right. It’s the season.” Matty leaned an elbow on the bar. “Jacob. How much per case?”
They started talking business and Gil sat quietly, taking slow sips of his cider.
“Not your thing, is it?” Emma sidled next to him. “Big crowds, I mean.”
His mouth tugged up. “Guess I’m not as good as I thought at hiding it.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I could just tell. Matty’s like that. Great with friends, but quiet around people he doesn’t really know. Unlike Bryce, who’s the exact opposite.”
He glanced at the couple who leaned shoulder to shoulder, their fingers laced together at their sides. “But they make it work.”
Her smile was sweet. “Well, yeah. They love each other. Little things like that don’t matter.”
Mayor Pete arrived and began to make his rounds of all the tables, gladhanding with all the customers. They all shook his hand and relieved he wouldn’t have to stay late, Gil rose to his feet and pulled out his wallet. “Jacob, how much do I owe you?”
“No way. You helped me out with that spicy mix. I’ve had to refill the bowls four times tonight. People are loving it. I’m definitely gonna be ordering it again.”
“Speaking of spices.” Emma interjected. “My mom wanted to tell you she absolutely loves the recipes you’ve given her with all the cinnamon and turmeric. She never thought my dad would enjoy it, but she said it’s the only way he’ll eat fish now.”
“Cinnamon? On fish? Sounds more like my grandmother’s coffee cake.”
At the sound of Benji Roth’s voice, Gil’s stomach flip-flopped. Unaware of his internal turmoil, Emma answered. “Oh, yeah, Benji. You need to try it. She also puts date syrup and honey on it. Sooo yummy.”
“I didn’t know you were a chef too, Gil.” Benji waited for his answer, but when Gil remained silent he continued. “What’s your favorite dish to cook?”
Benji’s question revived early memories of him and Rob in the kitchen together, Rob teasing him mercilessly at his failed attempts to make a meal. Over the years he’d grown much more proficient, and they’d often cooked together.
But lately it had been harder and harder to remember the sound of Rob’s voice. And tonight, he couldn’t help noticing Benji’s full lips and the starburst of gold in his beautiful blue eyes. Gil’s heart shriveled. “I’m not,” he mumbled. “I gotta go.”
Without another word, he raced out of the bar and somehow made it to his car. “Dammit, Rob. What am I supposed to do?”
He wiped the tears from his cheeks and drove home.