Chapter Eight
Gil
He’d told Benji the truth. Rob was in his past, and he liked the present. Still, it was strange to wake up to a man next to him. They’d fallen asleep and he’d awoken about an hour later, stomach growling, his lunch long forgotten.
Gil carefully climbed out of bed and smiled at Benji, who hadn’t moved a muscle, hugging the edge of a pillow. God, he was adorable. They’d had a perfect day so far, and Gil was loath to leave the comfort of home to search for somewhere to eat dinner. He didn’t want crowds—all he needed was Benji across the table from him, with his bright-blue eyes and sweetness.
He hadn’t been this sappy in forever. Even in mourning, the heart still beat but now, finally, it was to a joyful rhythm of hope, not a dirge of despair.
Instead of going out to dinner, he decided to cook a meal for them—a rarity these days. Unfortunately that meant not much choice in his refrigerator. Feta cheese, butter, tomatoes, onions, and some spinach. Eggs and milk.
“Hopefully, he likes quiche.” He took out a frozen pie crust that he’d bought at the beginning of apple season and put it in the oven.
Still not a peep from the bedroom.
His phone rang, and he picked it up. “Mom, how’re you feeling? I texted Dad earlier this morning and he said you were sleeping, so I didn’t want to disturb you. I called Victor. He sounded like death.”
She coughed. “They had it worse than me.”
His chest squeezed. His mother rarely became ill and even if she did, always downplayed it so no one would worry.
“Well, please make sure you rest and get better. Don’t rush it.”
“I won’t. I promise. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it home, but better that you didn’t catch whatever was going around. Did you at least manage to have a nice holiday meal?”
He was about to answer, but Benji walked in, all rumpled and delicious-looking and he lost his train of thought.
“Gil? Are you there?”
“Uh, yeah, sorry. Yes, I did. My neighbors opened their home and invited myself and another person, who was also stranded by the storm and couldn’t travel either. It turned out to be a very good evening.” Benji smiled at him.
“That’s nice. I’m glad you had somewhere to go. What a disaster this weekend has turned out to be.”
Actually, he was thinking the exact opposite. This weekend had become a turning point for him. “I’m hoping to come home later in the year. So I’ll get to see you.”
“Good. We miss you. Even though you’re only two hours away, it might as well be across the country.”
Guilt streamed through him. He knew they wanted him home more. In the beginning, he’d come home, where they surrounded him with love, but after a few years of him with nothing new to report, the talk had turned from how he was coping, to them asking when he would start dating. He’d say it was too soon and they’d leave him alone, only to bring it up the next time they saw him. The gentle urging to meet up with a nice guy they’d met at the practice. Or the gym. Eventually he stopped visiting more than once or twice a year, using having to sell the house and find a new place to live as an excuse. The truth, now that he could admit it, was that he’d been hiding.
“Mom, I—”
“No, darling, let me finish. I understand. Losing Rob without warning and in such a terrible manner is a shock that will never leave you. You always kept your emotions in check, and you needed to retreat to heal. But maybe in the new year, you might consider dating again? Just think about it,” she hastened to add, as if expecting his dissent.
“I will. Promise.”
Silence. Now it was his turn to ask. “Mom? Are you still there?”
“Y-yes,” she sniffled. “I’m so happy to hear you say that.” She coughed.
“It’s going to be okay. I’d better go and let you get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He ended the call and beckoned to Benji. He’d stayed on the couch in the living room, reading a book on Ancient Greece he’d picked up from the coffee table, clearly to give Gil some privacy. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
He set the book on the stack of others and joined him at the slab of butcher block set up as an island and dining space. “No, not at all. Something smells delicious, by the way.” He licked his lips and Gil had half a mind to shut off the oven and drag Benji back to bed.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be nicer to have dinner here, instead of going out and finding a place to eat. I’m not in the mood for crowds.”
“Me either. What did you make me?” Benji swung himself up on a barstool.
“Quiche. Spinach and feta with some tomatoes.” He rubbed his chin and laughed. “Basically whatever I had in the fridge that wasn’t moldy.”
“Gee. Sounds yummy.” Benji wrinkled his nose, and Gil leaned in closer.
“It’ll be good. Trust me?”
Benji’s breath hitched, and his eyes grew hazy. “I do.”
The timer dinged, and Gil reluctantly dragged his gaze away from Benji’s tempting mouth to take the quiche out. It looked damn good if he did say so himself.
“ Mmm . I can’t wait to take a big bite of that.” Benji slipped his arms around Gil’s waist.
Why did everything Benji said sound sexual?
“It has to cool for a little. Do you want a drink? I have red and white wine. Not sure about anything stronger.”
“Wine is good. I’m not picky. Whatever you’re having.”
He wasn’t used to being in charge of dinners and decision making for wine. As the chef, Rob had always taken care of that. But , he thought with determination, this is my new normal . One step forward in this new life.
“Let’s do a taste test, and we both choose what we like better.”
“Okay, sure.” He took out two glasses and had to wash them as they were dusty from sitting in the cabinet for years. With Benji watching, he uncorked two bottles. A Chardonnay—which he’d bought to bring home for Thanksgiving and had automatically put in the refrigerator—and a Cabernet, and poured them one of each. “Let’s try the white first.”
They each took a sip, and Benji licked his lips. “Good. I like it. Nice and light.”
“It’s my mom’s favorite. Now the red.”
It was a heavier taste, more tannin and woodsy, and Benji shook his head. “It’s good too, but not for a quiche. I think it’s for a heavier meal.”
“You’re right,” Gil agreed. “White it is.”
“Let me help. Where are your plates?”
Gil tipped his head to the left. “Up there. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He took them and set them out along with the forks and knives Gil handed him. At the gurgling sound, Benji slapped a hand over his stomach and turned red.
“Just in time. Guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
“Let’s eat.”
Gil cut them each a big wedge, and Benji dug in. “Oh man, this is delish. Usually I’ve had it with cheddar, gouda, or fontina cheese. I like the saltier taste. This is so good.”
Benji wasn’t faking it to be nice. He was eating up every crumb.
“Thanks. I’m not a professional, but I know my way around a kitchen.”
Benji finished the first piece and asked for a second, eating it slower this time, shooting looks at Gil until he set his fork on the plate. “What? You’ve obviously got something you want to say to me.”
Benji propped his chin in his hand. “I was thinking…you know…these could be made as individual quiches. I bet people would want to buy them and take them home for dinner on nights they don’t feel like cooking. Or, maybe take with them to work.”
Gil shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Except I can’t sell food, as I don’t have a food handler’s license, and I don’t think people would want to eat frozen pie crusts.”
“No, they won’t.” Benji’s enthusiasm burst through, and he pointed toward his chest. “That’s where I come in. Pie crusts are a specialty of mine. You could give me the recipe for the filling, and I can do it and sell them. Giving you the credit, of course, and a percentage of the profits. I bet it would help your business almost as much as mine. And maybe you should start selling cheeses as well.”
It was an interesting proposal and one that would mean linking them publicly, at least professionally. Was he ready for that? Gil hadn’t thought much past the pleasure of having Benji in his bed, but it was something he’d have to face beyond this weekend.
Perhaps he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought, because the excitement drained from Benji’s face and he grew quiet. “Don’t worry. It was just a silly idea. I get them sometimes. You can forget about it.”
“I like it,” he heard himself say. “We should do both—mini quiches and slices of larger ones.”
“You don’t have to decide right now.” Benji picked up his plate and brought it to the sink. “I don’t mean to push.”
He put a hand on Benji’s arm. “Hey.”
“What?” The smile Benji directed toward him was frozen.
“I really like the idea. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t. I was jumping the gun. Thinking without seeing your side.”
“My side?”
He didn’t have a dishwasher, so Benji picked up the scrub brush and began to wash his plate as he spoke. “Yeah. You might not want people to know.” He lifted a shoulder and set the plate in the dish drain.
“Know what?” Gil asked. “That you and I are together?”
With the water turned off, silence echoed in the room. Benji hung his head. “I’m not pushing you to say that. I don’t know what you want.”
He slipped his arms around Benji’s waist. “I want you. I know that. And I think you want me too.”
“That’s a given.”
“I’m not hiding anything, but I don’t see the need for huge public displays of affection. That’s not who I am.”
“I don’t need that either.”
“But?” Gil prodded him to continue. “There’s more. I hear it in your voice.”
Benji turned to face him. “I don’t plan on being with anyone else.”
“Neither do I.” He kissed Benji’s neck. “So it looks like you’re stuck with me.” Benji’s ex had damaged his heart and mind with his cheating.
Benji murmured against his mouth. “I can think of worse predicaments to be in.”
How quickly life could change from being dark and lonely to a promise of light. “And I like the idea of a joint project with our stores.”
Warm lips pressed to his ear. “I can think of other joint projects I’d like to work on with you.”
Blood rushed to his dick and face simultaneously. “Oh, yeah? Are you going to tell me?”
Benji’s hands tugged at the waistband of his sweats as he sank to his knees. “I think I’d rather show you.”