3. Chapter 3
Mason
After I get home from the feed store, I hang up my coat and head to the kitchen, where I slice up some apples and carrots for the horses for their afternoon treat. One of my favorite parts of having a ranch is tending to the horses. If I had the time, I’d be the one mucking out the stalls.
I drop everything into a baggie and head toward the stables. I take my truck since it’s a distance away from the house, and it’s cold as hell.
The structure is huge and can house up to ten horses, but I only have four. I plan to fill it up eventually. In fact, I have an Arabian filly headed to me in the spring, so I need to find a trainer for her. My last one moved away this year after I’d made arrangements with the horse breeder.
Word around town is that Sugar-Sweet Ranch has available spots for training, but they’re new, and I don’t know their qualifications, but I’ll check them out nonetheless.
I head into the barn, and my babies instantly nicker and neigh. They know when treats are coming. I never miss a day if I can help it.
I have them all inside today because it’s going to freeze later. I have to work at the restaurant, so I don’t have time to put them in for the night. The heaters in here keep the place just warm enough to prevent freezing, plus they have their blankets.
I’m not ready to face what happened today with that young man, Jinx, so I head toward my favorite baby, Black Beauty. I named her after the classic children’s book. She’s sleek and stunning. A thoroughbred. She’s also the loudest.
I chuckle at her snort and hoof stomping. She sticks her nose out from the door as I pull out a piece of apple. Beauty takes it from my palm, careful not to bite me. As she chomps loudly, I rub her velvet nose and kiss it.
“You’re such a pretty girl. Sweet, too.”
She snorts again in agreement and nudges my shoulder for more treats. I feed her a piece of carrot.
After moving here from New York, I never dreamed I’d have such a stunning place to live with beautiful creatures.
I grew up in poverty and fought my way to the top.
Everything I know about cooking came from my mother and from generations of recipes being handed down.
Now I offer that tradition to the people of Colorado.
Could I have opened restaurants in New York?
Sure, but Italian restaurants are a dime a dozen there, and that wasn’t the only reason for moving across the country.
“I can’t wait to ride you when it warms up,” I tell Beauty.
When I’m done spoiling my babies, I head back into the house. Once I’m stripped out of my warm gear, I pour myself a glass of Sangiovese. It’s a little early to drink, but I need it right now.
I make my way to my office and sit cross-legged on the reclaimed wood floor in front of the cabinet attached to my built-in bookshelves. I take a sip of wine and set the glass aside as my gut clenches and dips. I don’t want to look, but I have to. It’s a compulsion I haven’t felt in a long time.
With a deep breath, I open the cabinet and pull out a small, black cardboard storage box. It’s worn from opening and closing it so much. For the first few years, I obsessed over the contents. Now, I try to avoid it. In fact, I haven’t opened it for nearly a year.
I remove the lid, and the first thing I see is his beautiful face.
It’s a fucking gut-punch I hadn’t expected.
I knew it would hurt, but not so much that I’d feel nauseous.
It’s been over eight years, for fuck’s sake.
Deep down, I know why it’s more painful than usual.
Jinx brought my old life back to the forefront of my mind and heart like a little thief.
I pull out the picture and run my finger over his face.
Pale skin with a splash of freckles. He’s next to me, standing just above my shoulder, his head resting on it.
His smile is wide, exposing the cutest dimples you’ve ever seen.
It brightens his face like a ray of sunshine.
Waves of light brown hair are tucked behind his ears.
But it’s his eyes. Wide and blue, just like Jinx’s.
They both also have freckles splashed across their noses and cheeks.
The two young men are so similar in so many ways.
My beautiful Jude.
I close my watering eyes as the last memories of seeing him alive choke me.
“No! Please! You can’t!” he yells. He’s sobbing and clinging to my arm, digging his fingers into the muscle.
“I’m so sorry, Jude. We can’t anymore.”
Jude drops to his knees. “B-but I love you! I swear, I’ll be good.”
I grip his face, trying to control my own emotions. My eyes fucking sting. It’s killing me that I have to do this, but I don’t have a choice. “This isn’t about being good or bad. We just can’t anymore. They found out. They’re going to sever contact. They’re… family, baby.”
“I’m your family, too!”
The fear is too strong. I love Jude to death, but my parents sacrificed everything they had for me. Everything they did in life since coming to the US was for me. I can’t turn my back on them. They aren’t bad people. They’re just misguided and don’t understand.
They not only found out I was with a man, but also my sexual proclivities. They fucking freaked out. I’d never seen them so damn angry and shocked.
“My parents swore they’d never talk to me again. That I must turn to God to redeem myself.”
He’s sobbing and clinging to me. “But I need you. You’re not only my Daddy, but my lover, my best friend. Besides, you’re not even religious like them.”
Our arguments are circular. We get nowhere, so Jude eventually leaves with an ‘I hate you.’ I’m fucking distraught. His words are a knife to my heart, and I don’t blame him for saying them. Never had I faced these types of crossroads, choosing between the man I love and my family.
But I did make my choice.
The wrong choice.
A wasteful choice.
The choice that changed my life forever.
And his.
I wipe my blurry eyes dry, put the photo back into the box, and pull out the gold chain with the compass pendant.
He’d left it behind as he walked out the door.
I’d bought it for him for our first anniversary together.
A compass so he’d never be lost again. So damn trite and cliché.
He deserved fucking better. Someone better than me.
There’s also his favorite cologne. He always wore it. It’s a bit sweet, with notes of amber and cardamom. I pull the cap off and smell it. The scent is faint, but I don’t want to spray it. I don’t want my space to smell like him.
The box holds other trinkets of his, which aren’t much. I shove the damn thing back where it belongs. For good this time.
I made a mistake with Jinx. My life has been full of them. He sucked me in, reminding me of the love I lost. I can’t get him back. Jude is gone forever.
For a second, a flash of redemption filled me, like it was my chance to heal finally. Of a possible second chance. God, and the way he easily submitted to me. We’d be perfect if I weren’t so fucked up.
Jinx also tried to mask his fear with a flash of defiance. My need to fix people sucked me into him. How can I help anyone if I can’t even help myself? I scoff at my arrogance. If I can’t let go of Jude, I need to be alone until I can.
I want what I had so much, but you can’t turn back time. I’ll ruin him if I do, just like I ruined my Jude.
Jude. Jinx.
Jesus, even their names are similar.
I refuse to believe this is fate despite the niggling thought.
I don’t always make an appearance at my Durango restaurant. While I need to make periodic, unexpected visits to all my restaurants, I trust my managers, whom I carefully vetted and hand-selected, as well as talented chefs.
I moved to Colorado to get away from the pain and my parents. After all that I’d lost, I went no contact with my family for my own sanity. Mostly, I ran from myself, which I came to find out later is next to impossible. Still, I don’t regret the move. I love it here.
I stand in front of the mirror and adjust the burgundy tie with white polka dots, then I shrug on the charcoal-gray suit jacket and button it. After a quick spritz of my cologne, I call myself done.
My heart still aches, renewed from my visit with the cursed box. I’m feeling emotionally strung out, but I need to get my shit together. Life never stands still, no matter how much you’re hurting.
The drive into Durango takes me over thirty minutes.
The town is small and quaint, full of charming shops built during the gold and silver rushes of the late 1800s.
It’s all historically preserved, full of fine dining and shopping.
Tourism keeps this town afloat year-round, attracting nature enthusiasts, hikers, rock climbers, and skiers.
The town is nestled in a valley between the stunning mountain ranges of San Juan and La Plata. While I miss the bustle of New York City, I relish the quiet and solitude. I’ve created a sanctuary for myself here, allowing me to heal a little.
Besides my ranch and horses, Ristorante Vitali is my other haven.
I step inside to streamlined, modern decor and design with a touch of rustic reclaimed wood.
I chose to stay away from the usual heavy vibe of other Italian restaurants with dark woods, rich colors, and thick fabrics, preferring something lighter and airier.
While I focus on traditional Italian dishes, I allow my chefs to create a few fusion recipes, which are quite popular. We even have pizza for the kids.
The kitchen is open-concept, so diners can sit at the counter and watch my team create their meals. And in the center of the restaurant is a massive fireplace.
The air smells of firewood, garlic, and spices. I take a deep breath of it. God, I love this place. While it can be stressful and a lot of work, it puts my soul at ease.
“Lorenzo,” I greet my chef, clapping his shoulder. “Busy yet?”
Lorenzo Battisti has jet-black hair hidden beneath his chef’s cap. His eyes are as black as his hair. He’s young, but brilliant in the kitchen.