A Taste of You (12 page)

The panic and guilt clawed deeper into his gut when Garrett wasn’t at Ransom the next day. Andi and Hector had known beforehand about the schedule change. Carlo hadn’t. He finally broke and asked if they knew where Garrett was. No. Just that he wouldn’t be in for a few days.

He stalked Garrett’s social media sites looking for any news.

Silence everywhere.

He wasn’t sure what he would have done if the blackout had lasted much longer. But the next day Garrett’s public social media lit up. He was upstate at a family farm. Pictures appeared of Garrett with lambs and border collies.

Carlo stared at the images for hours, looking for any clues to Garrett’s state of mind. All he got was the same Chef Ransom that Garrett always showed to his public.

The next day was berries and an artisan brewery. The following day a heritage duck breed and a dairy. And so it went for the rest of the week.

Then Chef Ransom went dark again. Pictures of food started appearing on Garrett’s personal sites—not available to the public. No one who knew Garrett well enough to see them responded. These were works in progress and no right answer existed. Praise could throw him into a tantrum as easily as criticism.

Still no texts or messages. Carlo tried to take comfort in the food. Those pictures weren’t PR; only a few people could see them. Garrett hadn’t cut himself off completely. He was at home, and he was working.

Carlo began to agonize over whether he should make the first move. But he had been left,
in Garrett’s bed
, without a word. That obviously indicated a desire for some space. Contact before Garrett was ready might push him further away.

Or, because he was Garrett, he might not even understand why Carlo hadn’t called or come over.

The indecision over such a simple thing took a worse toll. For the first time, Carlo began to seriously wonder if Garrett would ever be able to sustain the type of relationship Carlo had always hoped they would have.

In the past, the question had been,
will Garrett ever love me
? Now a more terrifying option presented itself. Would Garrett ever fall in love at all? Or had that ability been nurtured out of him through emotional starvation as a child?

So Carlo went to work, came home, and respected Garrett’s space.

Until the following Monday, when Carlo came home from the market on his day off to find carrier bags strewn all over his living room and Garrett in his kitchen. Carlo stood in the kitchen doorway, afraid to say anything, and watched Garrett work.

Garrett glanced up at him then back down at what he was doing. “I hope you don’t have plans for dinner.”

“No.”

“Good. I’m cooking.”

“I can see that. The new stuff?”

“Yeah, sit down. Tell me what you think.”

So Garrett fed him. He kept up a running commentary on the provenance of each ingredient, which in the past had sometimes driven Carlo nutty because all he really cared about was….
Holy Mother,
that was
good
.

And even though they were at home in Carlo’s kitchen, Garrett made every dish a work of art so beautiful even Carlo didn’t want to mar it by cutting into it. Yes, despite the fact that it was
food
and he was
hungry
. Really hungry, for the first time in a week.

Food so beautiful it caught his attention even though all he wanted to do was look at Garrett, here in his kitchen, acting as if he had never left. Yes, the food was goddamn awesome. So awesome that for seconds at a time, usually when something first hit his tongue, he completely forgot about what he really wanted to know. Were they taking up where they left off? Or were they back to being friends?

The fourth course was seared duck breast made, unsurprisingly, with the heritage breed Garrett had found. Garrett’s commentary, detailed before, became a full-out sales pitch. Had Carlo ever heard of an Indian Runner? Much leaner meat than usual for duck. Garrett thought it tasted closer to wild duck than any domestic duck he had ever found before. And the farm? Beautiful. Terroir was so important, didn’t Carlo think? The same breed from somewhere else would be completely different. As soon as he had tasted this one, he knew he had to have it for Ransom.

Garrett continued on about diets, breeding, exercise, the
soil conditions
of the ground the birds were hopping around on, and more facts about ducks than Carlo knew existed while he cooked and plated.

Carlo let him ramble, happy to see him so excited about something even if it was a duck, but the soil thing finally prodded his manager brain awake. There had never been duck on the menu before.

“Garrett?”

“Yes, Carlo?” Garrett had started to plate and sounded distracted.

“What’s wrong with the duck?”

Garrett turned guileless blue eyes toward him. “What do you mean? I just told you, the duck is brilliant.”

“How much does it cost?”

“Hardly anything compared to most of our fish. Anyway, it’s not like we can’t afford it.”

Garrett came around the island and set the plate in front of Carlo. Garrett had never cooked anything in his life that could be described as “rustic,” but the dish on the counter came closer than anything else Carlo had ever seen him produce.

A lone piece of duck breast, whole young carrots with tops attached,
jus
.

The meat might actually require two bites to eat.

Carlo circled a finger in the direction of the plate. “What’s this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, where are the five pomegranate pearls, three bean sprouts, and one tiny fennel seed in the corner? You didn’t make duck foam or something?”

“You always tell me it’s too much.”

“You always tell me you’re the chef and know best. Tell me again where this duck came from.” But he bet he knew. Family farm. All the talk about terroir. Had there been kids on the farm? Was the family struggling? Garrett would see only that he could help. Carlo would be the one with the supply issues down the road.

“I do know best.” Garrett pulled a chair up, turning it sideways so he faced Carlo.

The position also put him right in Carlo’s space. Warm vanilla overlaid the aroma of savory duck, shifting Carlo’s attention to Garrett and his blood flow away from the manager brain and slightly farther south.

“Close your eyes.”

Now that was unusual. Mr. Eats-With-Eyes-First wanted him to eat something without marveling at its beauty?

“Why?”

Garrett hesitated. “This is something special. I want you to focus on the taste.”

Garrett’s knee brushed Carlo’s thigh as he moved closer and picked up a fork. “Close your eyes, Carlo.”

As soon as Carlo did, vanilla and sugar surrounded him, seeped under his skin like a drug, made his limbs heavy and his heart pound. The only sensations left in the darkness were the scent of Garrett, the touch of Garrett’s knee, and the blood pounding into his own groin.

Garrett’s thumb brushed Carlo’s lower lip. Carlo held back a moan as his lips parted. Garrett’s touch on his lips. Then warmer flesh on his tongue. Succulent jus. Spices. Holy fuck the duck was good.

And not the flesh he wanted.

He chewed. Swallowed. Eyes closed because it was too delicious. Because he was afraid to open them and find Garrett focused only on the food.

“Nice,” he managed.

“I thought of you when I made it.”

Garrett’s breath whispered against his lips, the words barely audible. His mouth closed over Carlo’s lower lip, teeth scraping slightly as he sucked, then a slight nip just before his tongue slid into Carlo’s mouth. Garrett. Warm and moist and delicious. So much better than the duck. Garrett’s hands were in Carlo’s hair, Garrett’s tongue in Carlo’s mouth, and Carlo couldn’t hold back the moan any longer.

He kissed Garrett back. Kissed him like he was starving, like they had been apart for years instead of days, like he never wanted them to be apart again.

Garrett moved, and Carlo thought he would pull back. Instead, he shifted onto Carlo’s lap, straddling him so they were pressed hard together from the groin up.
Yes
. Then Garrett twined around him, adjusted the angle of his head, and kissed him even harder.

When they finally came up for air, Garrett nuzzled his way along the side of Carlo’s jaw, bit the side of his neck gently, no mark above the collar, then moved up to scrape his teeth along Carlo’s earlobe until Carlo shuddered against him.

“I missed you,” Garrett confessed. “Nothing tastes as good as you do.” He sounded bewildered and a little angry.

Carlo could relate. He couldn’t remember a damn thing Garrett had fed him. To be honest, he wasn’t devoting any brain cells to food at all right now. He shifted his hips and repositioned Garrett so they lined up,
there
.

There
felt really good but wasn’t nearly what he wanted. So he shifted Garrett again, creating more space this time so he could get his hands down between their bodies. Garrett’s tongue and teeth were still busy on his ear, which was distracting, but Carlo was on a mission. His hands found Garrett’s belt, the button to his fly, and he was in. He closed his hand around hard, warm flesh.

Garrett made a strangled sound into Carlo’s ear and moved his own hands to mirror Carlo’s. Carlo arched halfway out of the chair when Garrett’s hand closed around him. Garrett’s thumb circled over the head of Carlo’s cock, slicking the moisture from his slit. Carlo’s eyes rolled back in his head. He swore he saw heaven. And it was. Not. Enough.

Carlo shifted again, bringing their cocks into closer alignment. Garrett had moved, too, so their foreheads were resting together as they both looked down between their bodies. His hand moved at the same time as Carlo’s, sliding away so Carlo could wrap his hand around both of them.

They both sucked in a breath at the same time.

Garrett’s beautiful swollen pink head weeping next to his own darker one was the hottest thing Carlo had ever seen. He started to move involuntarily, stroking both of them. Garrett seemed just as transfixed by the sight as he was.

Then Garrett wrapped both his hands around Carlo’s, and they moved together.

Circuit complete
.

Sensory
.

Overload
.

Carlo wasn’t sure where he stopped and Garrett began.

He was vaguely aware that he was going to come.
Hard
. And that Garrett was close, too.

Just when Carlo felt his balls tightening, his stomach and legs contracting, his toes curling, and—
now—
Garrett turned his head up, catching Carlo’s lips, opening his mouth, sliding his tongue inside.

Now.

Together.

He felt Garrett tense. Then Carlo’s soul exploded out of his body, and Garrett, mouth sealed against his, swallowed it.

Carlo let it go. Garrett already had his heart. Why not his soul, too?

As he dropped back into his body, he wrapped his arms around his partner and cuddled him close, not willing to let the moment end.

“Welcome home, babe,” he said softly. “I missed you, too.”

“Fifth course,” Garrett mumbled. “Dishes.” But his body was limp against Carlo’s.

“Tomorrow,” Carlo said. “Come to bed.”

****

Hours later, Carlo woke up alone.

Not funny anymore.

Also, they had never finished their conversation about the duck.

Annoyed, he grabbed his phone and hit Garrett’s number before he could think about it. Garrett answered on the second ring, sounding way too chipper for fuck-off-thirty in the morning.

“If you’re going to distract me with sex, the least you could do is stick around and make sure I stay distracted in the morning.”

Silence. Long enough for Carlo to regret the outburst. A little.

Then, “Sometimes, I don’t want guys to sleep over, but they don’t seem to realize it, and I have to tell them, and it’s…awkward.”

Carlo was about to throw the phone across the room at this until he realized what his relationship-challenged partner
might
be saying. Garrett wasn’t sure he was welcome overnight? He left so Carlo wouldn’t have to tell him to leave? Garrett thought he was saving Carlo the
awkwardness
of asking him to leave?

“Garrett. I would like you to stay the night sometime.” There. That should be clear enough. “If you want to, that is.”

“That would be nice. Sometimes.” Another silence. “Are you mad?”

“Yes. You should come over here and distract me right away.”

“Half an hour?”

“Bring breakfast.”

He figured he was going to regret that last when he had to deal with Garrett in the kitchen first thing in the morning, but he intended to work up an appetite.

Chapter Ten

Garrett propped his feet up on Carlo’s coffee table and adjusted the screen on his laptop for the new angle. He should get in someone to re-do his apartment because Carlo’s was way more comfortable. He never got this much stuff done at his own place. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had spent any significant time there except in the kitchen or asleep. What was the use of having an apartment if you never wanted to be in it?

In the chair next to him, Carlo pecked away on his own laptop. Working, the typing said. Definitely not surfing the web or mucking about with something frivolous. Intermittently the phone next to him hummed. Carlo picked it up, typed a reply, and set it back on the arm of his chair.

“Something wrong?” Who kept texting Carlo?

“Hmmm? No, just Joey.”

“Yeah? What’s he want, then? Did his window stick closed? Some kind of marinara emergency, maybe?”

Carlo didn’t look up. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

“You’re kidding. There actually is a marinara emergency?”

Carlo snapped his laptop closed and gave Garrett a look somewhere between amusement and irritation.

“Why do you have to pick at him?”