A Taste of You (16 page)

He knew he had gone too far as soon as the words were out. Garrett hadn’t done anything to merit this degree of attitude. None of it stemmed from anything Garrett had done today at all, but from the uncertain state of their relationship finally coming to a head. It came from the weeks of not rocking the boat, not pushing for more,
not
being boyfriends.
Exclusively
not boyfriends.

“Ours,” Garrett said.

“What?”

“Ransom West is
ours
, Carlo, not mine. But you are right. That’s where I should be. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone at the end of the week.”

“Garrett. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Garrett cocked his head to one side. “Which part didn’t you mean?”

“All of it. I didn’t mean any of it. I’ve just had a rough night and—”

“I think you did. I don’t know why, but you don’t want me at Rotolo’s.”

“Garrett, that’s not true.”

“It’s okay, Carlo. You’re right. I shouldn’t have interfered. I should be in L.A. getting Ransom West online. And I think maybe I should head home for tonight.”

That got him moving. Carlo lunged forward and grabbed Garrett by the shoulders before he could move away.

“No. Babe, please. Please don’t leave angry.”

Garrett shook his head. “If I stay, one of us is going to wind up saying something we can’t take back.”

He reached up and pulled Carlo’s head down so he could kiss him firmly on the lips. Carlo hung on, trying to deepen the kiss, but Garrett disentangled himself and turned away.

Carlo watched helplessly as Garrett packed up his laptop. At the door, Garrett stopped and turned back. Carlo thought he might change his mind, but he just said, “I’ll come make you breakfast in the morning.”

“I have to go in early. We’re out of everything, and apparently we’ll be slammed again tomorrow.”

“You still have to eat. I’ll be early. Try to get some sleep, Carlo.”

And, with that, Garrett was gone.

I’ll come make you breakfast in the morning.
Carlo sat on the bed and hoped that meant he still had a not-boyfriend.

Chapter Thirteen

He should let this go.

Garrett stood in the doorway of Carlo’s bedroom and watched him sleep. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at home, in his own apartment. He should leave now and come back at a more reasonable hour.

He hadn’t meant to come. He had lied to himself about his destination until he walked into Carlo’s building.

He could see the end coming. Tonight had revealed the first cracks. Carlo had started pushing him away, and Garrett didn’t blame him. He hadn’t intended for things to go so far anyway.

If he left now and came back later, they would eat breakfast. Carlo would leave for Rotolo’s. Garrett would leave for Ransom. In less than a week he would be gone, and there wouldn’t be anything left. Friendship maybe. He hoped. If he left now, before things got worse. Before Carlo hated him.

He took a step farther into the bedroom. Carlo shifted in his sleep, and Garrett froze. He didn’t move again until Carlo’s breathing evened out and Garrett was sure he was asleep. Then he drifted closer.

One shoe off. The other.

He hesitated.

Clothes. He folded them carefully and set them aside.

The central air whispered across his skin, raising goose bumps.

He was cold.

Carlo’s bed was warm.

Carlo was warmer, and he didn’t wake up when Garrett curled in behind, just sighed and settled against him as though he had been waiting for him.

Garrett touched his lips to Carlo’s hair, ran his fingers gently through it, trying to soothe without waking. How much longer would he have the right to touch Carlo like this?

And when had it become so important?

****

In the moment before he opened his eyes, Carlo forgot that Garrett had gone home. How had he become so used to Garrett’s presence in his bed after only a few weeks?

Even after he woke up and knew that Garrett wasn’t there, his heart insisted the sheets were warm from Garrett’s body. The pillow smelled of vanilla and sugar so strongly Carlo wanted to bury his face in it.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling instead, trying to come to terms with his idiocy the night before. Had he really told Garrett to stay out of Rotolo’s?

When he finally realized the sounds that had woken him up were coming from the next room, he almost sobbed in relief. Garrett was here, as promised.

He showered before heading into the kitchen, needing a few more minutes to get his head together. He stood under the scorching spray and reminded himself that Garrett was good at compartmentalizing. His presence didn’t mean Carlo was forgiven or that their relationship was unaltered.

When he finally ventured into the kitchen, he led with an apology.

“I’m sorry.” He resisted the urge to qualify.

Garrett stared at him from across the room, his expression unusually subdued.

“Remember when we opened Ransom?”

Carlo nodded, not sure where the conversation was going.

“Opening night rolled around and we had done so much PR and all the right people were there who could make or break us. All I could think was they had to love us or we would be closed in a month.”

“I tried to convince you to start with something less ambitious.”

Garrett ignored the reminder the same way he had ignored the advice at the time. He had never considered starting anywhere but the top.

“So we got through the first seating, and everyone loved everything. The critics were all happy, and I was starting to congratulate myself on how well it was going. Do you remember the soup we served?”

“Spring pea, with the flowers. That was a pretty one, babe. Customers still ask for it.”

“Not Adelaide Wells.”

Carlo stared at Garrett in astonishment. “The soup started it?”

Adelaide Wells, one of the most influential food critics in the restaurant that night, had gotten up and walked out after Garrett visited her table early in the meal.

The culinary world had speculated about what had happened for months, but both Garrett and Adelaide had maintained a stubborn silence on the issue.

Garrett shrugged. “She wasn’t a fan of peas. I took it badly.”

Carlo could imagine. Garrett would have told her she hadn’t had peas prepared properly before. In other words, she couldn’t possibly not like
his
peas.

“Jesus, Garrett. How are we still in business?”

“She sent me a note the next day. ‘Opening night can be stressful. I’ll be back in three months. Make sure there are no peas.’”

Carlo closed his eyes and thanked every saint he could name that Ransom still existed to this day. Garrett could just as easily have taken that as a challenge to prepare a menu with peas in every course right down to dessert. “That’s why you took the soup off the menu.”

“Yes. Opening nights can be stressful, Carlo. I understand.”

Carlo doubted his partner did. Not entirely. Carlo wasn’t sure he understood his own actions. But, for whatever reason, Garrett was willing to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened.

“So we’re still….”
What?
What were they in Garrett’s mind?

“We’re fine, Carlo. Come eat. I made frittata from Nonna’s recipe.”

Which answered nothing, except they probably still weren’t boyfriends.

Chapter Fourteen

The night before Garrett left for California, Carlo was called in to work the pass at Rotolo’s.

“Of course you have to go,” Garrett told him.

He would have gone, if they had been short at Ransom, so of course Carlo must go to Rotolo’s. He knew that. He
understood
that. Only somehow he didn’t. The idea of Carlo being in Brooklyn with Joey on this particular night rubbed him the wrong way.

He had been trying to convince Carlo they should both spend the night at Ransom, which wasn’t short-staffed, so he couldn’t complain about Carlo going to Rotolo’s, which was.

Carlo had wanted to spend the night at home. What would be the point in that? Garrett was already packed. They would be home together later and in the morning, but tonight would be his last chance to check in at Ransom before he left.

“Since you won’t be here, I think I’ll pop over to Ransom and just see how they’re doing with neither of us there.”

“They’re doing fine, Sweets,” Carlo said. “If you want to expand, we can’t keep micro-managing everything.”

“I know, but I’ve never left for this long, and you’ll only be there a few times a week.”

“And you going in tonight won’t change anything. Stop fretting.”

“Old ladies fret. I don’t fret. I want to check in one more time before I leave.”

They were both crammed into Carlo’s tiny bathroom getting ready for the evening. Carlo finished knotting his tie, moved behind Garrett, wrapped his arms around him, and propped his chin on Garrett’s shoulder. Garrett let himself relax into his partner’s heat as he met Carlo’s eyes in the mirror. Maybe staying in tonight would have been nice.

He wasn’t looking forward to his empty condo in L.A.

Which he had never thought of as “empty” before. He tried to work out what had changed. It was hard to think with Carlo pressed up against him, but he finally decided what had changed was Carlo. He had gotten used to Carlo being in his space.

He had always liked living alone, before. He frowned at Carlo in the mirror.

Carlo’s arms tightened around him, squeezing until Garrett could barely breathe. Not suffocating like a panic attack, though. It felt good. Then Carlo pecked him on the cheek and stepped back.

“Have it your way. I thought you might like some downtime before you left, but head over to Ransom if it makes you happy.”

“I will, and it does.” So why did he feel so out of sorts?

By the time he got to Ransom, out-of-sorts had morphed into full-blown restlessness.

Andi smiled at him as he walked in. “Garrett, we weren’t expecting you here tonight. Where’s Carlo?”

“Rotolo’s.”

“I’m sorry. It must have been important for him to go in tonight. Can we get you anything?”

Garrett shook his head. Why sorry? But he heard a version of the same from almost everyone he passed. That and the messages.
Tell Carlo….Remind Carlo….Does Carlo know…?
He wasn’t a bloody memo pad. Carlo had a mobile and email that anyone could use.

Garrett did a circuit of the dining room because everyone expected it of him, and it made the guests happy. Usually it made him happy. Who didn’t like to be told how wonderful they were?

Tonight, he didn’t feel the love. The adoration of strangers failed to feed him the way it normally did. So what did he want?

Carlo’s arms, tight around him until he couldn’t breathe but didn’t miss the air.

Bullshit. He should have had Carlo suck him off before they both left. Then he would be more relaxed. Or maybe the time had come to find someone new. Someone in L.A., where he would be for the next year. Someone who wouldn’t invade his space until he forgot how to be alone.

He headed for the kitchen, where he wouldn’t be bothered by people who thought they knew him because they ate his food and saw him on T.V.

“Chef.” Matt slid over to make a spot for him. “You want to take over for a bit?”

Yes.
Ransom’s line beckoned to him. Home. Plate after perfect plate. His baby.

He shook his head. “Your kitchen, Chef.”

The line would no more satisfy him tonight than the tour of the dining room had. He stayed to watch for a few minutes. Long enough to convince himself that Carlo was right. They didn’t need him here. But it wasn’t enough. He still couldn’t seem to leave.

He let his restless feet carry him into the back. In the empty prep area, he paced, touching things at random. He trailed a finger down the cool, stainless steel counters as he walked. His. His counters. He remembered ordering them, just like the rows of shelves, the walk-ins, the forks, the plates, everything. His. He had built this. He had chosen every single thing, arguing with Carlo over what they could afford and what they had to have.
Theirs
. Their first restaurant. And now there would be another. The second of many. He could already see them in his head, already knew where they would go next. Paris. Barcelona. Dubai.

He looked down at the pile of flour mounded on the table in front of him. When had he done that?

He cracked the waiting eggs into the well in the middle of the flour and began beating them then incorporating them into the flour. Carlo had taught him to make pasta years ago. Even after all these years, the kneading was familiar, soothing in a way nothing else here had been tonight.

Things here running smoothly. Problems with Ransom West. So he needed to be in California but didn’t want to go. Why?

He wrapped the dough and set it aside to rest while he worked on the filling. He was vaguely aware of chatter coming through the wall from the line, the muted music from the dish room, Andi passing him on her way to get something from the walk-in.

Tell Carlo….Remind Carlo….Does Carlo know…?

The filling was almost ready. What had he put in there? He couldn’t remember.

“Chef?” Andi touched his arm. “Garrett?”

He shook his head, and she left.

Chef Uncle Garrett
. Tears in Valentina’s eyes. Brownies. Wine for family gatherings. Coffee and biscotti with Nonna. Carlo’s face next to his in the mirror. Garrett would be in California. Carlo would find someone to adopt a dog with.

He began rolling out the dough.

****

He’s okay. He’s okay.
Carlo repeated the assurance to himself like a mantra. If Garrett were physically hurt, someone would have said so.

But the crew was used to Garrett. No one would freak like this over a temper tantrum or a bad mood. So what was so wrong that they would call him in from Brooklyn?