by A. M. Arthur
“You’ve got all kinds of plans, huh?”
“I really do.” Miles released Wes’s hand. “I didn’t grow up expecting to be a cook, never mind run my own kitchen, but this is where I am, and I’m excited to be here. Mack’s putting a lot of trust in me based on your word, so thank you.”
“No problem. I’m excited to try your menu.”
“I’ll do a tasting later this week, so everyone can try the dishes and give comments. If something isn’t quite perfect, I’ll need time to tweak it before opening day.” Miles was already crazy nervous to have Mack and the others test his dishes, but he needed feedback before he started serving the public.
“I have no doubt everything will be perfect by opening day.”
“I hope so. I’m also going to serve some of Mary-Ellen Hurley’s applesauce as a side dish and her pickles as garnishes, so we can do some cross-promotion between the saloon and the general store.”
Wes’s hand flew to his cheek. “Where have you been hiding your brilliance all this time?”
“Shut up. Mack and Avery have both been super helpful with ideas like that. It’s a group effort.”
“Good God, you really suck at accepting compliments.”
Miles shrugged. “Personality flaw. Sorry.”
“Now that you’re living here, my new plan for you is to make you less modest.”
“Good luck with that.” He cracked a huge yawn, which surprised him after his five-hour afternoon nap. “I think I’m ready to head back. I still have to brush down Tango.”
“Cool. Thanks for coming over. It was like old times, except with twice as many people.”
“Not a problem. It was fun.” Miles drained the last of his wine, then put the glass in the kitchen sink.
Wes walked with him out to the porch, where Mack and Reyes were chilling on the steps with their beers. “Ready to head home?” Reyes asked.
“Yeah,” Miles replied. “You mind?”
“Nah, gotta be up early for work. New crop of guests and all.”
“Of course.” Miles gave Wes a quick hug, then shook Mack’s hand. “Thanks for a fun night.”
“Any time,” Mack replied. “See you for sure on Monday.”
“Absolutely.”
Reyes used his flashlight to guide them through the woods, Miles careful to keep Tango behind Hot Coffee so they didn’t stumble in the dark. He studied the back of Reyes’s head, curious what the older man was thinking about. Reyes struck Miles as the quiet, stoic type, but the old saying “still waters run deep” was often true, especially with people. But he was enjoying the silence and solitude too much to initiate conversation. God knew things would probably get awkward once they were alone in the cabin.
They put the horses up with very little conversation, and that same silence followed them back to the cabin, where Reyes deferred first use of the bathroom to Miles. Miles washed his face and brushed his teeth, feeling a bit like he was in a hotel, because of the unfamiliar surroundings. It would become familiar soon; today was his first day, after all.
He settled in his new bed with his tablet, a little unnerved by the silence now. Did he initiate conversation? Keep to himself? The questions plagued him while Reyes prepared for bed. Miles scrunched a bit deeper under his blanket, despite it being kind of hot, because it was really his only barrier between himself and his roommate. Not knowing what else to do, he opened a book on his tablet and tried to read.
Reyes emerged from the bathroom in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a sleeveless tank top that showed off his beautifully muscled biceps. Miles also spotted tattoos, both easy to see and partially hidden by his shirt, and he couldn’t help wondering how many others Reyes had and where?
Miles tore his gaze away before he got caught staring. Maybe he didn’t want a boyfriend, but he had eyes and could appreciate the package.
In a way, the whole thing reminded him of his first night on campus freshman year of college. A roommate he didn’t know, routines he didn’t know, and a slight awkwardness about what happened at bedtime. But here, each bed had a small lamp attached to the headboard to provide reading light. Miles’s tablet was backlit, but Reyes startled him by picking up a hardcover book.
“Does Garrett have a library?” Miles asked, surprising himself with the out-of-the-blue question, when they’d barely spoken ten words in the last half hour.
Reyes sat on his bed facing Miles. “No, nearest library is five miles away in Daggett. Why?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I was curious how you get new physical books to read.”
“Ah. Arthur’s always been a big book person, so he’s got a personal library in the main house that staff is free to borrow from. They’ve even all got cards in the back we sign that we’ve read them, so once a bunch of books have gone the rounds, Arthur donates them and picks up a new batch at a swap meet or thrift store.”
“That’s...really awesome.”
“It is.” Reyes smiled. “Arthur’s a great boss, and he treats his staff really well. Library is for you, too, if you ever need a new read.”
Miles waved his tablet. “I currently have five thousand books in queue to read, but thank you. I can’t turn down a cheap sale or a freebie.”
“Do you have a favorite genre?”
“Um, fiction.”
Reyes tilted his head. “Any particular fiction genre? I’m fond of mysteries and thrillers.”
What the hell? Be honest, he probably won’t judge.
“I’m a fan of romance novels.” Miles’s face heated. “I like knowing I’ll get a happy ending. The world sucks too much for unexpected tragedies.”
“Makes sense. I can’t say if Arthur has any in his library, but I’m always willing to try new things if I stumble across one.”
“Really?”
“Why not?”
Miles shrugged. “I guess I’m used to people making fun of me when I say I read romance, instead of offering to read one.”
“I say as long as someone’s entertainment choices don’t oppress, demean, or diminish other people, let folks enjoy themselves.”
“Same. Cool. Do you have a tablet or e-reader? I can recommend some books.”
“I do. Don’t use it much, because it’s so old I have to basically keep it plugged in so it takes a charge.”
“Got it. Anyway, thanks for answering my question. About the library.”
“Happy to.” Reyes settled in with his book and started reading.
Miles did the same, grateful for the information, and pleased by Reyes’s continued easygoing nature and calm acceptance. Except his eyes drooped quickly, despite his long afternoon nap, and he shut the tablet down. Turned off his own bed light. Reyes’s didn’t cast much of a glow to his side, but Miles still rolled to his left, away from it. But he didn’t like giving Reyes his back, so he turned to face him, and that felt weird.
He finally settled flat on his back, blanket tucked up to his chin, even though the cabin was kind of warm. He needed that barrier. And Reyes hadn’t moved once except to turn a page in his book, which made Miles feel less awkward about all his squirming around. He and Reyes were slowly building trust, becoming friends, and Miles didn’t make new friends easily, so he’d do everything he could to nurture it.
Maybe living together wouldn’t be so bad after all—if he could just ignore his unwanted attraction to his roommate.
Chapter Five
“I’m going to throw up,” Miles said for the fourth time in the past five minutes.
“You are not going to throw up, you’ll be fine,” Shawn Matthews replied. “Your food is amazing.”
Miles looked at his sous chef of the past three days and grimaced. He and Mack had interviewed Shawn together earlier in the week, because while the menu was simple and they didn’t expect huge crowds right away, Miles still needed help in
the saloon’s kitchen, especially for prep work. “You’re biased because I’m technically your boss.”
“You’re crazy, and you’re overthinking everything. Besides, this is just a tasting.”
“Yeah, a tasting attended by my boss, my best friend, my landlord, and my freaking roommate. No pressure.”
After spending his entire week playing with various recipes and testing small batches to perfect the spice levels, Miles was ready to present his menu to Mack, Wes, Arthur, Reyes, and Megan Landsdowne, the actress in charge of the general store. He had two plates of everything either firing or ready to serve, so everyone could taste the food and offer comments. Since the attraction wouldn’t open its gates until ten o’clock, Miles and Shawn could focus on lunch-and dinner-type foods, not breakfast.
Although he did have cornmeal mush as a side dish that could be ordered separately for early bird customers, plus coffee and an assortment of pies and breads. Miles had never been much of a baker, but Shawn excelled at it.
Old-fashioned double-saloon doors set the kitchen apart from the dining room. Everything was hidden from customers, so they didn’t see the modern cooking equipment or industrial refrigerator in the back, making life easier for a chef cooking old-time food. Miles peeked over the top of the doors. All his tasters were seated at a long table made out of two six-tops pushed together. Shawn had already presented the drink menu, which, besides strong coffee, offered bottled sarsaparilla, lemonade, locally sourced milk, and water.
Miles loved sarsaparilla, and he hoped to convert as many new fans as possible to the drink.
“Guess we should get the appetizers out,” Miles said. That was the simplest part of the menu, because appetizers hadn’t really been a thing in small-town saloons, reserved more for fancy city restaurants. Most of the app options were also side dishes served in a slightly different format, which kept extra cooking to a minimum.
He and Shawn armed themselves with a tray of different things to take out and they set them around the table. Miles was extra-proud of the corn fritters and dipping sauce, and he stood back silently while the dishes were passed around the table and everyone started eating. Shawn tossed him a supportive smile and waited with him.
Not a single crumb was left on any plate, and everyone at the table was grinning at each other.
“You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like something,” Miles said.
Mack beamed at him. “Damn, man, you can cook.”
“Yeah?”
“I told you so,” Wes crowed, then shimmied in his chair for good measure. “Everything was delicious. Like, maybe a tiny bit more salt in the pinto beans, but damn.”
Similar feedback came from around the table, and Miles soaked in both the praise and the small bits of criticism. It buoyed his confidence for serving the main course dishes. Buffalo burger on a sourdough bun with a homemade sauce; a Hangtown Fry, which was basically a savory omelet with bacon, oysters, and a few other ingredients; beer-braised beef stew; cheddar biscuits and sausage gravy (not just a breakfast food); with sides of cornmeal mush, baked beans with ham hocks, and a few other things.
They also had sides of cornbread, sourdough, and both cheddar and regular biscuits. Miles relaxed another few degrees as the same positive feedback—and occasional criticism—was handed out for round two of the meal. He listened carefully, thankful for the help, because he was still learning and growing as a chef. Arthur’s feedback, in particular, overjoyed him, because the man had been cooking for himself for sixty-plus years, and he knew food.
While passing out slices of the different pies, he caught Reyes’s warm smile and dark brown eyes, and he paused to smile back. Reyes winked, and that simple action heated Miles’s insides in a way he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t explain a single thing about his body’s reactions to Reyes, and now was not the time to ponder it.
Everyone was shocked by the Vinegar pie, which was custardy and tangy, and actually really good with a big dollop of whipped cream. Fresh, not canned.
“You’ve got some talent with pastry, Shawn,” Arthur said. “You might be able to sell pies to go, you keep cooking ’em like that.”
“Thank you, sir,” Shawn replied. “I’ve been baking with my mom since I was five years old. Glad to know something stuck.”
That got a round of chuckles from their guests.
“I am impressed,” Megan said. “And I love that you’re serving some of the foods we’re selling at the general store. If someone mentions they love the applesauce or the pickles, you can send them our way.”
“That’s the plan,” Miles replied. “Cross-marketing, and we’re helping the community by selling their wares.”
“I can’t believe this is all coming together so well,” Mack said. “We’re opening in a week. It’s fucking nuts.”
Wes pressed a hand to his own chest. “Oh God, you aren’t going to start panicking, are you? Because that’s my job.”
“No, I’m not going to panic. Rehearsals are going great, the saloon menu is almost complete, all the other attractions are in their final stages.” Mack grinned at them all. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m excited.”
Arthur whooped, which began a round of cheers and clapping. With the meal complete and the tasting a success, Miles and Shawn found themselves slightly surrounded, with Arthur and Megan asking questions about the menu, or the history of the recipe. Miles wished Avery was there to help with that, but he did his best with what he recalled. Megan even suggested Miles write a cookbook of his recipes and sell copies in the general store.
Miles wasn’t sure about being a cookbook author, but he did accept the compliment graciously. Wes would have been proud if he’d been there to hear it.
Instead, Wes and Mack were sharing another piece of Vinegar pie.
Score.
And then Reyes shocked the hell out of Miles by producing two bottles of champagne and plastic flutes. “To celebrate a very successful menu,” Reyes said directly to Miles. “You deserve it.”
Shawn clapped Miles on the back hard enough that he flinched. Reyes turned a dangerous look onto Shawn, then opened the first bottle.
He’s protective of me.
Miles wanted to enjoy that, but Dallas had been protective, too. More than was healthy, at times, and Miles was terrified of meeting another guy like that. But Reyes wasn’t Dallas. Dallas had used him over and over again, while Miles repeatedly made the mistake of taking him back.
Until he’d finally had enough and walked away.
He accepted a glass of champagne with a grateful smile and blushed even more when he and Shawn were both toasted. The champagne was slightly sweet, and the bubbles tickled his nose. Miles gladly took a refill, then went into the kitchen to clean up.
Wes followed him. “You’re a rock star, my friend.”
“It’s food, Wes.” Miles still smiled at the dishes he was putting into the industrial washer, stupidly pleased with how well the tasting had turned out.
“Food you created and rocked, and the saloon is going to be awesome.” Wes invaded his personal space. “Also? The champagne was completely Reyes’s idea. He likes you.”
Miles groaned. “This again?”
“Don’t tell me you couldn’t use a distraction from Dallas.”
“Moving here is my distraction. I’m not in a good headspace to be with anyone else right now, even if he was interested.”
“Honey, trust me, he’s interested,” Wes said.
Euphoria over today’s culinary successes died quickly beneath Miles’s quick temper. He spun on Wes, fury blazing in his chest. “Will you fucking drop it? I don’t want anyone touching me ever again, not even someone I trust.”
Wes blinked hard several times, his shock melting into anger. “What did Dallas do, Miles?”
Since Miles didn’t actually know what had happened on his birthday
, he used the most recent example of Dallas’s cruelty. “When he confronted me outside the apartment, he pushed me against the wall and put his hand down the back of my pants,” he replied in a harsh whisper.
A dark growl from behind them scared Miles into dropping a coffee mug onto the floor. Its crash in the silent room startled him less than the black look on Reyes’s face. He stood just inside the kitchen doors with a stack of dirty dishes in his hands, knuckles so white Miles half expected the porcelain to crack. Reyes stared at him, perfectly still except for his heaving chest.
Then he put the dishes on the counter, pivoted on one heel, and strode back out of the room.
“Holy shit,” Wes said. “He doesn’t know where Dallas lives, right?”
A ball of ice dropped into Miles’s stomach, and instead of making a scene by following Reyes out the front, he bolted toward the kitchen’s back entrance, which was for deliveries and staff entry. Around to the front of the building, where Reyes was stalking across Main Street toward the parking lot.
“Reyes, wait!” Miles raced after him, panicked and unsure exactly why. It wasn’t as if Reyes was going to drive straight to San Francisco to confront Dallas. He probably thought Miles was some kind of helpless idiot who couldn’t defend himself, and Reyes was probably pissed that he’d agreed to room with such a coward.
Reyes kept walking with amazing speed, so Miles picked up the pace to a full-out run. He finally overtook Reyes five feet from the nearest truck, forcing the bigger man to stop. “Listen, I don’t know what you heard,” Miles said, surprised by the tremor in his own voice, “but it’s not what you think.”
“It’s not?”
Miles had no idea how someone could so effectively growl two simple words, and he couldn’t bear looking Reyes in the eyes. “N-n-no, um...” But it was exactly what Reyes thought, so why lie? “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Reyes’s entire demeanor changed from raging bull to sad friend. “What are you sorry for, Miles?”
So many fucking things.