by Beth Bolden
“I can practically hear you back there pouting,” Evan announced as he examined the list Miles had complied, and compared it to the display of whisks before them.
It was a sad state of affairs that they could be in his personal heaven, and Miles could barely even motivate himself to look at the tempting array of culinary tools in front of him.
“Are you going to let me pick out whisks?” Evan demanded when Miles didn’t answer. “Or are you going to do your job?”
Last night, when he’d pulled the quiche out of the oven, he’d stared at it, realizing that he didn’t want to eat it alone, even though when he’d decided to make it, he’d never even dreamt that Evan would show up at his door.
That was the problem with Evan. He burst in, and when he left, nothing was the same. There was an Evan-sized hole in the life that Miles had always considered very satisfactory.
It wasn’t fair, but it was the bed he had made, and now he had to deal with it. Miles reached over to the whisks and grabbed a handful without even really looking at them, tossing them into the cart.
Evan shook his head and did that cute little half eye roll that usually meant he wanted to do some big production of an eye roll, but decided it wasn’t worth the energy.
“When we’re making . . . Twinkies or dongs, or dings, or whatever the hell you bake,” Evan said snidely, “and you need the right whisk for the job, I’m going to remind you of this moment, and how it’s all your fault.”
“Believe me, I’m sure I won’t need that reminder,” Miles retorted fervently. “Probably because you’ll never let me forget it.”
“Only you,” Evan said, pushing the cart forward with purpose, “would be annoyed I was pissed you didn’t apologize after insulting me.”
Miles wanted to find the even keel of the last few days—when they’d compromised and even found a way to work together—but it was completely lost. Maybe it was the kissing. Maybe it had been the almost blowjob. Maybe it was the anger simmering right under the peaceful surface. But it wasn’t going to go back to how it had been only yesterday. That much was obvious.
It wasn’t right, but he silently blamed Evan. Maybe if he hadn’t kept his fucking mouth shut that he was angry then Miles would have apologized right away and prevented all this.
“Do we need anything else?” Miles asked, and gave himself a gold star, because at least he was making an attempt to converse politely.
Evan leveled him an incredulous look. “It’s your list.”
“Yeah, but it’s in your hands,” Miles retorted.
To Miles’ surprise, Evan did actually look down and review the list. “I think we’ve got it all. Oh no, wait, we need silicone molds still.”
“Joy,” Miles muttered under his breath, even though silicone molds were usually something he really enjoyed.
If Evan ignored that comment, and instead pushed the cart over to the right aisle, then Miles told himself they were definitely better off.
Fifteen minutes later, they were checked out and just about done packing the bags into Evan’s small compact.
“I have a lunch meeting,” Evan announced when they both got in the car, “but after, we can head over to your place and work all afternoon. That good with you?”
Miles bit back a snide comment that he didn’t really have a choice. He’d thought when he left the restaurant industry, his schedule would stop being dictated by someone else. It turned out that wasn’t the case.
But instead of bitching, he nodded. There was some recipe research he could do while he waited for Evan. He’d planned on doing it last night, but after Evan left, he’d been in too much of a bad mood to do much of anything, including eat a slice of the quiche he’d been so excited over.
“Good.” Evan sounded pleased with himself that he was back in control. Miles didn’t like it, but he also didn’t know what to do about it.
They stopped by Miles’ apartment and unpacked the bags of supplies. Maybe Evan didn’t want to fight anymore either, because by the time they made it to the Five Points office, the biting tension of earlier had been replaced by a frosty silence.
Miles wasn’t sure it was an improvement, but he also didn’t know how to fix it. So he kept his head down and when Evan grabbed his laptop from the cubicle next door, Miles acted like he wasn’t even there.
When Lucy found him an hour later, he was pretending to do recipe research, but instead knew he was just staring broodingly at the laptop screen.
“You look down,” she said, and the kindness in her voice was so welcome, he couldn’t help but turn towards it.
“Rough few days,” Miles admitted.
“We’re heading over to the good coffee place, you want to come with?”
Lucy hadn’t ever invited him to accompany her and her kitchen minions before, but it was a no-brainer for Miles to say yes. First, he loved the good coffee place. It was better in every way compared to the Starbucks downstairs. Second, Lucy had worked at Five Points since the inception of the culinary department. Almost as long as Evan. Maybe she knew something about why he was so damn prickly.
Maybe he should have asked Evan himself, but Miles figured he had already tried that last night, and while it had worked for a little while, Evan had eventually clammed up and then he’d run away.
“Oh yeah, I could definitely use a pick-me-up,” Miles said and shut his laptop.
While they were waiting for the elevator to take them down to the ground floor, Lucy looked over with a compassionate smile on her face. “Evan running you ragged?” she asked, tucking a lock of short honey-blond hair behind one ear.
Evan had told him once that Reed had hired Lucy a few years ago, when he’d struggled to handle both the kitchen management duties and the producing aspects of his job. Miles had been surprised to learn that even with her efficiency and obvious skill set, she didn’t have any formal culinary training.
“It’s tough reconciling two visions for one show,” Miles said as they stepped on the elevator together.
Lucy gave him a sympathetic grimace. “I can only imagine. Evan is pretty driven and usually very sure that his vision is the right one.”
“Yeah,” Miles said awkwardly. He wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to go on record as asking. “I didn’t realize the extent of it until last night. I didn’t know he’d started at Five Points as an intern.”
“Oh yeah,” Lucy said as they stepped off. Her two assistants, Steph and Chloe, were waiting outside the building. Steph hadn’t even taken her work apron off, and it was dotted with bright swatches of some sort of red berry mixture. “He surprised everyone, but I don’t think he ever surprised himself. He always knew he’d get the producing job. The rest of us just came on board a little later.”
“Are you talking about Evan?” Steph piped up.
Chloe was lagging behind, typing something frantically on her phone. “Her girlfriend,” Lucy whispered with a cute little smirk as she nudged her shoulder against Miles’. “They’re practically inseparable and very adorable.”
“Yeah,” Miles said, at the same time that Lucy said, “He’s feeling a little overwhelmed by Steamroller Evan.”
“Steamroller Evan?” Miles’ eyebrows raised and he hoped—prayed—that he wasn’t breaking any sort of unspoken professional conduct to gossip about his producer outside of the office. But he was desperate for any sort of insider information he could use to convince Evan they were both on the same side. And also, that Miles didn’t dislike him, no matter what that email might have made Evan believe.
“Shhhhh,” Chloe said, proving that while she’d been texting, she’d also been listening to the conversation. “You know he hates it when you call him that.”
“I don’t care,” Steph said stubbornly, “if you get in his way, and you won’t get out of it, he’ll absolutely steamroll you.”
Three sets of eyes turned towards Miles as they entered the coffee shop, and he threw up his hands. “Ladies, let me get some caffeine first.”
Unfortunately he didn’t get much of a reprieve, as there was actually nobody in line.
When he ordered a muffin with his coffee, Lucy leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Don’t get the banana walnut, get the white chocolate cranberry. Trust me.”
He was picking at the wrapper, waiting for his cappuccino when Chloe and Steph came up to him. “So,” Chloe said, “is he as hard to work with as I’m imagining?”
“It’s not that hard,” Miles said, which was sort of a lie, but he also wasn’t going to throw Evan under the bus with the kitchen staff when they already called him Steamroller Evan. “It’s actually nice to work with someone who has a passion for the details, for making sure that you’re as successful as you can be.” And that was true, and Miles had not even realized it was until this moment until he’d had to find something good to say.
“You can’t tell me that him wanting to always be right is easy,” Steph piped in.
They had him there. “No,” Miles admitted. “It isn’t always easy.”
“You know why he has to be right. He’s always trying to prove that him getting hired full time wasn’t some fluke,” Chloe said.
Miles frowned. “Why would it be? He got an internship and got offered a job because he worked hard.”
Lucy approached, carrying a paper pastry bag. “He didn’t tell you?”
It felt like everyone knew something that Miles didn’t, and he was suddenly, blindingly sure that what everyone knew that he didn’t was something vital.
“I don’t know what he hasn’t told me,” Miles said flatly. He shouldn’t feel embarrassed that Evan hadn’t confided anything about his job history, even though they were supposed to be working closely together, but he was.
“It’s okay,” Chloe said, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm. “He’s just so private. I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you.”
“What, that he’s an axe murderer? That he’s secretly hoarding chicken nuggets in his apartment?” Miles retorted.
“I’m just surprised he mentioned the internship and didn’t tell you that it’s an internship exclusively for foster kids who’ve been able to attend college,” Lucy said softly.
“Foster kids?” Miles couldn’t believe that Evan wouldn’t have told him that he’d been a foster child, but it made sense that he hadn’t. When had Miles ever been receptive to that sort of confession? Before or after he’d told him he hated his face?
“He tries to pretend that he didn’t get the internship because of that,” Steph said. “I guess because he’s ashamed of it or whatever.”
“Steph,” Lucy admonished softly, “we’ve talked about this. Whatever reasons why Evan doesn’t want to talk about his past are his own.” She turned to Miles. “But I did think you should know, since I didn’t think he’d tell you himself.”
“I appreciate it,” Miles said. He’d rather have heard it from Evan himself, but he had a feeling that would have been a long time coming—or not at all. And this felt like the big break that he’d been waiting for; the mysterious information that Evan had been holding back that Miles had desperately needed to understand how and why he ticked.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” Lucy said apologetically, “but I do encourage those two,” she gestured to where Steph and Chloe were picking up their coffee, “not to gossip about everyone. Especially Evan. He doesn’t like it, and frankly, neither do I.”
“It hasn’t been easy, working with him,” Miles said, finally breaking down and admitting the truth. “We’ve been struggling.”
“He’s a great person, funny and smart and irreverent, but you do have to break through his shell.”
Miles didn’t want to tell Lucy that mostly what he’d done since arriving at Five Points was do things to reinforce Evan’s shell. For example, that email had given it pretty much bulletproof coating, and he was still trying to figure out how to de-militarize it.
“I’m working on it,” was all he could say. He didn’t want to admit that a lot of the struggle was his own fundamental misunderstanding of the situation on day one, and how he’d acted like an unprofessional ass since then. He was trying to change, to start over, but he was beginning to think there was no way to do that—all he could do was try to move forward and be better.
And then Miles went and got really stupid. “But you don’t have to sell him to me,” he said, not even recognizing that conspiratorial edge to his low voice, “I really like him. Even if he can be tough to work with sometimes.”
Unfortunately, Lucy understood exactly what he’d meant. Miles almost wished she was a little less sharp on the uptake. “I thought you might,” she admitted. “When we walked in yesterday, I could feel . . . undercurrents.”
No matter what Lucy might say about gossip, he knew it happened. It happened everywhere, at every workplace. It had even happened at Terroir, despite Bastian Aquino’s notoriously hardcore anti-gossip policy. And nothing got people talking quite like a juicy workplace romance.
Evan was definitely going to kill him.
So much for starting over and trying to be better every day.
“Ah, well, you know. Adversarial relationships and all,” Miles tried to joke, but the look Lucy shot him made it very clear she understood exactly what was going on and no amount of denial or just kidding! was going to convince her otherwise.
“We picked up your coffee!” Chloe said to Miles as she and Steph walked back to where he and Lucy were standing. “We’re all ready to go.”
“Oh good,” Miles said, glancing at his watch and realizing he was about to be five minutes late to meet his adversarial relationship, “because I’m about to be late.”
* * *
“You’re late,” Evan said, head bent towards his screen, fingers not missing a beat as he typed furiously.
“I know, I’m sorry, I thought I’d grab a coffee.” Miles slid into the chair next to Evan, but Evan still didn’t look up.
“Oh, thanks for bringing me one too,” Evan said levelly, even though he had to know that Miles only had one cup in his hands.
“I . . . uh . . . didn’t know you wanted one?” Miles said sheepishly. He’d made it back into the building two minutes late, and then had raced to Evan’s cubicle, only to not find him there. He’d made the rounds, until one of the writers stopped him and said Evan was in the conference room, still working after the meeting had ended.
Why hadn’t it occurred to Miles to bring him coffee? He liked the good coffee place as much as anyone else. It was probably because instead of actively trying to charm anyone in particular, Miles just fell into bed with willing people and had never wanted someone who didn’t want him back—or wanted him but fought it. Miles knew he was going to have to learn to be more aware and less selfish if he was ever going to convince Evan to consider dating him. A great almost-blowjob wasn’t going to cut it. Not with Evan.
Sex was probably off the table now, even though Miles knew Evan wanted it. Miles wasn’t familiar with the sort of self-denial Evan practiced; if he wanted someone and the feeling was mutual, sex happened. It was an easy way to live, and an easy way to get off. Everything about Evan was complicated, but Miles wanted him anyway. Inexplicably.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you coffee,” Miles said when Evan remained silent, typing away, the staccato of the keys all the response he probably deserved.
“It’s okay.” Evan paused. “I wouldn’t expect you to be looking out for other people. Me, especially.”
And yeah, that was galling. Especially galling when Miles had spent the last half an hour discovering that nobody had probably ever really looked out for Evan before. It probably wouldn’t take an extraordinary amount of effort to make him feel special and considered. And Miles still couldn’t figure out how to meet even the lowest of expectations.
“I’m sorry, I’m . . . I know it isn’t an excuse, but I was with Lucy, and Chloe and Steph and . . .” Miles hesitated, trying to find the best way to say, sorry, we were g
ossiping about you and they told me you were a foster kid and I wish you had told me yourself.
All Miles knew was that was definitely not the way to break the news.
“And they told you all about me, I’m sure.” Evan’s voice was still painfully level. It was like he’d hidden every emotion behind some very high, very thick wall, and Miles, who thought maybe he’d been making at least a little bit of progress, struggled not to feel disheartened.
“Yeah, that was something they mentioned. And when they did, I couldn’t help but wish you’d told me yourself. Just last night we were talking about how you started here, and you didn’t mention it.”
Evan’s head snapped up, and Miles recoiled at the fire blazing in his dark eyes. “Why? So you could figure out how I worked? How to manipulate me better? I’m sorry, but that’s personal information and I don’t just share it with anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone,” Miles insisted. He could feel himself stepping onto unsure, potentially dangerous ground, but he was so tired of Evan retreating. This time he wasn’t going to let him; he was going to chase after him.
“Right. I must have missed the memo where you were anything more than the talent I’m supposed to be producing,” Evan said, and Miles realized his voice wasn’t cold, it was hot with anger. And maybe that wasn’t the best emotion for him to be expressing, but it was something, and Miles was so sick of beating against that cold wall.
“We kissed, I had my mouth on your dick!” Miles couldn’t help but exclaim.
“Yeah, that turned out so well,” Evan retorted.
Miles shot to his feet, frustration spreading through him. He knew he needed to keep his temper in check, because letting it run wild hadn’t gotten him anywhere. But Evan pushed every single button of his like he owned them. “It’s not like I forced you to kiss me. That was your choice. You did that, and you can’t take it back.”
“I keep telling you I am!” Evan’s voice was rising, and now he’d stood and Miles had a sudden déjà vu of their argument in the break room before he’d gone running off to Napa.