Kitchen Gods Box Set

by Beth Bolden

  “Actually,” Ryan inserted. “I’d disagree. He probably cares too much.”

  Wyatt had never thought of it that way before, and maybe it didn’t make him like his ex-boss any more, but it did help shed some light on his personality.

  “I had a coach like that once,” Ryan said with a shrug. “It’s so important what people think of them, they’re willing to bulldoze everyone and everything to look good. Sound familiar?”

  Wyatt had to nod.

  “Is there any way we could see Kian and Xander while we’re here?” Nana asked. “I know they’re working, but maybe they have a break and could come say hi?”

  “Never going to happen. I’m sorry, Nana. Chef Aquino is the only kitchen employee allowed on the dining room floor. But maybe we can steal them away after brunch is over. I’ll see.” Wyatt didn’t think it was likely, and also didn’t want to attempt it because doing so would mean getting into the kitchen. Putting himself straight in the crosshairs of the Bastard was definitely a bad idea, but he didn’t want to tell Nana no. He also didn’t want to have to explain that despite being back in the Terroir dining room, he was definitely not allowed back in the kitchens.

  The waiter returned with their drink refills, and as he was distributing glasses, looked over at Ryan in a way that was not very casual. Wyatt resisted the urge to nudge his chair closer, because jealousy was stupid, and also they weren’t really together anyway.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re Ryan Flores, aren’t you?” the waiter asked as he set Ryan’s mimosa in front of him.

  If Wyatt had needed other proof that the waiter was new, here it was. Being fired for this was the very least thing Aquino would do. Waitstaff were given very strict instructions not to call attention to celebrity visitors to Terroir. Asking if he was Ryan Flores was breaking every one of those rules.

  “I am,” he confirmed.

  “I’m such a big Dodgers fan,” the waiter gushed, and Wyatt told himself that this was cute, it was adorable, it was anything but annoying, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “I lived here as a kid, and just came back a few months ago.”

  Which explained why he was breaking the cardinal rule of the Terroir dining room and also why he wasn’t acting chill like most LA fans did.

  “Great,” Ryan said, and sounded just as annoyed as Wyatt felt.

  “I’ll have your first course up shortly. It’s a lavender chamomile honey yogurt with fresh berry compote,” he said.

  “Chamomile,” Tony said in disgust as the waiter departed. Wyatt found what he hoped was his brother’s foot under the table and kicked.

  “What?” Tony demanded. “Is Aquino trying to put us to sleep?”

  “It’s so interesting to me that chefs these days find inspiration everywhere,” Nana said loyally. “Imagine using lavender in food. I used to grow lavender in my garden.”

  “You’re not a fan of these unique inspirations?” Ryan asked Tony.

  “I prefer simple food, prepared really well,” Tony said. “Farm to table is well and good. But it needs to be something the diner recognizes. I like the way the Tavern does it.”

  Wyatt bit his tongue and did not remind Tony that the reason he’d ended up on this “simple is better” path was because he’d been booted out of culinary school and had never had an opportunity to cook at a restaurant with a reputation for complexity like Terroir.

  “What do you think, Wyatt?” Nana asked him.

  “I think there’s room for both points of view, and both types of food preparation. Some people aren’t going to want lavender in their food, and that’s fine, and then there are some diners who want to try something that nobody else has made before.”

  “I’ve always wanted to try a more mobile approach to dining,” Tony said. “I love the food cart concept, where you can change the menu up at will, and always try something different. I think people are a lot more apt to try something if it comes from a food truck with a cute name, and in something recognizable, like a taco shell or a burger bun.”

  “That’s . . . actually really interesting,” Wyatt said. “I’d love to work in that sort of framework.”

  He knew he wouldn’t be Ryan’s personal chef forever. After all, despite taking the job and keeping it, they both knew Ryan didn’t really need one. Eventually he’d have to move on, and maybe the idea was one to tuck away for a rainy day. He couldn’t really imagine working with his brother, but Tony had clearly matured and changed. Maybe it was time to put all that past history aside and give something a try.

  “Your first course,” the waiter said with a flourish, setting down bowls of yogurt, beautifully arranged with a floral pattern of bright-red berry sauce traced across the surface.

  Nana’s face said it all; that coming here to this had been worth the risk of Aquino’s wrath and worth Ryan’s uncomfortable fan encounters.

  “Oh, Wyatt, this is so beautiful,” she exclaimed. “I’m not sure I can even eat it, it’s so pretty.”

  * * *

  The brunch passed with Bea raving over each and every dish, her smile growing brighter with every moment that passed. Even Wyatt managed to relax—though he wasn’t sure if that was because Aquino didn’t make his way into the dining room or because Ryan had relaxed, too. In any case, no other fans approached them, and even their waiter toned down his interest which Wyatt sensed Ryan was grateful for.

  As the meal drew to a close, and he pulled out his wallet to pay the bill, Wyatt checked his phone. To his shock there were three texts from Xander. Xander wasn’t much of a texter, even on his best day, and he, like the rest of the kitchen staff, always put his phone into the storage lockers during a shift. Three texts during Terroir’s famous brunch service was the equivalent of a 911 call, complete with SWAT team and Life Flight.

  Just as Wyatt expected, when he opened the texts, they were supremely unhelpful—cryptic one-word messages like “emergency,” and “help,” and the last one, “this is bad.”

  Wyatt felt himself tense. If Xander thought something was bad, then it was very bad. But how bad could it be, he reasoned. The food coming out of the kitchens was as flawless as ever, and none of the waiters looked worried or harassed. If something bad had gone down in the kitchens, then it was at least somewhat contained.

  The thought didn’t really set Wyatt’s mind at ease. He texted back, “I’ll be at the back door in five,” and hoped that Xander still had his phone on him so he’d see the message.

  “I need to check on something,” he told Nana, Tony, and Ryan. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Are you going to see Xander and Kian, dear?” Nana asked, oblivious to the undercurrents of Wyatt’s worry.

  “Something like that,” he told her, rising to his feet.

  “Make sure to pass on how wonderful the meal was,” she insisted. Ryan’s eyes were questioning across the table, but Wyatt gave a quick shake of his head to indicate that he didn’t need to accompany him.

  Exiting the front door, Wyatt made his way around the side of the building, down to the employee parking and entrance.

  Xander was leaning against the wall next to the door, eyes closed. He was still in his whites, with one of his trademark chili pepper head-wraps on.

  “What’s going on?” Wyatt demanded.

  Xander’s eyes opened and Wyatt realized how weary he looked. There was no shift you took at Terroir where you didn’t feel exhausted by the end, but this was an emotional weariness and a clear concern that got Wyatt’s stomach churning.

  “Kian,” Xander said simply.

  “Callie and Nico both warned me he was in a mood today,” Wyatt said. “I hoped that it didn’t have anything to do with Kian.”

  “Do you remember when someone sent overcooked branzino to the governor?”

  Wyatt remembered. They’d all walked on eggshells for at least a week, everyone terrified to provoke Aquino into another angry explosion. His ears had rung for at least a day from the blistering lecture they’d all been given, even though at
best they’d all been tangentially involved in the branzino incident. The culprit, of course, had been summarily fired, after a rant that promised he’d never again work in food service in California.

  As far as Wyatt knew, that had held, and the guy wasn’t even able to get a job at McDonald’s, working the fryer.

  “It would be hard to forget.”

  “This was . . . minor in comparison. Except,” Xander said, taking a shuddering breath, “it was all on Kian. The Bastard found out he’d gotten you tickets. I guess he felt it was a betrayal.”

  Wyatt was speechless. He’d expected Kian to get a minor lecture for the infraction, if it could even be termed that. He’d never imagined that Kian would bear the brunt of Aquino’s temper.

  “It wouldn’t have been so bad,” Xander continued, “except that Kian didn’t just stand there and take it. He dished it right back. I guess that’s maybe why it didn’t touch the rest of us. Chef was too busy trying to contain Kian, and then too busy weeping in his arms about how Kian doesn’t care about him after all.”

  “What?” That seemed both improbable and impossible. Chef didn’t have personal feelings. Everything was directed to and from the professional side. It was never a personal betrayal—only a professional one, and according to Aquino, that was always worse.

  Wyatt didn’t personally agree, but then he’d never had the balls to tell him that before. Kian apparently had.

  “Kian started to let him have it, telling him he was being unreasonable and mean, and it was all so true and so pointed, and I couldn’t help but think he’d been listening to both of us too long. Mostly me, because it was all there in the delivery, which probably could have given industrial-grade acid a run for its money. But Aquino didn’t take that lying down, so he started screaming back. Then suddenly . . . Kian said one sentence, and he stopped yelling, so we couldn’t hear it. But Aquino shut right up, and we all heard him beg Kian not to leave.”

  “I don’t understand,” Wyatt said. “He begged him not to leave? Bastian Aquino begged him not to leave?”

  “Exactly,” Xander said. “Worst day ever.”

  “I’m failing to see how this is bad for Kian. It clearly means he’s got a hold on Aquino, and frankly it’s terrifying, but maybe Kian can handle it.”

  “Kian can’t handle it,” Xander growled. He started pacing back and forth. “All this means is that they’ve got a terrible hold on each other. If Aquino had yelled at him and then fired him, then he would’ve been hurt, devastated probably, but he would’ve gotten over it eventually. Found a new job, fallen in love with someone more appropriate. But all this proves is that Aquino feels the same, and if Kian figures this out, he’s never going to get out while he still can.”

  Wyatt hadn’t thought of it that way before. But then he remembered what Kian had said the other night, about it being worth it, no matter the cost.

  “I don’t think he’s going to get out. No matter what, he’s not going to,” Wyatt said slowly. “I think it’s time to let it go, Xander.”

  Xander threw up his hands in frustration. “Would you have stopped that chef from overcooking his branzino and saved his career if you’d been able to?”

  “Of course I would have,” Wyatt said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know I would have. But this is different. This is personal, not professional, and they’re already halfway in it. You can’t stop it now. All you can do is support him, now, and if it goes bad.”

  “Not if, when,” Xander predicted darkly.

  Wyatt knew better than to ask why Xander was so convinced it was going to end badly. He wouldn’t get an answer. Not a real one, anyway. Xander kept all those feelings locked up tight—except for the little that escaped when he worried about someone he cared about.

  “That’s all we can do,” Wyatt repeated.

  The door next to them opened, and Xander jumped, which proved how worked up he was. But it was just one of the bartenders from upstairs. Nico, in fact.

  Wyatt was the one who froze when he saw who it was. “Oh, Wyatt,” he said. “I think they’re about finished upstairs.”

  “I know, I was just checking in with Xander,” Wyatt said.

  “I’ve got to go back in,” Xander muttered, and shouldered his way through the door without even saying goodbye. Which was to be expected in Xander World, even when he wasn’t in a bad mood. And he was in a terrible mood.

  “So,” Nico said slyly, not leaving, and filling Wyatt with foreboding. He remembered what Tony had said about him, and wished that he could forget. “I heard you’re here with Ryan Flores.”

  “Yeah,” Wyatt said, hoping that a short answer would keep Nico from continuing the conversation. But Nico wanted to talk, and nothing was going to stop him.

  “And that you’re living with him.”

  “I’m his personal chef,” Wyatt inserted.

  “Yeah.” Nico sounded like he hadn’t bought that for a second. “I know all about his arrangements.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to think I’m the first guy he’s been with,” Wyatt defended.

  “Possibly,” Nico said. “But he’s never gonna stay with one guy. He’s not built that way. He likes it all kinds of ways, with all kinds of guys. Likes to keep it exciting.”

  That sounded like Ryan, the adrenaline junkie, and even though Wyatt had always loved that part of his personality, suddenly he wasn’t entirely sure.

  “There’s no crime in enjoying sex,” Wyatt said shortly.

  But Nico was determined to torpedo everything—or do something, Wyatt still wasn’t sure. Was he jealous? Was he hoping that if he got Wyatt to leave, his hookups with Ryan might continue? Wyatt didn’t know. All he knew was that Nico kept fucking talking and wouldn’t stop.

  “Just . . . lower your expectations,” Nico counseled. “Actually, scratch that. Obliterate your expectations. Because he’s never going to let you have any.”

  That didn’t sound like the Ryan that Wyatt had come to know. At least most of the time. He couldn’t help but think of the few awkward instances that Wyatt had desperately tried to write off as growing pains with a new very public relationship.

  But maybe it was more. Wyatt cursed Nico for getting into his head, when that was the very thing that he’d clearly set out to do.

  “I’ll take that under consideration,” Wyatt said. “And I’ve got to go. Thanks for the advice, I guess.”

  * * *

  “You’ve been quiet,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah, I can’t imagine why,” Wyatt grumbled. “I’m only preparing to throw myself out of an airplane.”

  “But you’re going to be with me,” Ryan said, as the plane taxied towards the runway. “It’s all gonna be good.”

  “I guess I should be happy you settle for skydiving and aren’t into BASE jumping,” Wyatt said. The truth was Nico’s confessions had him worked up far more than the possibility of launching himself out of an airplane with only a parachute to stand between him and death.

  “Oh, I’ve tried that too,” Ryan said. “But I like myself in one solid piece, thank you very much, and management didn’t like it when they found out. I guess it made them think I was a bad investment. They aren’t exactly wild about the skydiving either, to be honest. Or my collection of fast cars. They called Eric in and yelled at him for half an hour over the Maserati I bought at the end of the season.”

  “Gee, I can’t imagine why.”

  “I know it’s stupid, but it’s an addiction,” Ryan said, with a helpless little shrug that Wyatt found adorable, even when he didn’t want to.

  It wasn’t Ryan’s fault that Nico existed. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault that Nico had decided to give him unsolicited advice. It definitely wasn’t Ryan’s fault that Wyatt had listened despite all his intentions not to. But despite all those things that Wyatt knew to be true, it was impossible not to feel a little frustrated. Maybe even a little angry.

  If Ryan hadn’t been so awkward about their relationship today, Wyatt knew he wo
uldn’t have listened to Nico. How was it that Ryan could be perfectly normal and perfect boyfriend material except when he was trying to prove he was Wyatt’s boyfriend?

  It made no sense, and Wyatt liked things to make sense. The culinary arts were full of irrefutable facts, and there was a comforting certainty in the kitchen. At first, when Ryan had been so determined that his boyfriend had to be Wyatt, it had been easy to believe that he’d meant more than just a random guy he’d picked to play a lover.

  Now, Wyatt couldn’t be sure. And yet, he was allowing himself to be strapped to him anyway, doubt be damned.

  “What other crazy things have you done?” Wyatt asked, because hearing how many ways Ryan had conspired to kill himself was somehow easier than wallowing in his own confusion.

  “Besides BASE jumping? Last year I was trying to get my wingsuit certification, but I got busy and had to let it go. I actually like it better than BASE jumping, because it’s a longer flight, more like flying.”

  “Is it just shit in the air?” Wyatt asked.

  The airplane engine revved up and they started down the runway. “I love this part, so maybe it is just shit in the air?” Ryan said.

  “Taking off?”

  “It’s the anticipation in the air,” Ryan said with relish. “Knowing I’m going to choose to jump out of this plane.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with surfing.”

  “Have you gone deep-sea diving? That’s pretty wild, too. Totally different vibe, but still gets the blood pumping.”

  “Do you swim with sharks too?” Wyatt asked sarcastically.

  “Once,” Ryan said with a grin. Wyatt regretted asking.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll try to contain your life-threatening activities to waking me up in the morning and this skydive,” Ryan said, and Wyatt wanted to find him as endearing as he had only this morning. It wasn’t that he loved him any less, it was that he doubted him more. Right about now he wished he could push Nico out of the plane.

  “I appreciate that,” Wyatt retorted dryly. “Now go over the steps again, please.”