by Beth Bolden
But it had felt wrong not to tell Xander. Not exactly a lie, but something akin to it.
“I’m a very determined person. And I’m determined to make this work,” Xander said.
“Something we have in common,” Damon pointed out.
“So . . .” Xander hesitated. “Where do we begin here?”
There were old broken-down barrels, fragments of the wooden racks that had used to hold them, and other random crap scattered around the enormous room. “Clean this up first,” Damon said. “I’m planning on starting tomorrow.”
“I suppose since I don’t have any other plans, I’ll be here,” Xander said wryly.
In his head, it was a simple answer. Yes. This was never something Damon had wanted to build alone; he’d always wanted a partner. And simply, he needed the help. But something else entirely came out of his mouth.
“If you want. You’re not obligated to help. Not with this part of the process.”
Damon didn’t imagine the incredulous look Xander shot his way. Damon felt like shooting an even stronger look at himself. Why did he keep self-sabotaging this way? If Xander was less Xander—less determined, less stubborn, less committed—then he would have been out of here, running as fast as his legs would carry him.
“I’ll be here anyway,” was all Xander said. “What time?”
“Eight. Is that too early?”
“You remember that my boss used to be Bastian Aquino, right? That guy that showed up here today, in all his manipulative fuck you glory? Eight is nothing.”
“Even when you were working an evening shift?’
Xander gave a short laugh. “Like that ever mattered to him.”
“Well, it matters to me.” Damon meant it. He just hoped, even with all the stupid shit he’d said tonight, that Xander believed him.
Xander patted him on the arm. It was a far cry from both his earlier embrace and the ambiguous invitation into his personal space. Damon fought the instinct to reach out and grab his hand back.
“If I’m going to be back here at eight, I’d better get home,” Xander said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a date, but as Damon watched Xander walk out to his car, he realized that he felt gypped that he hadn’t gotten a goodnight kiss.
* * *
“You’re home at a weird time,” Nate said when Xander walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
Nate was leaning against the far counter, a glass of rich red wine dangling from his fingers.
Xander switched directions and grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself a few inches of wine from the bottle on the counter. It was Nate’s wine, which meant it was really good wine. Also, his stomach was still jittery from butterflies and water wasn’t going to settle them enough for him to sleep.
“I can’t believe you missed the hot gossip. I quit last night.” Xander took a sip of wine, glancing over at the bottle. “This is good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Nate grumbled.
Xander shouldn’t have been surprised. Nate was a certified sommelier, and worked at one of the more prestigious wine tasting rooms in the county. He also moonlighted at a smaller, very exclusive late night wine bar. He was also his friend Wyatt’s ex-boyfriend, and certifiably obnoxious. His access to very good wine was one of the only reasons Xander had agreed to let him move in as his and Kian’s other roommate.
Also, it was a little flattering and more than a little entertaining when Nate would hit on him. Xander had never been tempted to give in to more, but quitting had him feeling freer than he had in a long time.
And it was undeniable that Damon, with his soft, hesitant, but fiery looks under his lashes as he’d eaten Xander’s food had set him on fire. He was worked up with no place to go, except to his own bedroom with his own hand, and nothing about that sounded particularly appealing.
Frankly Nate, despite his model features and slim build, had never appealed to him either, but maybe . . . maybe.
“So you finally left Terroir. I guess it was only a matter of time,” Nate said, taking another long drink of wine. “I bet Kian’s freaking out.”
“Kian is mad as fuck,” Xander said.
Nate laughed. “Where is he, anyway? He’s not home yet either.”
“Feeling lonely?” Xander said, and he knew he was baiting Nate. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t good. But somehow it felt satisfying.
“Are we going to do this again?” Nate questioned.
“Do what?”
“You taunt me into flirting with you, then shut me down. What are you, frigid? A virgin?”
“Neither,” Xander said. He finished his wine and sauntered back close to where Nate was standing, and picked the bottle up off the counter. “Do you mind if I finish this?”
“Nothing I say would probably stop you,” Nate grumbled.
“True,” Xander said. He finished filling his glass and tilted it toward Nate. “Cheers. What should we toast to?”
Nate rolled his eyes. “I want to believe this sudden friendliness is you turning over a new leaf, but you never do anything without about ten ulterior motives.”
“I do not,” Xander retorted. “You’re . . . my roommate. We can share a glass of wine and toast to something pleasant. It wouldn’t kill you.”
“It wouldn’t kill you,” Nate said, voice very steady as he gazed right into Xander’s eyes. His eyes were a nice innocuous brown. Perfectly nice, if you liked brown eyes. Xander usually didn’t have an opinion, but maybe he should. Maybe instead of throwing his heart away to someone who—per usual—did not appreciate it, he should give someone a try who could actually be interested in him.
He never would have picked Nate for that option, but Nate was also convenient.
Setting his wine on the counter, Xander gave a nod. “You’re right; it won’t kill me.”
He leaned in, telegraphing his intentions a mile away, and brushed his lips against Nate’s.
Xander wanted to believe that he had every intention of giving this . . . experiment . . . a real shot at success. But the instant his lips touched Nate’s, he instantly knew it was a failure. Nate wasn’t who he wanted. He already knew who he wanted; he’d been desperately trying to get him out of his mind for a year now, and Damon was still as firmly as entrenched as ever.
All tonight’s “business meeting” had done was make Xander want Damon even more. And this experiment? It was a hot fucking mess.
“Well,” Nate said, after Xander had pulled away. The truth must have been written all over his face because it was clear Nate knew. “That could’ve gone better.”
“It could have,” Xander admitted with a sigh. He leaned back against the counter and picked up his wine again. “That was a terrible idea.”
“Kissing me when you’re actually thinking about someone else? Yeah, I could have told you that.”
Xander digested this. “How did you know I was thinking about someone else?”
“You had that gung-ho, I’m going to do this despite everything I really want sort of thing written all over you. Also, you’ve never been even the slightest bit interested in kissing me before tonight. You let me flirt with you because you’re bored.”
It was not a particularly flattering list of reasons. Even Xander could admit that. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And I’m sorry I keep drinking your wine.”
“It’s okay,” Nate said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. “It’s better than drinking alone. After all, your ex-boyfriend didn’t end up hooking up with a rich baseball player and then falling in love with him.”
“I don’t have an ex-boyfriend,” Xander said, and the wine must have loosened his tongue because he normally never would have admitted that. Especially to Nate.
“Really?” Nate didn’t sound all that surprised. “I guess that makes sense. You keep falling for the wrong guys. So is this new one going to end up like Miles?”
“I wasn’t in love with Miles,” Xander said stiffly. “He
was my friend.”
“Right, okay, you just keep telling yourself that,” Nate said. “So, this new guy?”
Xander sighed. Swirled his wine in his glass. “Almost definitely straight.”
“Almost definitely? Sounds like there’s some room for movement there.”
“He looks like he’s interested, sometimes. There’s something between us, for sure. But he was married to a woman.”
Nate smacked him hard across the arm. “So he could be bisexual or pansexual or maybe he didn’t even know he liked men. Lots of gay men marry women at some point in their lives.”
Xander raised an eyebrow. “All I’m saying,” Nate continued, “is that you keep falling for these guys and then never doing anything about it. Almost like you’re scared they’re going to like you back.”
“I am not scared.”
But Nate’s gaze was gallingly truthful. Like he could see right into all of Xander’s soft, mushy bits inside and knew what was really going on: that he was scared shitless a good portion of the time. Especially when it came to relationships.
“Then give this guy a chance to open up his horizons. You deserve that, at least.” Nate drained his wine, and tipped his empty glass jauntily toward Xander. “Cheers. To new beginnings.”
Chapter Five
The alarm went off at 7 a.m., and instead of getting up like he always did, Xander hit the snooze button once, and then twice.
There was part of him that was excited to go to Damon’s, and help jumpstart the beginning of his new career. There was another part of him that felt absolute dread.
Dread and guilt.
It had been so stupid to kiss Nate last night. Stupid, petty, and childish. The ultimate move when you were holding so tightly to your blinders that you couldn’t see even a fraction of the truth in yourself. But just because Xander knew why he’d done it, that didn’t magically erase any of the guilt.
Of course, he should feel the most embarrassed over facing Nate, but the thought of running into him in the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and grumpy, pouring himself a cup of coffee, didn’t keep him in the bedroom. It didn’t matter that Damon would never find out what he’d done. Xander knew, and that was bad enough.
Finally, when he couldn’t possibly avoid it anymore, he got out of bed and slunk down the hall to take a fast shower. He threw on jeans and an old t-shirt he liked to jog in, and because he had at least an inkling of the sort of work they’d be doing today, tied on a pair of work boots that he hadn’t worn in years. Not a lot of call for construction work for a chef. But Xander’s stepdad was a general contractor, and had always believed in having a pair of good work boots handy.
His stepdad would love Damon, and his determination to build something out of nothing. Especially out of the ashes. But that didn’t matter, Xander reminded himself, Frank was never going to meet Damon. At least not in the context of him approving and becoming friendly with him—becoming part of the family.
Xander could hear Frank’s no-nonsense voice in his head now: You can’t let the past define your future, kid. You’ve got to give it a fresh chance.
It sounded way too much like Nate’s, you keep falling for these guys and doing nothing about it.
He grabbed two pieces of brioche bread, and slathered on some of the apple butter Wyatt had sent them in his last care package—like Xander and Kian, who were both chefs, were somehow starving without him feeding them. Frankly, Wyatt was probably bored, sitting around the mansion he lived in with his professional baseball player boyfriend. Making apple butter for Xander and Kian was probably keeping him from climbing the walls.
The time on the clock in his car was 8:03 when he pulled into Damon’s gravel driveway.
“Cappuccino?” Damon asked distractedly when he opened the door. His hair was still damp and he was wearing another one of those damn flannel shirts, already turned up to the elbow, exposing way too much muscular forearm for just after eight in the morning. Xander felt dizzy with it.
A little forearm skin was enough to make him fluttery. If he ever saw Damon naked, he’d probably keel over dead.
“I’m not going to turn down your coffee, pretty much ever,” Xander said, following him to the kitchen. In the morning light, away from the dusk and the dark of the night before, the atmosphere felt slightly less charged. But the electrical zing when Damon handed Xander his cup and their fingers brushed for a split second was still there. It was just fresher and more innocent in the morning than it had been the evening before. Full of more serious possibilities than a fling, or a single night that Damon would probably regret.
The fact that he was even considering serious or possibilities at all were enough to have Xander turning toward the back sliding door, staring out at the blue sky over the garden. Better to look there than straight at the person he had trouble looking away from.
Better to stave off the inevitable and eventual feelings as long as possible.
“You ready to get started?” Damon asked. He had his own cup of coffee, thick and rich and dark—Xander could smell it even though he stood a few feet away. It made him want to crowd into Damon’s space, take the cup from his hand, and taste all that richness right off his tongue.
Yeah, kissing Nate had definitely not made him forget about wanting to kiss Damon. He looked down at his watch. It was seven minutes after eight. He’d been in Damon’s presence for four minutes, and he’d already felt it again.
What he should really do was bring up Damon’s ex-wife again, and pry a little, no matter how incredibly rude it would be. Maybe then he’d find some unassailable evidence that Damon was straight and his heart would stop wishing for shit it couldn’t ever have.
But even Xander, who had a reputation for being blunt as fuck, couldn’t figure out a way to bring up Damon’s ex-wife without torturing them both. So instead he nodded, and said, “Sure, let’s get started while we still have the day.”
“My granddad used to say that all the time,” Damon admitted as they trudged through the morning dew toward the barrel house.
“Funny, that’s a favorite saying of my stepdad, Frank,” Xander said.
“Let me guess, he thinks it’s awesome to get up early,” Damon said. “It’s still dark out and he’s chomping at the bit to get going.”
Xander shared a commiserating smile. “Basically.”
“God, morning people,” Damon said with a bright, blinding grin.
And Xander, who might have lumped himself in with that group until this morning, when guilt had weighed him down so much he’d had trouble getting his ass out of bed, simply nodded. Just to see that smile again.
“You’re not a morning person but you’re up this morning. Eager to get started?”
Damon unlocked the door to the barrel house, clipping the keys to his belt. “I’ve already started. I’ve been up early every morning since I started the garden. I’ve found it’s a lot easier to work in the mornings.”
“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” Xander admitted. Damon had already been committed to this project for a year. Because without a garden, there would be no garden-to-table restaurant.
“It’s okay, I get it. This building is the beginning for you. First,” Damon said, gesturing around at all the broken-down crap piled in the corners, “we’ve got to get all this out of here.”
Xander sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid to get your hands dirty?” Damon asked, shooting him a quick, slanted look. Xander felt it along his skin, in the blood in his veins. It was difficult to see this project and this partnership as a mistake that was only going to lead to a broken heart, but when he stood here, on this land, looking at the walls of this old, still majestic building, it was impossible to see himself anywhere else.
Some things, Xander decided, were inevitable, and some fates unavoidable.
And this was his. It had been crystal clear the moment he’d kissed Nate, but the truth was, he’d known it for a lot longer than that. He’d known it, deep
down, the first moment he’d seen Damon’s figure through the pouring rain. Why else feel so compelled to stop?
“No,” Xander said. A lot more than his hands were going to get dirty on this project.
* * *
Some of the debris had to be broken down into smaller pieces of wood. Damon produced a pair of gloves for himself, and then surprisingly, a pair for Xander that fit him perfectly.
Xander flushed as he pulled them on, trying not to think that Damon had sized up his hands, and then gone and bought gloves to fit.
Damon must have seen, because he explained, sounding nearly the most self-conscious that Xander had ever heard him. “Your hands . . . you might put them through hell,” Damon said. “But I’m not going to let you get a splinter on my watch.”
“You realize I get worse than a splinter all the time,” Xander had responded, and hiding the fondness in his tone had been impossible. Maybe they couldn’t ever be in love, but Damon clearly cared what happened to him.
“Burns, cuts, scratches, right?” Damon asked and Xander nodded.
“Don’t care,” he concluded. “No splinters, not if I can help it.”
They’d gotten to work then, Xander trying to focus on the pile he was breaking down and lugging outside to the spot Damon had designated. It was harder than he’d imagined it would be. Not the work—that was easy. The wood was old and soft. Easily broken down so it could be carried outside in armfuls. No, the problem was Damon, and the flex of his biceps as he used a crowbar to pry the metal ring off some old wine barrels. The problem was the little grunt he let out when he pried each one off.
Xander tried not to think about how Damon might sound as he fucked, that little grunt louder as he bottomed out every time. He totally failed.
“Something really interesting in that wall?” Damon asked, totally catching Xander in the middle of a really good, really explicit fantasy. The other problem was that it had been so long since he’d had sex, and it didn’t look like that streak was getting any shorter, considering how the kissing experiment with Nate had gone.