by Beth Bolden
“Don’t you dare,” Xander said. His heart accelerated at the thought that Kian could and might and that Damon could say yes. And then he would have zero excuses left.
“I won’t need to, if you do your part,” Kian said, but he sounded so satisfied there was no question that he had already known how Xander would decide. Maybe he’d even known before Xander did.
Xander was still trying to figure out how people with the most troubled love lives were often the ones who saw other people’s the most clearly when they pulled up to Damon’s house.
Then he saw Damon’s face, smiling as he walked over to the car, and Xander realized knowing why was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered—just like the first awful batch of marshmallows buried in the trash at home and the second, perfect batch, bagged in the back seat of the car—was the result.
Chapter Seven
Damon had been telling himself all afternoon not to get his hopes up but he was still inevitably crushed when Xander texted him about five to say he was coming over in a few hours and that he was bringing his friend and roommate, Kian.
Of course, he’d responded in the affirmative, confirming that Xander was free to bring whoever he wished, but Damon couldn’t help but think that Xander was bringing a friend to make sure the atmosphere didn’t feel too date-like.
Damon reminded himself that the dinner they’d shared the other night had felt plenty date-like and Xander had barely batted an eyelash, but then, besides practically inviting him to sit on his lap to sign the contract, he’d not exactly made any overtures either.
This would all be a little easier—and a little harder, too—if Xander wasn’t interested in him.
But then Xander’s car pulled up to the house, and he stepped out. His grin was wide, and it took a second, but Damon realized that smile was for him.
It wasn’t for Kian, who must be the guy getting out of the passenger side of the car. Or food. Or a job offer. Or the Barrel House. It was for Damon.
Xander slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a half hug. “Wait until you taste these marshmallows I made,” he said. “I think pastry might be my second calling. Maybe we won’t even need to hire a pastry chef.”
Damon snorted, soft and amused, both from Xander’s clear affection and also from his ego. “If you want to work yourself to death, that’s on you.”
“It’s ambition. Just ambition,” Xander said, laughing. “By the way, this is my friend, Kian. Kian, this is my new partner, Damon Hess.”
As he shook Kian’s hand, there was definitely a part of him that liked Xander’s introduction. Partner sounded so much better than boss. Probably to Xander too, after so long under Bastian Aquino’s thumb.
Kian was a few inches shorter than Xander, and had that look like he was just coming into his adult muscles. Still slender and a bit slight, with a mop of blond hair and a pair of baby blue eyes.
Damon nearly made the crack about Aquino out loud, but then he remembered that Xander had mentioned the other day that his friend had an unfortunate crush on the man.
He hadn’t been lying. It was definitely unfortunate. Bastian looked like he could eat Kian for lunch and then spit him back out again for dinner.
“So you still work at Terroir?” Damon asked, as they headed back toward where he’d set up the wood and debris for the bonfire.
“I do,” Kian said, and shooting Xander sort of a half-hearted glare. “But I got the night off.”
“What he means to tell you,” Xander said conspiratorially, “is that he nearly chopped his finger off with a Japanese mandolin.”
Damon glanced down at Kian’s hand, and sure enough, it was wrapped in a thick white bandage. He’d been so busy staring at Xander, appreciating the tan of his skin against his white t-shirt, that he’d barely spared Kian a glance.
“That sounds . . . dangerous,” Damon said.
They stopped in front of the enormous pile they were about to set on fire.
“This also looks dangerous,” Xander said, with a gleam in his eye that Damon knew meant both terrible and wonderful things.
“You say that with such relish,” Kian complained. “You’re going to make Damon think you’re a sort of pyro creep.”
Damon definitely did not think Xander was a pyro creep. Far from it, in fact. But the problem was to explain this without sounding like he had a real serious crush. Which he definitely did.
“Uh, um,” Damon hesitated.
“See?” Kian said triumphantly, and Xander frowned.
“No,” Damon said firmly. “Definitely not a creep. Nothing like a creep.” If anything was creepy, it was probably his own smile as he gazed longingly over at Xander, trying to communicate just how wrong Kian was.
The frown disappeared, which wasn’t all Damon wanted, but he’d take it. “So where are these fantastic marshmallows?” Damon asked, trying to change the subject and very aware that he was doing so clunkily.
Xander pulled a Tupperware container out of the paper bag he was carrying. “Right here. I thought it wouldn’t do to get too gourmet, and stopped by the store for regular old graham crackers and Hershey’s milk chocolate bars to go with them.”
“Should have gone for the Valrhona,” Kian muttered.
“Don’t mind him,” Xander said, leaning closer to Damon, his shoulder brushing Damon’s arm and making his heart skitter like a teenager again, “his pain meds are wearing off, and he can’t take any more until tomorrow morning.”
“Should he be here? With his injury?" Damon asked in a low voice, hopefully out of Kian's hearing. He was also hoping his question looked like friendly concern and not annoyance that Kian was crashing their non-date.
"Socializing is good for him." Xander tipped his head up toward Damon's, grinning, and his stomach fluttered. "He's never able to leave that damn restaurant."
"Is socializing good for you too?" Damon asked. He kept his tone even, but it didn't matter how it sounded, the question still sounded flirtatious.
But Xander just nodded, and didn't move away. "I'm not . . . I'm not always good at it," he confessed. "Maybe you can help me practice."
Damon remembered very well the last person who'd asked him for help “practicing" in this area—he'd eventually married her. If Kian hadn't been standing only a few feet away, maybe he even would have thrown rational thought to the wind, and kissed Xander. All in the name of practice, of course.
Maybe it was better that Kian was here. It kept Damon from doing anything he couldn’t take back tomorrow.
"I'm not either," Damon admitted. "Maybe we can practice together?" It was hard to even say it without blushing, and he wasn't sure he quite managed it.
If the way Xander glanced over at his friend, and then back to Damon, and then down to Damon's lips, not even being very subtle about it, was any indication, then he thought he'd just been given the green light.
Of course there was still the problem of Kian. He'd walked over to the other side of the big pile of debris, but he was still present.
"Are you two going to stop flirting so we can burn this down?" Kian asked.
Yep. Definitely still present.
Xander blushed a really cute shade of red, but he didn't deny it. And neither did Damon, which he hoped Xander noticed.
“Yeah, let’s get this fire started,” Damon said, and blushed himself at the double entendre he’d accidentally used. Kian laughed, and when Damon found the courage to glance over at Xander, he was smiling too. He figured that the nervous determination on Xander’s face was probably reflected in his own.
“How can I help?” Xander asked.
“Um, you could find some sticks to toast the marshmallows,” Damon suggested. “I’m going to go grab the matches from the house.”
* * *
“Well,” Kian said as Xander pulled some long sticks from the pile in front of them, “he sure seems interested from where I’m standing. No reconnaissance required.”
“Shhh,” Xander hissed at his fr
iend. “He’s going to hear you.”
“And know he’s interested? Yeah, I think he knows that already.”
Xander yanked a stick out, examined and then threw it back in. “It’s not that simple. We’re business partners. Technically he pays my salary. This restaurant is something we both need. I don’t want to fuck that up.”
“You don’t know it will,” Kian said, his tone at odds with the optimism of his words. “Now you’re just making excuses.”
“I don’t know it won’t,” Xander countered. “I’m just trying to be cautious here and make a good decision.”
“Are you? Or are you just afraid of something good happening?”
Xander finally found a pair of sticks he liked, and set them aside. “Something good is happening. We’re opening a restaurant. I’m going to be head chef of my own place, finally. I don’t have to get yelled at anymore. If anyone’s yelling, it’s going to be me. That feels pretty damn good.”
Kian opened his mouth, probably to argue that Bastian was a wonderful person under all his verbal abuse, but Xander didn’t want to hear it. “I don’t care,” was all he said. “I know you and I are always going to disagree on this, but he’s a shithead.”
“Who’s a shithead?”
Damon had come back with the matches, and once he spotted Xander’s sticks, pulled a pocket knife out, and opened it, passing it to him handle-first. Like the credit card from a few days ago, the metal of the knife was also warm from his body heat. It was old too, well-used, with nicks and scratches. Xander absently rubbed the warm steel with his thumb as he started to trim the sticks and whittle the ends to a point.
“Aquino is a shithead,” Xander said shortly.
“No argument from me,” Damon said cautiously. Like he knew, even without being told, that this was a delicate subject between the two of them. “You got that okay?” he asked, gesturing to the sticks Xander was prepping.
Just as he asked, the knife slipped, and poked him right in the thumb. Like all of Damon’s equipment, it was well-used but also well taken care of and the edge was sharp. Blood welled from the tiny wound. Xander stuck it in his mouth and sucked it. “I was fine,” he teased. “You just had to go and ask.”
Damon was by his side in a second, a hand on his back—warm and heavy and reassuring. “Sorry. It’s sharp.”
“It’s fine, I’ll live,” Xander said with a chuckle. “At least it doesn’t need twenty-four stitches.”
Still, Damon reached over and eased the knife from Xander’s grip. “I’ll just finish these up real quick,” he said apologetically. Like he’d fucked up by keeping his knife sharp and lending it to Xander.
The sticks were almost ready anyway, and it only took Damon a few more expertly aimed swipes of the knife to finish them off.
“I’ll start the fire now,” Damon said, handing the sticks over to Xander and pocketing the knife.
From the way he lit the fire, Xander could tell he’d done it before. Knew exactly where to get the kindling set and in only a few minutes, there was a roaring bonfire in their midst, chasing away the evening chill in the air.
Xander dug out the container of marshmallows and stuck two on the end of the sticks, handed one to Kian.
“They look delicious,” Damon said when he wandered back over. He reached down and popped one from the container at Xander’s feet into his mouth. “Taste delicious too,” he said through a mouthful of marshmallow.
“I proved it to you. What do I get in return?” he teased, all too aware that Damon was standing close, much nearer than he needed to, only a few inches away, their shoulders practically touching. He leaned in closer.
“Anything you want,” Damon said quietly, eyes flicking to Xander’s, and then over to where Kian was standing, prepping his own s’mores. Xander felt a single brush on his hand and glanced down to see Damon extending a finger to graze the back of his hand.
It felt more tremendous and shattering than a hundred other, far more intimate touches.
“I’m not good at this,” Xander repeated from earlier.
Damon smiled, a bittersweet story written in his eyes Xander hoped he might hear one day. “Me either. But I’m running out of reasons why we shouldn’t try anyway.”
“Me too.” Xander kept his voice low, hoping that Kian, who was pointedly turned away from them, nearly around the other side of the bonfire, wouldn’t hear them. It had been the right thing to do to bring Kian, considering their recent problems, but he also regretted bringing him along. Anticipation filled him, all too aware that something was going to happen between him and Damon, but not entirely sure when.
Xander reached back and looped their fingers together. He hoped Damon understood. Felt it when he saw Damon’s quiet, satisfied smile. Sometimes Xander felt like he’d made a career out of falling for the wrong men; never before had he started anything with anybody feeling like it wasn’t going to eventually end in disaster. But this felt fated. Like he’d come here in the middle of a rainstorm not because he needed to stop Damon, but because he’d needed to meet him instead.
“Let’s make some s’mores,” he said after a minute. “We can’t let Kian have all the fun.”
He reluctantly detached their fingers and held the stick with the marshmallow closer to the flames.
“Can you get the chocolate and the graham crackers ready?” Xander asked distractedly, trying to rotate the stick so the marshmallow didn’t spontaneously burst into flames. The fire was hot, and burning even hotter every second. “This is going to go pretty quick.”
When he glanced back, Damon was there, the requested items already unpackaged and waiting. “Oh,” Xander said.
“I have made s’mores before,” Damon said, amused. “I might not be your culinary equal, but I can help.”
Was it any wonder that Xander, despite all the reasons to be afraid of this, and to approach it more carefully, more cautiously, kept wanting to throw all his worries to the wind and make Damon his?
Xander carefully deposited his marshmallow on the upturned chocolate and cracker and left Damon happily munching away as he went to go check on Kian.
“Didn’t Nate say he wasn’t working tonight?” Xander asked his friend, hoping he wouldn’t immediately understand what he was really asking.
“You mean, can’t Nate come get me so you can make out with sexy farmer over there?” Kian asked archly.
“No, yes, um, I mean . . .” Xander stumbled. He and Kian might not have been as close as they once were, and he wasn’t quite as familiar with this more pointed Kian. Kian with all his soft edges beginning to harden and sharpen. Xander wasn’t sure he liked it, but he definitely knew who was to blame for it.
“I took care of it,” Kian said.
“You took care of it?” Xander questioned.
“He should be here in a few minutes,” was all Kian would say.
“You didn’t ask Nate?”
Kian turned to face him. He didn’t look happy. “Nate told me what you did. That wasn’t cool, Xander.”
“I thought maybe . . . I don’t know. I thought maybe I should be trying the easy way for once, not just fruitlessly pursuing the hard way.”
“Nate is a person, he’s not an experiment,” Kian argued. “And it doesn’t really look fruitless from over here.”
“I didn’t . . . I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know.” They were all bad excuses, and Xander already knew he was going to have to make a groveling apology to Nate at some point, but he hadn’t known he was going to be called out by Kian for not doing it yet.
“Not all of us are good at this,” Xander continued after taking a short, clearing breath. “I’m trying.” He took another breath, trying to say the right thing for once. “I think what I’m trying to say is that not all of us are as sure as you.”
Kian looked surprised. It made sense, because Xander had surprised even himself. “What, no more warnings?” He looked up, like he saw something in the distance and gave a little wave.
M
ust be the person Kian had called to pick him up.
Then the person walked closer, and his shadowy form cleared into the recognizable bulk of Bastian Aquino.
“He texted me to check on how I was doing after service,” Kian said, and Xander knew the defensive tone he was using was all his own fault. Was Bastian the right person for Kian? Maybe it was only for Kian to say. “I told him he could come and check on me in person. We’ll get out of your hair in a minute.”
“No warnings,” Xander answered Kian’s earlier question with certainty. “You’re an adult. You know what you’re doing.”
Kian sighed. “Not really. But maybe. Maybe soon.”
* * *
Damon watched as Bastian and Kian left. Xander walked over, a partially eaten s’more in his hand.
“Was that Aquino?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. Somehow being alone with Xander had been easier with the added protection of Kian’s presence. Now they were alone and his nerves were flaring. Did he have the right to do this? Even with the warning to Xander that he was bad at this? Still, Xander couldn’t say that he hadn’t been as upfront and honest as he could be. He knew Damon was an alcoholic. Sober and recovering, but still an alcoholic. Rachel hadn’t known when they’d started dating, but that was high school and even Damon hadn’t known what the future held.
“Yeah.” Xander stared out at the retreating figures, and Damon had a feeling more than just their burgeoning relationship was on his mind.
“You okay?”
Xander finished his s’more and nodded. “I keep trying to save him from a big mistake with Aquino but maybe it’s not a mistake. Maybe I’m wrong. Who’s to say I’m right?”
“Probably everyone else who knows Aquino?” Damon suggested. It occurred to him that if Xander’s friends knew about his alcoholism, and what had happened with Rachel, they might be warning Xander off him. The same way Xander had warned Kian off Bastian Aquino.