by Beth Bolden
She saw him instantly, and he wasn’t sure who went redder.
“I’m sorry,” she said. It wasn’t much of a consolation, but she sounded at least a fraction as humiliated as he felt. “I didn’t know . . . I thought Damon was here.”
Xander smiled wryly. “He was. He went to get breakfast.”
“Oh.” She hesitated, and he knew that was when she took in the long strip of condoms on the floor. He’d loved bringing them, and pulling them out to Damon’s obvious delight. The whole night had been so perfect, and now it was crashing down around his ears. “Oh.”
He watched her try to regroup. She was pretty, with light brown hair curling around her shoulders, and kind eyes.
“I guess, um, I guess I’ll wait downstairs for Damon.”
Xander said fuck it and scooted out of bed, trailing bedsheet as he went. “Let me get some clothes on.” He paused. “How did you even get in here?”
Burying her head in her hands, she definitely looked as embarrassed as he felt. Maybe even more. “I’m Rachel. Damon’s ex-wife. His father told me he was in town for a few days, and gave me the entry code. It never . . . I never imagined that he would bring someone.”
The woman’s humiliation was beginning to make more and more sense. This was Damon’s wife. Xander froze, and couldn’t help but wonder if she had even known if he was bisexual. Xander wanted to believe she had, because Damon didn’t seem like the type to keep that kind of secret from someone he loved, but then Xander kept waiting for Damon to make their relationship public, and that hadn’t happened yet.
“I’m his new head chef,” Xander said flatly. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He definitely wasn’t going to drop his bedsheet in front of her now that he knew who she was.
She turned and fled. Though he’d had hope that she would just leave, the embarrassment overwhelming her, after he found his clothes and ventured downstairs, he found her in the empty kitchen, leaning over the counter.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I should have known Nathan wouldn’t have good intentions.”
“He didn’t know,” Xander said flatly. “Damon didn’t tell him he was bringing me.” His hands reached out and he gripped the edge of the marble tightly. Like maybe he could keep himself from falling apart. The last person he wanted to do that in front of was Damon’s ex-wife.
“So you’re the chef for Damon’s new restaurant?” she asked, clearly trying to change the subject, and he might have appreciated that, but he couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate anything about her. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, and he knew absolutely fucking nothing about her, but he hated her.
“I am,” he said shortly.
“And you’re . . .” she hesitated, “you’re involved with Damon.”
“I am,” he repeated. “We’re together.”
That seemed to throw her a little, but she recovered quickly enough that it was obvious she’d known that Damon was interested in both men and women.
“I’m happy he has someone,” she said, surprising the hell out of Xander. He’d half-expected a jealous tantrum, but instead she looked pleased. It shouldn’t have really surprised him because she had such kind eyes, but he wasn’t doing his best thinking right now. She reached out with a hand. “I’m Rachel. It’s really nice to meet you.”
The petty, nasty part of Xander did not want to shake her hand or introduce himself. But if Damon came home and found them in a catfight in his kitchen, it wasn’t exactly going to reflect well.
He shook her hand briefly. “I’m Xander Bridges.”
Rachel gave him an appraising look and Xander fought not to squirm at her careful perusal. He began to wish he’d taken time to put something on other than an old pair of running shorts and a loose tank. “You’re the chef who just left Terroir, aren’t you?”
Damon had barely mentioned his ex, only a few times in passing, and frankly that had been a few times too many for Xander so he’d never asked about her. His confusion must have showed, because she laughed.
“I’m a restaurant consultant, here in San Francisco,” she explained. “You’re now the third person to leave Aquino in the last eight months. Word starts to get around.”
“People leave all the time,” Xander defended.
“Yeah, but not someone with your skill level, and not when he promised you chef de cuisine, and you left anyway. Now it makes sense. You wanted to be in charge of your own restaurant.” She paused. “And I suppose working for Damon seemed like a pretty good gig. He’s a good guy.”
It was petty and stupid jealousy, but Xander didn’t want to listen to his ex-wife talk about how great Damon was. He already knew, thank you very much.
“It does make sense why he’d come to the townhouse,” she continued. “He wouldn’t come here at all when we were married, and when Nathan called me to say he was staying here, I was a little shocked. That’s really why I stopped by. I wanted to make sure he was okay and not like . . . punishing himself somehow by coming back here.”
Curiosity overcame his reservations about talking to Rachel. “He wouldn’t come here at all?”
“I don’t know what he’s told you,” Rachel said, her voice dropping, “but Damon has a really difficult relationship with his father.”
“He’s told me,” Xander said dryly. “It would be tough to miss if you were paying attention. And I am.”
Rachel smiled. “I really meant it, you know? I am glad he has someone and he’s happy. We were good for a little while, but we were two kids struggling with something we didn’t understand.”
“His drinking?” Xander guessed.
“I wanted to help him so badly,” she said with a heavy sigh, “but I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. He needed an adult, a support system, and I was so young, I couldn’t be what he needed. I hoped for so long that it wouldn’t mean that he didn’t date again.” She smiled wryly. “It was selfish, but I didn’t want that on my conscience.”
“I do think he worries about it sometimes,” Xander admitted. “Not because of you. But because he’s afraid he’s not worth the risk.”
“And you obviously know that’s bullshit.”
“Obviously,” Xander retorted.
“Do you mind if I wait for him?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him in so long, and it would be good, to see him happy.” Her smile had a bittersweet edge, and Xander realized that their marriage hadn’t been a particularly happy one. Why was he jealous of it? It hit him like a lightning bolt that his jealousy wasn’t about Rachel or Damon—it was his own past rearing its ugly head. He wanted so badly for Damon to admit to the people around them that they were together. If he did that, maybe Xander could finally stop worrying that it wouldn’t ever happen.
“Of course not.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “It’s only awkward if we make it awkward, right?”
She laughed. “I knew he was bisexual, just in case you weren’t sure.”
“I figured you must have. You were more surprised that there was someone in his bed than the fact that it was a man. Do you think . . .” Xander hesitated. “Would you imagine he’d have trouble telling anyone?”
She shook her head emphatically. “He made zero secret of it when we were together. We’d check out hot guys together, honestly. I really wouldn’t worry about it.”
But her words only made him actually worry more. The niggling fear in the back of his head expanded with her confession. If he had no issue with it, and had been unapologetic about it years ago, why would he continue to hold back? Was he ashamed of Xander? Was the problem not that Xander was a man, but that Xander was Xander?
That didn’t seem possible after last night but with the cold light of day and Rachel’s admission, it was hard to trust any other explanation. But before he could question Rachel further, he heard the front door open and then close.
Xander stepped into the foyer, the soaring ceiling above them. Damon was carrying a paper bag and a coffee carrier with a few cups in it.
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br /> “You’re up,” Damon said, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping to surprise you.”
Xander took a few steps closer, until Damon could hear him with a low murmur. “Rachel is here. In the kitchen.”
Damon couldn’t look more surprised than if he’d told him Bastian Aquino had just asked them for a threesome. “What?”
Xander just shrugged. “I guess your dad told her you were here.”
“Shit,” Damon hissed. “Was it as bad as I think it was?”
“No. I mean, yes, but we’re both adults, and she doesn’t seem too jealous.”
“She wouldn’t be,” Damon admitted wryly. “She remarried a year and a half ago.”
Xander hadn’t bothered checking out her ring finger, but it made sense, considering everything Rachel had said this morning. She hadn’t come here to get Damon back, or to even see if he was interested. She’d come here to do exactly what she said; to make sure he was okay.
“Do you want me to tell her to leave?” Xander asked. “You don’t have to talk to her.”
“Nonsense,” Damon said firmly. “We’re friends, sort of.”
It shouldn’t bother him for Damon to walk into the kitchen without a second thought, leaving Xander behind, but it sort of did. He wanted answers to all the questions swirling through his head, and he wanted to sit Damon down and force him to explain. But the truth was, Xander just wasn’t brave enough to hear the truth—if it was what he suspected.
Still, he put a brave face on, and followed Damon into the kitchen. He shouldn’t have flinched when he saw Damon hugging her, but he couldn’t quite help it.
It wasn’t jealousy exactly; it was something more like envy that he’d had zero issue standing up in front of all his friends and family and marrying Rachel. They weren’t ready for that by a mile, not even close, but Xander suddenly wasn’t sure that if they made it that far in their relationship that Damon would do the same with him.
And that hurt.
“It’s so good to see you,” Damon said. “You look good.”
“So do you,” she retorted, giving him a little smack to the shoulder. “Happy.”
Damon flushed, like he’d been caught in some sort of secret. “I am.”
“And you’re starting a restaurant. You should have called me.”
“I wanted to do it on my own,” Damon said dryly. “And I have someone with plenty of experience.” He glanced back, right at Xander, and smiled broadly. “No offense to your skills, Rach, but it’d be overkill.”
“Understood. But I’d better get an invite to opening night,” she insisted.
Damon glanced back again, like he was making sure it was okay with Xander. And Xander wasn’t stupid; he knew his envy or jealousy or whatever the fuck it was, wasn’t attractive.
He nodded, adding, “Of course.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, that’s so great. I can’t wait.”
“We’re actually here to scope out equipment and furniture,” Damon said, glancing down at his watch. “And we’d actually better be going. We have appointments starting in an hour.”
Xander took that as his cue to leave. He reached out, took Rachel’s hand, and he could say, almost without a lie, “It was really good to meet you.”
She beamed, like she totally agreed, and it made his statement even less a lie. “Ditto.”
Xander was in the shower when Damon came in to bathroom, leaning a hip against the vanity counter. “Thank you for not freaking out when she showed up,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Xander said. It wasn’t quite fine, but he didn’t know how to tell Damon the things that were bothering him without word vomiting it all up.
“I love that you’re so chill,” Damon said earnestly.
Personally, Xander didn’t think he was chill at all, but he was willing to agree with Damon. “It’s no problem. She’s nice.”
“We were young and stupid when we got married,” Damon said, which was basically a version of what Rachel had told him earlier. “I think she was relieved when we got a divorce. She met someone more her style and married him not long after.”
“It sounds like you’re both happier now,” Xander offered cautiously.
“Definitely.” Damon’s smile made it clear that was true. If only his smile could banish all Xander’s new worries.
“We have a couple of restaurant supply stores to hit,” Damon said, “and then dinner tonight at Michael Mina. Is that okay?”
“It sounds great,” Xander said, flipping the water off, and he realized that despite this whole debacle, he meant it.
Chapter Thirteen
It was tough to wrap his head around it, but Damon was about to open a restaurant, and after coming back to Napa, the reality of it hit hard. During their San Francisco trip, they’d ordered the restaurant equipment Xander had picked out, and had purchased the rest of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture they’d need for the dining room.
As an extra bonus, he’d taken Xander to Michael Mina, where they’d definitely enjoyed the food, but more than that, Damon had loved the glint of determination that had emerged in his lover and head chef’s eye. Xander might have felt like his rustic Italian food couldn’t find a place in high-end dining, but after eating Michelin-starred Michael Mina’s rustic Greek food, he’d been converted.
It could be done, and it could be done well—and Damon knew Xander was just the person to do it.
David had texted him to let him know the refinished floors were done, and that both the new addition for the kitchen and the bathrooms were now roughed in. He gave the project another few weeks, and after reading his text, Damon had sat down heavily. It wasn’t hard to feel overwhelmed. Opening a restaurant involved so many decisions, and a to-do list that was frighteningly long.
Still, as the week post-San Francisco ticked by, he and Xander were able to cross off a good portion of it.
The logo was finalized and Damon ordered the signage, and tonight, Xander was cooking him the rest of the dishes he’d yet to taste. If everything was delicious as Damon knew it would be, the menu would be finalized too. Of course, it was seasonal, so the menu development wouldn’t ever truly be finished, but getting that first one locked in was vital.
“I’m nervous,” Xander said as Damon sat at the dining room table in Xander’s rental house, watching as he wrung his hands.
“You shouldn’t be,” Damon reasoned.
Xander shot him a glare. Damon found it sexier than he probably should have. That was the problem since they’d started sleeping together; everything Xander did, conscious and unconscious, seemed to turn him on. He’d been celibate a long time, and he’d forgotten what it was like to be completely, head over heels attracted to someone.
He lifted his fork and tried to ignore the clanging voice in his head that told him that he wasn’t just head over heels attracted—he was head over heels in love.
He’d felt it before they went to San Francisco, but afterwards, there was no pulling back or rescaling the cliff. Jumping off it had felt as natural as breathing, and it was undeniable, even if he wasn’t even close to being ready to admit it to Xander. Though that probably had more to do with Xander than Damon’s own feelings.
“You take me to Michael Mina,” Xander said, starting to pace, “and then you came back and expect me to be satisfied with mediocrity. I can’t be. I won’t be.”
“Your food isn’t mediocre.” Damon had discovered in the last few weeks that his boyfriend—because that fact was also undeniable even if they hadn’t exactly discussed the label itself—had a secret dramatic side that only emerged when he was stressed.
Xander was absolutely, one hundred percent stressed right now. He threw his hands up and muttered. Probably something unpleasant about Damon’s father in Italian. Again, probably way sexier than it should have been.
Whenever Xander got a little worked up, it was so easy to distract him by kissing him or touching him or offering a convenient method to work off his ex
tra energy. But tonight, they had to finalize the menu; Damon had promised to send it to the printers in the morning. They couldn’t get distracted with sex, no matter how much Damon might want to.
“It sure feels that way right now,” Xander grumbled.
“Well, why don’t you serve me some of it, and I’ll give you my honest opinion. I promise.”
Xander raised an eyebrow and shot him a very dubious look. “You promise to be honest?”
Like Damon hadn’t been honest, as honest as he could be anyway, for their entire partnership and relationship. Besides, if they could make it through his ex-wife showing up while Xander was still lounging around in bed, a whole chain of condoms on the floor, they could make it through anything.
Though Rachel, after Xander had gone upstairs, had smacked him in the shoulder then given him a high five. “He’s nice and really cute and a real catch,” she’d murmured to him while she was hugging him goodbye. “Don’t let him go.”
He hadn’t exactly let Rachel go, but in the end, it boiled down to that. How could he have asked her to stick around when the love between them had slowly been suffocating, strangled by Damon’s demons?
Still, he agreed with her. There was no way he was ever letting Xander go, even when it still sort of felt like he was getting away with the better end of the deal.
Stressed-out drama queen episodes and all.
Damon rose up out of his chair at the dining room table and crossed toward the kitchen, stopping right in front of Xander. “You,” he said, reaching out and taking his hands in his own, “are special. Talented. But even more than that, I know you can do this because you used to do this every single damn night. Bastian might have been the seed of Terroir, but by the time you came around, he was just a supervisor. You and the rest of the kitchen staff earned him his stars every year. I know you can do this because you’ve already done it.”
Xander stared at Damon like the thought had never occurred to him.
“How many nights did you turn out his tired dishes, reinventing them without ever changing the recipe? Making sure they were flawless? And how many nights,” Damon demanded, “did you stand there and wish you could make something else? Something better?”