Kitchen Gods Box Set

by Beth Bolden

  Xander glanced away, like he didn’t want Damon to see the look in his eyes. The truth of what Damon was forcibly revealing to him.

  “Every night,” he finally murmured. “I thought it every single fucking night.”

  “This is your time,” Damon said, squeezing his hands. “This is your chance to do just that. I know you’re not going to blow it because there’s never been anybody less inclined to blow things.”

  A laugh bubbled out of Xander’s throat, and Damon gave himself a mental pat on the back. He looked marginally calmer than he had a few moments ago, and he was laughing, relaxing a second at a time.

  “I’d say I’m pretty inclined to blow things,” Xander pointed out with an amused voice.

  Damon pulled him into a quick, tight hug, then lingered because each day they grew closer, and each day, he was less inclined to let him go.

  “Hold that thought,” Damon said when he finally did. “Now, are you going to feed me or not?”

  There was a new resolve in Xander’s expression and Damon wanted to believe that he’d helped put it there—but truthfully, Xander had a stockpile of steely reserve and all Damon had done was show him where it was.

  Returning to his chair, he watched as Xander cooked the halibut, gently lifting it out of the pan with a thin metal spatula, arranging it on the prepared plate just so. He walked over and placed it in front of Damon.

  “Halibut with lemon and a fresh tomato gastrique,” Xander said.

  Damon lifted his fork. “Are you not eating?”

  Xander let out a rueful laugh. “I’ve eaten this about ten times in the last five days. I think I’m good.”

  The halibut was buttery on his tongue, with just the sour, yet impossibly sweet, tang of the lemon. The burst of tomato and fresh mint finished off the bite. It was glorious, and while Damon knew his expression said it all, he couldn’t help but add a single word. “Wow,” he said. “Just . . . wow.”

  “It’s simple but it’s a perfect simplicity,” Xander said and he sounded justifiably smug.

  It should have occurred to Damon long before this. After all, he’d sought out Xander in the first place, determined to make him his partner in the restaurant and any other way he was willing to be. Still, somehow the realization took Damon entirely by surprise.

  Maybe it was the stray thought that he wanted to see that smug expression of Xander’s for years. For forever, if he had his way. He’d never tire of seeing the man he loved acknowledge just how brilliant and talented he was.

  Because he did love him. Had started falling in love with him a long time ago, maybe even that night a year ago, and he’d simply never stopped falling. Until now, when his heart fell right at Xander’s feet. And Xander just stood there, smiling away, thinking that this was all about a perfect piece of halibut, when the truth was it was so much more.

  “You really like it,” Xander stated, not even questioning it. Knowing it. Believing it.

  “I love it,” Damon said honestly.

  “I thought you might.”

  Damon reached up a hand. He might not be ready yet to tell Xander—he still wasn’t a hundred percent sure he was even doing the right thing, involving Xander in his life, burdening him with his problems—but he could show him.

  He grasped Xander’s hand in his and tugged him down, pulling him down to sit in his lap. “You really need to try this,” he said.

  Xander made a face, but he was also smiling and looking undeniably pleased. As well as settling right into Damon’s lap like it was a throne made just for him. And as far as Damon was concerned, it was.

  “I suppose you could tempt me with a bite,” Xander said.

  Loading up the perfect bite on his fork, with a little bit of everything, Damon guided it gently to Xander’s lips. He chewed and swallowed, a pensive expression on his face. “It is pretty good,” he admitted, the smugness melting into a boyish, bashful pleasure at the taste.

  Damon fell hard again. He had a feeling he would be falling many times a day for as long as his relationship with Xander continued. Possibly even after it ended. There was a terrifyingly beautiful complexity within this man—his certainty and his honesty tempered with his sweetness and his kindness and his loyalty. The way he’d look right before he sucked Damon’s cock, combined with this look right here.

  “I am so glad you came into my vineyard a year ago,” Damon whispered. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted Xander to hear him, but he also couldn’t swallow the words back anymore. They just spilled right out. “And I’m so glad I went looking for you again.”

  “I am too,” Xander replied with a grin, laying a big smacking kiss on Damon’s cheek before hopping off his lap. “I hope you’re hungry because I have two more dishes I want you to try.”

  Damon watched him go. It was impossible not to look at him with the overly romanticized goggles of someone in love, but they still felt tempered—and maybe even tainted—with too much reality.

  If the restaurant wasn’t a success. If their partnership didn’t work out. If he relapsed and lost his fight with sobriety.

  There were so many potential pitfalls between them it was impossible to just throw everything to the wind and trust it would work out. But at the same time, he knew he’d come too far, both personally and professionally, to let Xander go now.

  “Are you coming to the interviews tomorrow?” Xander asked as he threw some thinly sliced carrots into a sauté pan.

  “Interviews?” Damon, lost in thought, couldn’t remember what was happening tomorrow.

  “Remember, I’m picking staff tomorrow,” Xander said patiently. “Well, not picking per se, because I already know who I want to work with. It’s sort of a formality but I still want you there to meet them.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I think I can make it.” Damon didn’t even bother to check his calendar; if Xander wanted him there, he’d make sure he was available.

  “David texted me to tell me the equipment was all hooked up too,” Xander said excitedly. “I’m going to have everyone cook a recipe. Maybe I’ll have them try the halibut.”

  Damon didn’t mention that he’d had a long walk through the restaurant with David just this afternoon, going over a thousand tiny details, and when David had told him the kitchen hookups were all done, he’d been the one to encourage him to tell Xander.

  David had looked at him strangely, and asked if maybe Xander wouldn’t want to hear it from Damon himself. Even though he’d known David forever, and he knew David wouldn’t give two shits about Damon being involved with Xander personally, he’d still shied away from the implication. Tried to act like it was all just professional between them.

  It wasn’t shame or guilt or his inability to claim his own sexuality. He just didn’t want Xander’s life and career torpedoed by association with someone like Damon. Someone who was still a ticking time bomb.

  Damon knew it was all Xander’s choice. He was a grown man, with an intelligent and analytical mind, who could make his own informed decisions. But Xander had only ever seen the sober and controlled Damon; he’d never met drunk Damon. Never experienced any of drunk Damon’s terrible choices.

  It wasn’t like Damon was going to go out and get drunk to prove a point, simply to show Xander what could happen if he lost control, but Damon couldn’t seem to get his lingering concern to dissipate completely.

  “I can’t wait for tomorrow,” Xander said, happily babbling away, a complete one-eighty from Damon’s darker thoughts.

  He dragged himself back to the present, forced himself to sit here, in this moment, with the man he loved who was cooking food they’d soon be serving to their patrons. It was a crowning achievement, and he should enjoy it.

  “It’s going to be great,” Damon enthused. “I can’t wait either.” It wasn’t faking it, he reasoned with himself, it was re-focusing himself into the place he needed to be. The place he should be.

  * * *

  “This is the full menu,” Xander said, distributing a single
sheet to each potential staff member that stood around him in a loose semicircle. “We’ll be creating seasonal menus and specials based on what’s fresh and in season. The majority of the vegetables will be coming straight from the garden outside the door.”

  Billy, the ex-Terroir line cook who had grown up in the last two years, and who Xander really wanted to be sous, raised a tentative hand. “Can I see the wine list?” he asked. Xander knew he had ambitions to be a chef/sommelier, and in Napa that wasn’t even that unusual. But he had a feeling that Damon’s no-alcohol policy might dissuade Billy from taking this job. Xander just hoped that Billy could see the other benefits of working here.

  “There isn’t a wine list.” Xander met Billy’s eyes like he held a fraction of Damon’s conviction but the truth was he liked wine. He liked drinking it, he liked the taste, and he’d liked the way he used to unwind after a long day with a glass. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he missed it, but he sort of did. But he’d known the score when he took this job with Damon, and he’d known it was non-negotiable. That hadn’t stopped Xander from wondering if he should bring it up about half a dozen times. A Napa restaurant that didn’t serve wine was an aberration, and while sometimes unusual things stood out, Xander was afraid Damon’s policy would sink them before they could even begin changing people’s minds.

  “No wine list?” Billy sounded disbelieving. “The restaurant is called the Barrel House.”

  “It’s called that because of the history of this building. Damon Hess feels the name is representative of the heritage of this land, while he’s recreated it in a new image.”

  “You mean he tore out all those vines.” Billy’s voice was flat.

  “Yes.”

  “So you won’t be serving any alcohol,” Susie, who he really wanted to steal from the French Laundry, piped up. “Seriously?”

  Xander didn’t like all these questions. He also didn’t like that all these questions echoed so many of the concerns he’d had about this. He knew Damon’s feelings, but maybe he should bring it up anyway. It was worth a try; Damon was a reasonable and logical person who wanted this place to be a success.

  “Let’s move onto the first dish,” Xander said, hating that he was actively copying one of Bastian’s voices—the one he used when he didn’t want a single voice of dissent. He didn’t like the feeling that Damon had put him in this position.

  No. What he really hated was that he hadn’t even considered the position existed before now. Usually Xander was thinking a dozen steps ahead, and his feelings for Damon had blinded him to reality.

  But he’d also hated it when they went to Michael Mina, and the glorious wine list—one of the very best in the Bay Area—went untouched on the side of the table. He’d told himself that he didn’t resent Damon for this one rule and that he didn’t need booze to be happy—both of which were true, but it also turned out that he couldn’t keep everything as black and white as that.

  Xander knew he was beginning to slip into a gray area, and he wasn’t sure there was nothing he could do about it.

  Damon chose that moment to poke his head into the kitchen. Xander held back the frown. He’d told Damon to be here ten minutes ago, so he could meet everyone, but he’d been surprisingly late.

  “This is Damon Hess, the owner,” Xander said, introducing Damon, who only gave a brief, distracted wave while mostly looking down at his phone.

  That was bullshit because this was his staff, too. Xander reached out a hand and possessively wrapped it right around a plaid-covered bicep. “Damon is responsible for the incredible garden you see outside. He also has real plans to make improvements. Even an orchard, at some point.”

  “I definitely have the land and the space,” Damon responded, still distracted and now wiggling right out of Xander’s grasp and walking over to stand in the corner.

  It was definitely weird, and Xander couldn’t figure it out.

  He stood there, surrounded by the men and women he’d asked to come to the new restaurant for an interview and “audition” and Damon couldn’t seem more distant or fidgety.

  Had they taken things too far in San Francisco a week ago? Were they moving too fast? Was Xander alone in falling in love? He didn’t know, but the thought scared the shit out of him.

  Xander tried not to consider the possibility that seeing Rachel again had shaken Damon. He’d insisted he’d moved past her and that their relationship hadn’t been healthy on either side, but the niggling thought remained in the back of Xander’s uncooperative brain.

  He went through the motions of describing how the sauce was made, and then demonstrated how to construct the plating. Terroir had been famous for its beautiful plating, and Xander had always enjoyed the intricacies of making each dish a work of art.

  “Now we sauté the halibut,” Xander said, and while he heated the pan, couldn’t help but wish that Damon was a little more consistent. Sometimes Damon was incredibly supportive and attentive, like last night, when he’d never been sweeter, but then sometimes he was also like he was today. Distant. Removed. Cold.

  Xander didn’t understand how those two halves could belong to the same damn person.

  “We add the butter near the end of the cooking,” he continued, hands moving on autopilot, like he’d done this dozens of times, which he actually had.

  He’d been so excited to share this part of the process with Damon; introducing him to the small, hand-picked kitchen team he’d assembled, and part of Xander was definitely peeved that he was acting like he wasn’t involved with this at all. Damon’s money was paying for these people, at least at the beginning, just like it had paid for the renovation of this building and the glass and the tables and chairs in the dining room and the high-end gas stove he was currently sautéing on.

  It had even paid for this pan and the spatula in his hand.

  He'd also been counting on Damon to help Xander make a strong case for why the staff should leave their current employment and take a chance on a Napa-area restaurant that didn’t serve wine. Xander decided right then that he was done letting him skate by.

  “When I made this dish the other night for Damon,” Xander said, “he nearly fell to his knees and begged me for more.” He shot a sharp look in Damon’s direction, and when he looked up, he definitely looked skewered. His dark brows furrowed and he didn’t look too pleased either.

  “I’d like everyone to try the recipe,” Xander finally said, after he lifted out the fish and deposited it on the already prepared plate. Fish last, as it was the crowning piece, and also because the halibut’s cooking time was both short and incredibly precise.

  He turned to Damon and placing an insistent hand on his bicep, practically dragged him out of the kitchen and into the dining room where nobody could hear them.

  “What is your deal today?” he demanded.

  Damon shrugged, which was even worse. “Sorry, I guess I’m just distracted. Didn’t sleep well.”

  Xander had slept next to him, and knew he’d slept just fine, so that was just bullshit. He was about to say so when Damon continued.

  “Do you think you should be so . . . friendly in front of our employees?” Damon finally asked, dropping his voice down until even Xander could barely hear him.

  “Friendly?” Xander crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You were practically caressing my arm when you were introducing me to them,” Damon said.

  Xander couldn’t believe it. Actually, scratch that. He could. He could totally believe it because it had happened to him once before, and he had sworn to himself—an ironclad promise he’d never had any intention of breaking no matter how soulful Damon’s dark eyes were or how ripped his arms or how when he looked at Xander it felt like he was seeing (and loving) his whole complete self—that it would absolutely never happen again.

  And now, it was happening again. “You don’t want your employees to know we’re dating.” He said it flatly, without emotion, like somehow that could contain the sudden hurricane wh
ipping up inside him.

  “No. No.” Damon said it clearly. “I don’t want . . . I guess I want to make sure we stay professional.”

  “Explain,” Xander said. He was holding himself back from judgement—barely.

  “We want to maintain high standards, we want to have a professional work environment, right? I think that starts with us. If you’re going to be flirting with me, talking about me on my knees begging for you, that doesn’t exactly scream professional. You worked for Bastian Aquino. I know you want something different than Terroir. Maybe Aquino wasn’t alluding to his sex life, but he was a shitty boss. I want to be something better, and I want that for you too.”

  Xander took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Trying to calm himself down. “So if I told everyone in there that we were dating but we’re going to be keeping that part of our lives at home, you wouldn’t care?”

  “I told you,” Damon said, patiently. “I don’t care if people know if we’re together. I care if it affects the Barrel House. We’ve both put a lot into this. Let’s make it a success.”

  Xander wanted to believe him. He really did. He almost did, but not quite. There was still that voice whispering in the back of his mind that this was just like Dustin had been. Dustin had been full of excuses too, and in the beginning some of them had been good ones. Convincing enough that Xander had agreed easily to let the matter of their relationship being public slide.

  And, he added, further trying to silence that voice, it wasn’t like Damon wasn’t willing for people to know. He just didn’t want it encroaching in the workplace. He didn’t want it affecting the restaurant he’d poured all his money and his dreams into. Xander couldn’t blame him for that.

  He nearly retorted that if Damon wanted to make the Barrel House a success, then he should hire a sommelier and have them pick a wine selection, but he held back. That wasn’t this fight. This was a whole different fight.

  “Okay,” Xander said, cautiously. “But you should know why I’m concerned.” He hesitated. He had never intended to tell Damon about his high school boyfriend, and how he’d left him. Left wasn’t even the right term. Dustin had drifted away further and further, no matter how tightly Xander had tried to hold onto him, no matter how desperately he tried to convince Dustin to come out.