EPILOGUE

“Today, we’re going to be making one of my favorite things,” Miles said, leaning on the counter, staring at the camera like they were best friends and not a man and a machine, “a dong.”

There was a ripple of laughter through the assembled staff. Wyatt Blake found himself joining in even though the line wasn’t new to him. It might have been Miles’ delivery or it might have been who he was delivering it to—regardless, the opening line was just as funny and just as effective as it had been the first time Wyatt had heard it.

Evan leaned against the end of the counter, hip popped, white shirt immaculate, bow tie flawlessly tied. He grimaced comically at his boyfriend’s words, and Wyatt would never have guessed that this whole exchange was scripted, except that he’d seen it developed and then rehearsed.

“A Ding Dong,” Evan corrected crisply. “It’s a pastry, which is something I would guess you know about. A chocolate cake to be precise, filled with cream. Don’t tell me you need me to educate you about a dessert.”

Miles raised an eyebrow at the last part, and another round of laughter circulated through the crowd.

“You like cream-filled desserts, huh?” Miles asked Evan, who rolled his eyes.

“Bake, you idiot,” Evan retorted. There was a thread of annoyance in his tone, and the ever-present eye rolls, but he still looked enamored. Probably because he was. Wyatt might have doubted it—couldn’t help but doubt after what the two of them had done to each other—but he couldn’t anymore. Not after Miles insisted he come to the first few days of filming for moral support, and Wyatt had seen firsthand how much they cared about each other.

Wyatt was still surprised that Miles had asked him and not Xander, but then he’d been so angry lately, he probably would have been shitty moral support. And Bastian Aquino never would have given Kian the day off.

That was probably why Miles had sent him a ticket and asked—more like pleaded—for Wyatt to fly down to LA. Wyatt had been happy to do it, because Miles was a friend, and selfishly because Wyatt needed a break of his own.

Miles followed Evan’s command, with a single amused glance shot over to the other side of the kitchen, and started to assemble the dry ingredients for the chocolate cake portion of the recipe. The original concept of Pastry by Miles had always been Miles baking, and Miles still did bake, but now he was also peppered with questions by his producer, who instead of standing behind the camera, stood in front of it.

The concept was new and fresh and it worked like gangbusters. Miles had told Wyatt that they’d initially come up with the idea in a meeting where Reed Ryan had slammed his hand down on the table, interrupting one of Miles and Evan’s many debates, and said, “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but you have to film this. You two are insane.”

It definitely wasn’t like other cooking shows, but it also worked.

Because Miles was Miles, and he could sift flour in his sleep, he kept talking.

“Right now we’re sifting because we don’t want lumps in our dry ingredients. Or stuff that doesn’t belong.”

Evan was still watching, eyes narrowed, from the other end of the counter. He had a bunch of papers spread out in front of him, and it was clear he was still in charge of the episode. He was just doing it in full view of the camera, as ballsy as he’d ever been.

“I don’t believe you’ve ever actually found something that didn’t belong in the flour,” Evan drawled. Wyatt didn’t remember this particular dialogue, but Miles didn’t miss a beat.

“Sand, grit, a marble, I think I even found a condom once,” Miles said, flashing a charming smile to the camera, like can you believe this guy? “Don’t worry though, it wasn’t used.”

“I’d be a lot more worried if you were finding used condoms in your flour,” Evan said.

“Jealous?” The smile Miles shot down the length of the counter could have impregnated anyone within a few paces, regardless of gender.

Evan just laughed. “Of the guys who stuck their condoms in your flour, hoping to get your attention? No. Not even a little.”

Wyatt realized with a bright, blinding flash why Miles hadn’t invited Xander. How had he found out? Wyatt had been so certain that Miles hadn’t realized Xander had that impossible crush.

But he must have, and that was why he hadn’t invited Xander. On the other hand, Wyatt thought a little bitterly, he was safe because he didn’t have a crush on anyone.

After the way his relationship with Nate had ended, Wyatt had been happy enough for awhile to stay unattached and single, but watching Miles and Evan flirt with each other would make anyone long for even a fraction of what they’d found together.

It wasn’t just that he was sick of cleaning artichokes and prepping lamb chops and being held to a painfully exacting standard every second he was at work, he was bored and lonely. He’d thought that getting away for a few days and going down to LA to see Miles would help, but all being here did was throw into sharp focus what was missing in his own life.

“They’re hilarious, aren’t they?” Wyatt looked up, and Reed Ryan was standing there, grinning like a loon. Or like someone who’d just won the lottery. And he probably had, from an online cooking show perspective.

Miles had just begun to slowly whisk in the wet ingredients to the dry, and he was waggling his eyebrows, making more and more outrageous comments, aiming for some unknown reaction from Evan.

“It shouldn’t work, but it does,” Wyatt admitted.

“I knew they could work it out,” Reed said. “I had a few dark moments. Once or twice I thought they might kill each other before working it out, but I was happy to be wrong about that.”

Wyatt had no interest in such a combative relationship, but there was an invisible, undefinable thread between them, shining with love and respect and affection. It shouldn’t hurt to see it, it should be something to admire, not something to be envious of, but Wyatt found he couldn’t really help himself. Nate had been his only serious boyfriend, and they definitely hadn’t had that.

“Now, I have the Cooking Channel sniffing around my set,” Reed said, voice smug with satisfaction. “And the sort of buzz about our new show that I couldn’t manufacture no matter what draw our marketing team comes up with.”

Wyatt reminded himself firmly that he had come here to be a support to Miles, not to eat his heart out with jealousy over what he’d found, professionally and personally. He wasn’t Xander.

“They’re both very lucky,” Wyatt said, and no matter how much he tried to regulate his voice, it still came out sadly wry.

Reed put a reassuring hand on his shoulder—Wyatt thought that next time he saw Xander, there was now something else he could lord over him—and said, “I know how talented you are. The possibilities are endless. Maybe it’s time to leave the nest and explore them.”

“With you?” Wyatt wondered if maybe this invite had also been a way to get him down to LA for a job interview. With Reed Ryan. Xander was going to die.

“Not necessarily,” Reed said. “But I know about a few open positions in the area. I like to keep my ear to the ground. Would you be interested?”

Would he be interested? Wyatt didn’t even know. All he knew was that he was suddenly and inexplicably sick of his own life. He was tired of trying to make ends meet, of struggling to keep his nana in the home, and having nothing left over for anything else. Sick of being told what to do.

“I’d be willing to listen,” Wyatt said.

“Then we’ll be in touch,” Reed said, squeezing his shoulder again, then disappearing, merging into a group of people who all seemed to want to ask him a dozen questions.

Back on set, Miles was carefully pouring his cake batter into molds.

“Now,” he said, “we can finally get onto the cream-filling part of the dessert.”

“Your favorite part,” Evan inserted.

Miles’ expression turned hot and sweet. “Yeah, you don’t enjoy it at all,” he retorted, but his voice was so intimate it was impossible not to picture them pressed up together, instead of being separated by six feet of countertop.

“Cut,” Alex, the director, called.

“What?” Miles asked, and Evan shot him a darker look.

“Dressing room,” Evan said briskly, and Miles let himself be led off to their green room.

“What did we talk about before I agreed to do this?” Evan asked as soon as the door was firmly closed behind them. It was bad enough they were airing out their personal shit for the world to see; he was not willing to do it with three-quarters of their co-workers listening in.

“That there was a line,” Miles said, expression growing concerned. “Did I cross the line?”

Evan honestly wasn’t sure if Miles had crossed the line or if he’d crossed it on his own, but suddenly, he’d felt hot and cold all over, freaked out by how public this all was. Their relationship, and how they’d learned to make it work, completely exposed to everyone.

It was weird that throwing the doors open would make him feel closed-in, but it was happening anyway and he couldn’t help it.

“I’m not sure. Maybe I did, without thinking. However it happened, it happened. I freaked out. And Alex must have noticed.”

“You did have a weird expression on your face,” Miles said. He reached out and pulled Evan close to him. Evan rested his head on Miles’ shoulder. He shouldn’t feel less exposed now, with Miles wrapped around him, but he inexplicably always did. “I’m sorry,” he continued, his voice a warm murmur.

“This isn’t easy for me,” Evan murmured back. “I’m the one who’s sorry for freaking out all the time.”

“You didn’t get into this expecting to be in front of the camera,” Miles soothed, “I don’t blame you for freaking out about it.”

“But I agreed to it,” Evan argued. “I agreed, and I knew exactly what I was agreeing to.”

“You agreed because you were thinking with your producer hat,” Miles said, a tiny bit amused.

“I knew it would be great TV,” Evan admitted.

“You’re amazing, you know,” Miles whispered into his temple. “I love you so much. Even when you freak out. Especially when you freak out.”

“At least you didn’t come over and start kissing me,” Evan said prosaically.

“I wanted to,” Miles said.

Evan closed his eyes. “I wanted you to.” He hesitated. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“We can always stop,” Miles insisted. “I told Reed this might not work out, and he’s okay with whatever. You know that. You probably know that better than me.”

“I don’t mean . . . being in front of the camera is too hard. I mean not crossing the line is harder than I thought it would be. I look over at you, and I want to say what I would usually say, I want to do what I would usually do. And it sucks to hold back.”

Miles’ fingers flinched; Evan felt it through the cotton of his button-up, all the way to his skin. He shivered in response.

“How about you do whatever you feel comfortable with, and we’ll just figure out the rest,” Miles suggested.

Their relationship was so new, Evan was still figuring out how Miles knew the perfect thing to say to make him feel better.

“How do you do that?” Evan asked.

“Do what?” Miles ran a reassuring hand down Evan’s back.

“Always say what I need to hear.”

“I know you,” Miles said seriously. “I love you. I expect the two are somewhat related.”

Evan rolled his eyes, even though Miles couldn’t see them. “I can’t believe I didn’t know right away what a sap you are. I love it. I love you.”

“It’s only you that brings it out,” Miles admitted. “You know that.”

“Thank you for being patient and you know . . . generally amazing,” Evan said, waving a hand, shockingly unable to verbalize everything Miles was for him. Which did make sense because he’d discovered that love could be very difficult to pin down specifically.

“I told you once, we’re going to be what each other needs. A strong relationship doesn’t always have two strong people in it. I’m good taking my turn now, and you can take yours later.” He paused. “Like during all the marketing and publicity.”

Evan laughed damply. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that,” Miles said, sounding very content, like he never wanted to move.

Someone rapped on the door. Evan was pretty sure it was Reed. “Time’s up,” the voice said. Yes, it was definitely Reed.

“You ready to go back?” Miles asked.

Evan knew they didn’t have much of a choice, because he was both the producer and the star. He knew they had a strict schedule to keep. “As long as you’re next to me. As long as we do this together.”

“Always,” Miles said.