CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“What are you making?” Evan asked, peering around Miles’ shoulder as he sautéed the squash for the ratatouille he was making. “Something with a god-awful amount of zucchini, which I don’t even like.”

Miles glanced over at him, and even though he was still talking way too much and he’d taken his phone away from him twice now, Evan did seem a little more relaxed than he’d been in LA. Of course that might also be all the wine he’d drunk.

“You don’t like zucchini?” He remembered Evan telling him he didn’t like sweets, and then the way he’d devoured the peanut butter chocolate chunk cookie and then the pain au chocolat. Evan might think he didn’t like something, but judgement should be held until he’d tried Miles’ version.

He told Evan this, and his nose crinkled. “You’re such an egotistical asshole,” Evan said and Miles could only shrug.

“I’m a chef,” he said, as an explanation. “And I’m making ratatouille, or a version of ratatouille. Xander loves rustic Italian, though he will almost never admit to it.”

“Xander, huh?” Evan said, and he wasn’t even the tiniest bit subtle about the green in his voice. “You’ve never asked me what I liked.”

“You told me you didn’t like sweets. I thought it was my duty first to change your mind on that score, and then we’d go from there.”

“Your cookies were passable,” Evan said, leaning against the opposite counter, sipping his wine. The wine that Nate had given him. Miles had already crumpled up the bag with its distinctive markings and buried it in the trash. Wyatt didn’t need to backslide into that black hole of a relationship again, no matter how much wine Nate gave them. “The croissants weren’t really yours, they were mine, so I can freely admit to loving those, even if they were a pain in the ass.”

Miles pulled the zucchini off the stove. “So what do you like to eat then?”

“Pizza. Kung pao chicken. Tacos.” Evan met Miles’ surprised expression with a semi-belligerent glare. “What, I don’t cook. So I order in or I go out.”

“You need to learn how to cook,” Miles said with a sad shake of his head.

“And I suppose you’re just the guy to teach me?” Evan asked, leaning back into Miles’ space. This time Evan kissed him, something quick and hot and almost brutal.

Miles pulled away, nearly gasping. “I’m a pastry chef. I know just enough about savory ingredients to get by. But,” he added, dropping another quick kiss on Evan’s cheek, “I’ll be damned if anyone else teaches you.”

“You two are disgusting.”

Miles glanced up and Xander was standing in the doorway, holding a loaf of bread, the wrapper indicating their favorite bakery in Napa.

“And your heart is two sizes too small,” Miles retorted. “I’ll pick sappy and disgusting over lonely and miserable any day.”

“I don’t think we met before,” Evan inserted, and though Miles couldn’t figure out why, the casualness in his voice was replaced by a sharp edge. “I mean, we probably did, but I don’t think we were properly introduced. I’m Evan Patterson.”

Xander clearly had no qualms about looking Evan up and down because he did, freely. Miles ground his teeth and turned back to the tomato sauce he’d been simmering on the stove.

He didn’t even put the bread down so he could shake Evan’s outstretched hand. “And I’m Xander. Resident grinch.”

Evan shoved the hand back in his pocket and took half a step closer to where Miles was starting to prep the ratatouille.

“What’s this?” Xander said, sniffing appreciatively as he approached Miles’ other side, resting a hand on his back. “You made ratatouille. For me?”

“Someday you’re going to admit your obnoxiously refined palate loves Italian,” Miles said.

"But not today," Xander said, sounding as smug as he ever had. Evan sniffed disapprovingly.

"I've never understood that," Evan said. "Someone makes you a meal, you should be grateful, not worried about how sophisticated it makes you look."

Miles felt Xander bristle next to him. "That's the difference going to culinary school makes," Miles said with a deprecating laugh. "It makes us all feel very important. Like we’re culinary gods." He hoped that would be enough for Evan to let it go, and for Xander to back down and not engage. Because if Evan and Xander ever got into it, there probably wouldn't be anything left but rubble in his kitchen.

"I enjoy common food," Xander said, and Miles couldn't help but roll his eyes at his word choice.

"Yeah," he retorted, forgetting all about his vow to avert the fight and keep the kitchen intact, "’cause you're culinary royalty. I forgot."

"Like, In n' Out," Xander said defensively. "They use such fresh ingredients, and their cooking techniques aren't that shitty."

Evan glared at him. "Right, because McDonald's or Burger King is too basic for you."

"Yes, they are. If I want a burger, at least I want to eat a good burger, not some over-processed, greasy shit on a bun."

Miles could feel the waves of rage pouring off Evan, but even as he held a hand out to steady him—covered with tomato sauce and all—Evan snapped back. "Sometimes that's all people can afford."

And suddenly, Miles understood. People would never admit it, especially someone like Xander who had lived a solid middle-class life and had gone to culinary school right out of his parents’ house, but good home cooking cost money. You needed equipment, you needed fresh produce and quality protein. None of that came cheap.

Miles had taken a class in culinary school on food sustainability, and he couldn't believe it when the instructor had informed them that eating out on cheap junk food was often much cheaper than cooking healthy meals at home.

And of course, Evan, living in a foster home and then living hand-to-mouth on his own, wouldn't have been able to afford to learn to cook. The guilt was sudden and sweeping, making him nearly nauseous.

"Xander, do me a favor," Miles said, words casual, his voice anything but, "shut the fuck up."

Evan knew he was supposed to be finding some magical well of relaxation in Napa, and up until now, even he could admit he was having a good time.

Separated from the antagonism that had dogged them from the first day, spending time with Miles was just as fantastic as Evan had hoped it might be, back at the beginning.

But spending time with Miles was not the same as spending time with Miles’ old roommates, in particular the abrasive, argumentative one who was currently hanging off Miles like he wasn’t going to let him go again.

The only romantic relationship Miles had ever described any of them having was Wyatt and his sommelier ex-boyfriend. He’d never said he’d been romantically or sexually involved with any of them, but it was hard not to believe this was lying by omission when Xander was putting his hands all over him.

Maybe that was why Xander was so bitter and unpleasant? Evan didn’t want to think if things with him and Miles didn’t turn out—which, he couldn’t help but admit dispiritedly, was seeming more and more likely by the day—he would end up like Xander. Sad. Disillusioned. Resembling a rabid dog anytime someone talked to him.

“What?” Xander said, flinging his hands in the air, like he was innocent of all charges, which . . . had he listened to himself in the last five minutes? Evan didn’t think so.

“You’re an asshole,” Miles said with a scowl.

This pronouncement didn’t seem to phase Xander, who was probably called this on a daily basis. He sure deserved the title a lot more than Nate, Wyatt’s ex, and he hadn’t been particularly pleasant either.

Of course, Evan had partially incited the argument. He’d meant to keep his damn mouth shut, because he never brought up his old existence if he could help it, especially around people like Xander and Miles. But Xander had been so smug and obnoxious, Evan hadn’t been able to help it.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Xander said. “I smell like lamb from all those chops I butchered during prep.”

After he’d left the room, Evan busied himself with his wine glass, filling it again even though it had still been a quarter full. He couldn’t look in Miles’ direction. He’d been the one to insist he never wanted to talk about his childhood, and then he had blurted something like that out. The guilt on Miles’ face had been unmistakable and the last thing Evan wanted was pity. Especially from Miles.

Evan had always imagined that falling in love felt wonderful, like rose petals and rainbows and kittens with balls of yarn. But all he felt was vaguely sick, like he might chuck up all the wine he’d drunk this afternoon.

“I’m sorry he’s so . . .” Miles said helplessly. “So . . . Xander. I know he can be cruel, I should have warned you.”

To Evan’s horror, he felt sudden and unexpected tears in the corner of his eyes. Xander had been cruel, though it hadn’t been premeditated. People said shitty things to Evan all the time and didn’t realize just how shitty they were, because Evan avoided sharing any details of his past if he could help it.

Even Miles had only found out because Lucy liked to interfere.

It was stupid but Evan wished that he could have told him on his own, the way he wanted. He didn’t know how long it would have taken him to finally tell the whole story, but Evan had a feeling it would have been good for him.

“You can’t save me from everything,” Evan said, trying to hide his sniff. “I’m plenty tough.”

Miles’ arms snaked around Evan’s shoulders and pulled him close, his face tucking into Evan’s neck. “I know, believe me I know. But that doesn’t mean I like it when you get hurt. You deserve better. You’ve always deserved better.”

“You didn’t know me back then,” Evan said because it was easier to argue petty details than it was to accept that statement. He kept waiting for Miles to force him to turn around and look him in the eye. To see the tear streaks on his cheeks. But Miles seemed to understand that this was a step too far, and to Evan’s surprise, didn’t push.

“I can’t believe you’ve changed so much,” Miles said softly. “I bet I would have loved the younger you just as much.”

Evan’s breath snagged. Had he just . . .? No, it wasn’t possible. It was just a phrase. Miles didn’t really mean it. He couldn’t.

“Ha,” Evan laughed unsteadily. “You know me well.”

“I keep wanting to know you better,” Miles said.

Somehow it was easier to say without having to look Miles in the eye. “Before you even came to LA, I wanted that.” Miles’ fingers tightened on Evan’s shirt, the tips digging into his skin.

“How did we get so mixed up?” Miles asked, and Evan wasn’t even sure he wanted an answer.

“We’re both stubborn,” seemed the most obvious answer. “But I think we’re learning to compromise.” He wanted to hope, out loud, that it wouldn’t be too late, but they both knew better. They’d wasted their last chance, and the best hope they would have was for some part of the concept to be salvaged and for them both not to be fired.

It wasn’t much of a hope, but it was something. Maybe they wouldn’t end up separated by six hours on I-5. Maybe out of the disaster of the last few weeks, something good could still grow.

Evan turned and before Miles could say anything, kissed him hard. Saying everything he couldn’t say out loud. It was incomprehensible that each kiss could be better than the last, but it was like they were slowing learning each other. They’d been so out of sync before, but that was changing.

It would be stupid and pointless to say that he wished it had happened sooner, but Evan still burned with it.

“Okay, you two are cute.”

Miles broke away, and another one of the roommates was standing in the entrance of the kitchen. The young one, Evan thought with a resigned sigh. At least he’d been nicer than Xander. Not that that was particularly difficult.

“And I think your tomato sauce is burning,” Kian added, crossing to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He glanced over at the pot. “You’re making Italian.”

“Ratatouille,” Miles said, returning to his pots and pans like Evan hadn’t just almost poured his heart out. But if Evan looked close, he could see a tiny tremble in Miles’ hands, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing them anything but perfectly steady.

“So, you’re dating now?” Kian asked, and Evan couldn’t help but notice his casual look sharpened and also that he directed his question to Evan, not Miles.

He’d regretted telling Nate that they weren’t dating from the moment the words had left his mouth, and the look in Miles’ eyes when he’d said them.

“Yes,” Evan said, and the world didn’t stop spinning and the floor stayed shockingly level.

Miles turned around and the joy in his smile was worth how terrifying that had been.

“I guess we are,” Miles said.

“I’m glad,” Kian said. Evan had a feeling that Xander wouldn’t be quite so glad.

“What’s this?” the man in question said, entering the kitchen again, dark hair damp and eyes narrowed. “You’re dating now?”

Evan lifted his chin. He really hoped Xander wouldn’t continue being an asshole to him, but if he did, then he would deal with it. It wasn’t like Xander was the first jerk he’d ever been confronted with. He wasn’t entirely sure still what Miles had meant when he’d said he loved him, but suddenly he didn’t care if Xander didn’t like him.

It wouldn’t mean that Miles liked him any less.

“We are,” Evan said.

“That’s stupid,” Xander said, shaking his head. Like they were the first people to ever work together and date.

“It’s sort of a tradition at Five Points. Unofficially of course. But you know about Quentin Maxwell and Landon Patton of course. And our boss, Reed, he’s been dating Jordan Christensen for a few years now.”

Xander’s eyes darkened. “Aren’t you all so fucking cute?” he sneered.

Evan realized with a jolt that Xander wasn’t just an asshole; he was jealous.

Whether he was jealous of whoever Miles was with or just jealous in general, it was hard to say but if Evan had to guess, it was probably a combination. After all, he wasn’t exactly going to find the love of his life walking around acting like a jerk.

Of course there were some guys who liked that, but Evan couldn’t believe that would lead to a lasting, loving relationship.

“Yes, I’m sure it must be hard to hear about so many happy couples,” Evan retorted.

Xander glared and he left the kitchen without a single word. Like Evan had just discovered his biggest secret. Or worst-kept secret, as far as he was concerned. Was it possible that Miles really didn’t know how Xander felt?

Should Evan tell him? Or if he found out, would he drop Evan like a hot potato and run back to his ex-roommate? Evan squirmed internally; he didn’t want to be selfish, but it had not been easy to get to this place. Was it wrong of him to not want to jeopardize it now that they’d figured some stuff out?

“Xander can be . . .”

“Xander,” Kian piped up. He was cute and eager, like a golden retriever puppy. And thankfully, Evan got zero vibes from him that he was interested in Miles.

“I know it sounds hard to believe,” Miles said, “but really, he does grow on you.”

“Like a bad mold?” Evan said, raising an eyebrow. He glanced over to where Miles was meticulously arranging the squash and zucchini in an intricate swirling pattern over the bed of tomato sauce.

Kian laughed, and Miles huffed, fingers hesitating as he placed the last few vegetables into the dish. It didn’t look like dinner, it looked like a work of art.

“Do you always make stuff that looks perfect?” Evan asked, which was a stupid question he already knew the answer to. He just didn’t want to talk about Xander anymore, because his obvious feelings made Evan feel disloyal.

“I think he’s incapable of making stuff that doesn’t look flawless,” Kian said. “But he almost never makes dinner. That’s usually Wyatt or Xander.”

“And Xander is still pissed at me for leaving, so we’d probably get paté foam or something equally odd, and Wyatt is . . .” Miles glanced up, questioning gaze directed at Kian. “Where is Wyatt?”

Kian shrugged. “He was right behind us. He came in with us. My guess is he’s holed up in his room, skyping with his nana.”

“They had to move her to a home last year,” Miles explained as he slid the dish into the oven. “Wyatt is very close to her, and it’s hard on him.”

Evan wanted to ask who “they” were, because growing up with no family of his own had always made him morbidly curious about other people’s. But before he could figure out how to politely phrase the question, Kian answered it.

“His dad left him and his brothers when they were very young, and then his mom died five years ago. Breast cancer complications. So it’s just his two brothers and his nana.”

“To be honest,” Miles said, “I’ve never liked his brothers.”

“They’re weird jocks,” Kian said. “I don’t like them either.”

“I don’t think they contribute enough to help pay Nana’s expenses,” Miles said. “And they’re weird jocks, besides.”

Miles shot Evan a quick searching look, before returning to the stove, but Evan didn’t volunteer anything. Maybe if he and Miles had been alone. Maybe if he had felt ready to share. But they weren’t and he didn’t. Not nearly. So he said nothing.

“Do I smell Italian?” Wyatt thankfully entered the kitchen a moment or two after they’d just finished talking about him. Not that he seemed like the sort of guy who would mind. He was tall, with wide linebacker shoulders, lots of tousled blond hair, and a laid-back, grounded attitude that Evan had immediately liked even though they’d only met briefly.

He was still trying to figure out why on earth these three great guys tolerated Xander’s annoying attitude.

“Dinner will be ready in twenty,” Miles said. “I’m gonna prep the bread, if you want to set the table?”

Wyatt raised an eyebrow at Kian, as he poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the counter. The bottle that happened to be the one Nate had given them. But he didn’t turn an eyelash at the label, or ask where they’d gotten it.

Clearly, on Wyatt’s side that relationship was over.

“Fine,” Kian grumbled. Evan had a feeling that as the youngest, he ended up doing a lot of stuff that the others didn’t want to.

“I saw Xander march out of here with a particularly virulent frown on his face. What is he bent out of shape about now?” Wyatt asked.

“That he’s a miserable old man,” Miles said.

“Well, that isn’t new,” Wyatt observed.

“I don’t think he took the news that Miles and I are dating very well,” Evan inserted, because he was curious to see how Wyatt would react to this. Would he guess that Xander was jealous? Was Evan really the first person to figure this out? That didn’t seem possible, but Wyatt’s expression still remained confused.

“Someday,” Wyatt said, “he’s going to meet someone he actually cares about, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch when his heart grows a few sizes.”

“Maybe it’s permanently stunted,” Kian answered cheerfully. “That wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

“But really, congrats. You seem like you’ll be good for each other,” Wyatt said, raising his glass. “It’s high time Miles stopped playing it casual and breaking hearts right and left. I’ll go get Xander, he shouldn’t sit in his room and pout all night.”

“He’s going to if he wants to,” Miles said.

“But he shouldn’t,” Wyatt replied firmly, setting his wine glass at one of the places of the big kitchen table Kian had set. And that convinced Evan once and for all that Wyatt was one of the good guys.

After he’d left the kitchen in search of Xander, Evan moved closer to Miles, bumping their shoulders together. “What happened with Nate and Wyatt?” he hissed under his breath. Curiosity was probably going to be the death of him.

Miles just shrugged though. “You met Nate, he’s insufferable.”

“But Wyatt dated him in the first place,” Evan insisted.

“Yeah, I think Nate wasn’t very happy he wouldn’t get serious and introduce him to his family. To his brothers and his nana, rather.”

“Yeah,” Kian said, wandering over. “His brothers suspect he’s gay, but his nana has no idea. She’s sort of old-school Irish Catholic and I don’t think he believes she’d understand.”

The only nice thing about being a foster kid with no family of which to speak of was that when he’d come out, there hadn’t really been anyone who cared or objected. Evan knew that it was definitely not that simple for everyone.

“I remember when I told my high school girlfriend I thought I was gay,” Miles said, “and she just laughed and told me, ‘of course you are.’”

“Yeah, not everyone is as understanding as your family, Miles,” Kian said, and Evan, who wasn’t the world’s biggest toucher generally, surprisingly wanted to hug the apprehension out of his eyes.

“It’s never easy,” Evan said, even though it had been relatively cut and dried for him. He’d already been in a fairly open foster care situation with so many kids, the guardians hadn’t really cared as long as you stayed out of trouble. Being gay hadn’t ranked anywhere with getting arrested or burning the house down, so they’d just shrugged and moved on.

“What isn’t easy?” Xander stood in the doorway, Wyatt following close behind him. “Dinner wasn’t easy? If that was the case I could have helped you out, Costa.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Dinner was no big deal. Come sit down before I decide to punch you in the face.”

But Xander did as he was told, and slumped into the seat at the head of the table, not surprising Evan at all.

The ratatouille was fragrant with oregano, basil and garlic; the zucchini and squash tender under the crusty lid of parmesan, the base soft with a zesty tomato sauce.

There was silence for a few minutes as everyone ate, sopping up the sauce with the garlic bread Miles had prepared.

“So where did you guys go today?” Kian asked.

Evan remembered how they’d crumpled the paper bag from the winery and buried it so Wyatt wouldn’t see it.

“Uh,” he said.

“A few wineries,” Miles inserted and then very casually changed the subject. “I thought we’d do a picnic lunch up by the castle tomorrow. It’s supposed to be a nice day. Wyatt, did you take care of that thing I asked you for?”

Wyatt nodded, mouth full of ratatouille. “It’ll be under your name.”

“Great, thanks.” Miles smiled over at Evan, who was trying to decide if licking his plate clean would be rude.

“That was pretty good,” Xander said. “Maybe if your video thing fails, you can go become a line cook at Olive Garden.”

“Next time, I’m going to force you to make yourself Italian food. And it probably won’t be as good as mine.” Miles’ voice still sounded kind, but he grimaced as he sipped his wine.

“What did you put in the sauce?” Wyatt asked. “There’s an earthiness in it . . .”

“Evan,” Miles said, leaning over, breath brushing his neck, which reminded him that it was only his stomach that was satisfied. “Wyatt’s nose and taste buds are legendary. He can usually figure out what’s in anything.”

“But you asked?” Evan said, crinkling his own nose.

Wyatt shrugged. “People don’t generally like it when I list their recipe out for them.”

“You mean, Xander doesn’t like it,” Kian said, laughing.

“I think it’s a wild mushroom, maybe? And red wine? A chianti?” Wyatt guessed.

“You’re half right. Dried mushrooms reconstituted in some tempranillo.”

“Damn it, that was the earthiness.” Wyatt tipped his glass to Miles. “Well, kudos for fooling me.”

Evan hadn’t really realized how much Miles was giving up by leaving Terroir and his three roommates. Yeah, he’d taken a chance on a crossroads career move, but there had been reasons for him to stay in Napa. And a lot of those reasons were sitting at the table with them.

“How did you all meet?” Evan asked. He was sort of completely desperate to go to the hotel and remind Miles just who he was dating. And this time he’d only had half a glass of wine.

“Wyatt and Miles met in culinary school. Xander went to school in New York City and we met at Terroir. And I moved in last year, after I graduated, and got Chef Aquino’s internship,” Kian said.

“You mean, Chef Aquino’s hard labor,” Xander said.

“It’s not that bad,” Kian protested. “It’s a really prestigious position.”

Evan saw the concern Xander was voicing reflected in Miles’ eyes. So Xander wasn’t off-base or even overreacting.

“That’s what they tell you to force you to take all the shit he dishes out,” Wyatt pointed out quietly.

“I’ve got an early morning,” Kian said, abruptly getting to his feet. “And I’m sure Evan and Miles have something important to do.”

“You shouldn’t push him,” Xander said under his breath after Kian had left the room.

“Yeah, if I don’t, then he keeps letting Aquino ride him. And I don’t like that either,” Wyatt said.

“It’s gotten worse since I left,” Miles stated rather than questioned.

“I swear to god, he’s obsessed with him. Kian with Aquino, I mean. And, I don’t know, maybe the other way around. It’s weird. They’re weirdly co-dependent on each other. I don’t get it.”

“I’ll put out some feelers in LA,” Miles said, getting to this feet. “Maybe we can convince him to leave. Take a job in LA.”

“Kian ever leaving Terroir and Bastian Aquino? Yeah, good luck with that,” Xander said bitterly.