A Taste of You (10 page)

His mouth went dry. And there was the real reason he couldn’t talk to Garrett. He didn’t care. He didn’t care why Garrett was sleeping with him. He just wanted it to continue. So he didn’t say anything. No questions, no demands. All their conversation was superficial. Work. Food. He would resort to the weather if he had to.

Just don’t rock the boat. Don’t do anything to remind Garrett that they hadn’t always spent their evenings locked together in the most intimate act two people could perform with each other.

Like he had summoned him with his thoughts, Garrett’s arms slipped around him.

****

Carlo stood at the edge of the service bar just outside the traffic flow. From here he could see most of the bar, about half the dining room, a corner of the back prep area, and half the line. For a manager, it was a sweet spot to hang out and get a feel for the flow of the night. He spent a lot of nights alternating between here and a similar out-of-the-way spot up front where he had a better view of the dining room.

He was pretending to do his job, which was managing Ransom, but mostly he was watching Garrett. There was something exquisitely beautiful about Garrett on Ransom’s line. He bent over a plate, totally focused, as though that one plate held the key to ending world hunger. When he placed it on the pass-through for pick-up, it would be perfect. That focus, the attention to the smallest detail, the insistence that every plate,
every
plate, meet that same exacting standard—those things were Garrett’s art as much as the original act of designing and creating the dish.

Carlo’s vantage point was just far enough away to mute the harshest sounds from the kitchen. On nights like tonight, when everything ran smoothly, Ransom became a ballet of movement with Garrett at its center. And, yes, it mattered that Garrett choreographed the dance, not Matt or Hector. The energy that poured off Garrett when he did his thing radiated out into every aspect of the restaurant. Nothing was tangibly different, but, when Garrett ran the line, Ransom hummed.

At the end of the night, the crew would be buzzed, and Garrett would be bright-eyed and high along with them. While the rest of the crew went out for drinks or late-night food or the ubiquitous after-parties thrown by a friend-of-a-friend-of-someone, Garrett would come home with Carlo and work off the excess energy in other ways.

Carlo pressed his fingers to a spot on the side of his left rib. Another bite. He had a collection. Garrett never left one where it could be seen when Carlo dressed for work, but if he took his shirt off, or his pants, the marks were obvious. A new one always seemed to appear just as any previous ones started to fade. He pressed again. It didn’t hurt, but the tiny ache under his fingers brought back the feel of Garrett’s mouth against his skin.

His dick twitched, and his view of Garrett on the line, starched and professional in his white jacket, was replaced by the memory of Garrett’s head bent over him, Garrett’s mouth on Carlo’s skin.
Tasting
, Garrett would call it. Carlo didn’t know if Garrett marked all his lovers. Another thing he couldn’t ask, so he let himself believe that the marks were special, just for him.

“Giancarlo.” Carlo blinked back into the present.

Andi stood in front of him looking…flustered? Not the right word, because “flustered” wasn’t in Andi’s repertoire, but….

“Tell me.”

“Chef’s parents are here.”

“Matt’s or Hector’s?”

“Garrett’s, Giancarlo.
Garrett’s
parents are here.” The look in her eyes went way past flustered and bordered on panicked. “What do I do?”

Carlo suspected his own eyes looked the same.

Shit, Garrett. Shitshitshit. A little heads-up?

Carlo took a step away from the wall so he could get a better look at the dining room, but he knew what he would see. They were completely booked and about a quarter-way through the first seating. Unless aliens beamed someone up, there wasn’t going to be an empty table for at least an hour.

“Seat them.”

“But—”

“I don’t care if you have to get the busboys to pick someone up out of their chairs and move them. Find Garrett’s parents a table.” He mentally reviewed the seating chart, trying to find a way to squeeze two more people into the dining room. “Is it just them?”

“No. They’re with the Rothsteins.”

“Just Ed and Alice?” Relief at Andi’s nod was not the correct emotion, but in his panic he had started to imagine an entire entourage, all VIPs, who had to be seated immediately.

“Okay, okay. There’s that table we normally consider part of the bar. It’s not a good location, but it’s the best we can do without actually kicking someone out.” Andi offered their usual solution, and Carlo nodded reluctantly.

“Do the best you can. I’ll let Garrett know they’re here.”

He made his way over to the line, trying to keep his temper in check. His temper, and the other thing the temper covered up. The monster black hole that threatened to swallow him.

“Hector,” he raised his voice slightly. “Can you come take over for Garrett for a few minutes?”

Garrett, so engrossed in arranging a garnish he hadn’t even noticed Carlo step onto the line, jerked his head up in surprise. “What?”

“We’ve just seated your parents. I thought you might like a chance to say hello.”

Garrett blinked. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

The words were so out of the blue Carlo just stood there for a minute trying to figure out what had happened. Garrett turned back to the plate in front of him and continued on as if nothing had happened.

Except something had. Because Garrett, who was almost as famous for his outbursts as his food, who never seemed to censor a word that came out of his mouth, who was an
open book
to Carlo, had left the building. The person plating food on Ransom’s line was someone else entirely. The man standing in front of him, looking just like Chef Garrett Ransom, wore a nice, pleasant,
goddamn impenetrable
mask that Go-Bugger-Yourself Garrett would never, ever wear.

Carlo cut his gaze to Hector, who had stopped at Garrett’s words. Carlo gave a quick jerk of his head—
Get your ass up here—
then turned back to Garrett.

“In that case, I need a few words, if you don’t mind.”

He turned and headed to the office. Garrett, who had once thrown a plate at Carlo for countermanding him on the line, put the finished dish on the pass-through and followed him. Fuck.

In the office, Carlo closed the door carefully then took a good look at Garrett, who was standing in the middle of the tiny room, docile as a lamb. “Garrett?”

“Yes?”

“Andi and I would have appreciated knowing your parents would be dining with us tonight so we could have proper seating and service arranged.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll let them know to call ahead next time. It’s not like them to just drop in. I promise they aren’t usually so rude.”

“It’s not rude to want to visit your child’s restaurant, Garrett. Why didn’t you tell me they were in town, at least?” He struggled to breathe because here was the monster eating away underneath the anger.

Carlo still remembered bringing Garrett home to his family and showing him off,
my new friend, Garrett
, then
my best friend, Garrett
, and later, best of all,
my partner, Chef Ransom
. Always
mine, mine, mine
. He was so damn proud of him.

Garrett’s parents were in town, and Garrett hadn’t even bothered to mention it to his partner, much less his best friend and lover.

“I said I was sorry.” Some of Garrett’s normal testiness finally showed itself. “How was I to know they would just drop in? I had no idea my mother was even in the country and my father’s never shown an inclination to drop by before. God knows he’s had the opportunity.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Okay, Sweets, but they’re here now. You need to go out there and greet them.” Carlo kept his voice level and focused on the immediate issue. The giant, gnawing hole of hurt was receding because maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t about him at all. Maybe it was all about Garrett. And,
oh Jesus, baby, I’m so sorry
. He knew Garrett wasn’t exceptionally close to his family, but this….He had always thought Garrett’s parents had never been to Ransom because they lived across a damn ocean, but apparently they just hadn’t bothered to come.

“I’m not going out there. Assign a server to them and let them eat like everyone else.”

Carlo wanted to do exactly that. “You have to, Garrett. They’re with the Rothsteins.” Who not only had connections all over the world that Garrett needed but considered themselves the center of the New York culinary scene. “If you don’t go talk to them, the whole city will know before you wake up tomorrow.”

He could see the arguments roiling in Garrett’s eyes, and he wanted to cheer. He wanted Garrett to tell the world to go screw itself. But both of them were that tiny bit too practical. The Chef Ransom mask slid smoothly back into place.

“I’ll just go do that now, then, shall I? Please make sure Hector has everything he needs on the line.”

The hurt came roaring back at the dismissal, as if Carlo were no more than an employee. No way was he going to sit in the kitchen and not get an up-close-and-personal look at the Ransom family reunion.

He let Garrett get a head start before he followed him into the dining room. He rounded the corner just in time to see Garrett doing the double-cheek air-kiss thing with his mother. It was close enough to his and Garrett’s standard greeting that he didn’t know whether to be flattered or horrified. Garrett greeted him like family. He tucked that away for later examination and slid into place at Garrett’s side, game face firmly in place.

What followed were fifteen of the most awkward minutes he had ever spent in his life. When he and Garrett finally left the table, he re-played the whole thing in his head.

It had all been perfectly civilized. Garrett had asked after his mother’s orchids, congratulated his father on some business deal he had seen mentioned in the news. In turn, his parents had told some anecdote about an acquaintance hitting them up to have Garrett attend some event. That last should have been the proud-parent moment—
our famous son
. Instead, it had felt accusatory, like the attention was embarrassing and unwelcome.

The Rothsteins, who had instigated this whole farce, didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. All they cared about was who might notice them getting chatted up by Chef Ransom himself as they dined with his parents. Another notch in their social standing. The only awkward moment for them had happened when it came time to order and everyone had looked expectantly at Mrs. Ransom.

“Oh, surely Garrett will make you something special off the menu,” Ann Rothstein exclaimed. The extra attention was something she had come to expect at Ransom.

“No.” Garrett’s crisp, upper-crust British accent cut his mother off before she could reply. “My mother never orders off the menu.”

The horrible truth of the statement sliced through Carlo as neatly as one of Garrett’s finely honed knives.

“Will it be the tasting menu this time, Mother?”

“Yes, please, Garrett. Whatever you recommend,” she replied. So polite. So chillingly cold that Carlo had frostbite.

The exchange forced Ann to declare she would have the same. Like anyone would make her anything else now.

So it was tasting menus all the way around. Carlo felt like he had been caught in an ice storm, nerves raw and flayed by the sharp, cold shards. And he had had enough. The frostbite solidified into an icy rage. If he felt this way, how the hell was Garrett even standing upright?

“I’m so sorry, but we can’t spare Garrett from the kitchen any longer tonight. Our sommelier will be with you shortly to assist with the pairings. Please enjoy your meal, and let Andi know if you need anything else at all.”

“Can’t spare me?” Garrett said under his breath as they walked away. “I thought I needed to make nice.”

“No.” Carlo paused to swallow past the massive lump in his throat. “You are done.”

God, he felt like shit. He should never have sent Garrett out there. All he wanted to do now was get him away, wrap him up, and never, ever make him face anything like that again.

He slid a look at Garrett to see how he was holding up, but the Chef Ransom Mask was still in place.

“Are you, okay?” he finally ventured.

“Yes, of course. They’re my parents, Carlo. Why shouldn’t I be?” the Mask said.

Jesus, Jesus, he deserved that. Garrett obviously wasn’t in any state to hear any of his apologies, and Carlo doubted he would agree to go home immediately and be cuddled for the next ten years, either.

“Okay, babe,” he said. “You go make pretty food. Don’t forget, Hector is here if you decide you want to take a break, hang out in the office or something.”

But Garrett didn’t take a break. He stayed on the line all night. Carlo deferred the rest of the night’s decisions to Andi. He took up his spot from the beginning of the night, a few steps over so he was completely hidden from the table with Garrett’s parents, and watched Garrett.

Around him, the nightly dance of Ransom went on—orders came in, food went out, servers stepped deftly around him as they came and went. On the line, the Chef Ransom Mask churned out one impeccable plate after another. Carlo wasn’t fooled, and neither was Ransom. Garrett wasn’t here. The dance went on, but the music was gone.

****

Garrett let the rhythm of Ransom’s line pick him up and carry him along. The tasks were simple, but the timing was critical, and he knew he was off. He called the starting courses for the next two orders, both tables with four tasting menus. He refused to look at the table numbers. Almost everyone ordered the tasting menu at Ransom, and a few straggling orders from the first seating were still making their way in. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to know whose food he was preparing.

Behind him, he could hear Hector calmly organizing the rest of the brigade, checking times, taking up the slack from his boss.