Home Skillet

by Sandra Damien

  “You okay?” I murmured against his temple.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” He turned his head and inhaled deeply, his nose against my uniform. I couldn’t imagine it smelled particularly good, but he seemed to draw some kind of comfort from it. When he stepped back, pure exhaustion was written all over his face. “Why do I do this to myself?”

  “There’s more to life than a paycheck, you know,” I said softly. “I’m the last person that’s gonna judge you if you just wanna walk out right on out of here.”

  I stroked his cheek and heard Cameron clear his throat from across the room.

  I’d forgotten he was in the kitchen, I’d been so wrapped up in Ben.

  “I gotta grab some mushrooms from the fridge,” Cameron announced loudly. “Be back in like, ten minutes?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or fifteen?”

  He hustled to the pantry and closed the door quietly behind him. I don’t think I’d ever seen him move so fast.

  I waited for the panic to set in, but strangely, it never did. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Ben was the only person who mattered right now.

  Anyone could have walked into that kitchen—Byron, Jason, one of the servers—but in that moment, I didn’t care. I leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ben’s mouth. I heard his soft moan in answer, and the feeling of his lips against mine was so soothing I wished I could have walked out of there with him right that minute, taken him home, and made him forget all about Buck’s.

  Instead, I reluctantly pulled back and smoothed my thumb over the side of his face.

  “All I’m saying is, you don’t need to put up with this shit. It’s a big world out there. So many possibilities—so much more than this shithole and the shitheads who run it. Dare to dream big, and stop at nothing to get it.” I frowned, thinking of the life I’d built for myself over the past few years. Look how well that had turned out for me.

  He laughed. “You’re reading off one of the motivational posters behind me, aren’t you?”

  “I mean it.”

  He rubbed the base of his hand against his eye and sighed. “That’s for the Jimmy Carvers of the world. People like me, we’re right where we belong.”

  I grasped his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “Prove everyone wrong, Ben. You’re made for more than this.”

  He stared at me, then leaned forward, kissing me until I forcibly had to pull myself away. There was lust in his eyes, but also something more, something I wasn’t ready to put a word to yet.

  Cameron returned a few minutes later, looking relieved to find us working in different sections of the kitchen.

  “Did you grab the mushrooms?” I asked, laughing when his face fell.

  “No. I forgot…”

  “Isn’t that the only thing you went in for?” Ben teased.

  “Well, yeah. But I thought maybe you guys could use a minute without an audience, and then I lost track of what I was supposed to be getting.”

  I laughed. “Might wanna lay off the weed this weekend. I think it’s starting to cloud your brain.” Cameron flipped me off, but I could hear him chuckling under his breath as I passed him on the way to the fridge.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ben

  It wasn’t even 10:00 a.m. on my first day off, and all I wanted to do was sink down onto my couch and play Goldeneye on the N64 all day. I never wanted to see the inside of that damn restaurant again, never wanted to lay eyes on another deep fryer. It wasn’t often I had days like this, but holy shit, when I did, they were brutal.

  Now I had two days away from that place. I wanted to spend every minute decompressing and forgetting how shitty I felt about working there.

  I lifted my arm and sniffed my pit, my stomach roiling at the scent. It was sweat and grime mixed in with that gnarly used-oil smell I came home with way too fucking often. The night before, I’d come home and collapsed into my bed, too tired to fathom doing anything but sleep, but I seriously needed to practice some personal hygiene.

  “That bad?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yup. You’re probably no bed of roses yourself.” Normally, I would have bothered to at least pretend to be teasing, but I wasn’t in the mood.

  He got up from where he was sitting and grabbed my hands, pulling me to my feet. That simple touch instantly soothed me, like just the brief contact was enough to erase every ounce of stress.

  “You got plans for today?” I asked. Things had been so busy, Jimmy and I hadn’t really had a minute to connect.

  “Nah. I was gonna chill for a bit.”

  “Lemme rinse off and then we can hit the store. We can grab some cheap stuff and throw something together that isn’t doused in barbeque sauce.” Minutes before, I’d been making plans to never leave the house again, but the thought of spending some time with Jimmy, doing what we loved best, had happiness radiating from my chest.

  He grinned at me, his smile a little lopsided. “What if we just ordered in and stayed here, basking in our stench?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Come on. You’d really rather eat takeout? I know you wouldn’t. It’s been how long since you’ve had a chance to cook something that didn’t arrive in the kitchen frozen in a plastic bag?”

  “You make a good point.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. We can stop at Blockbuster on the way back to rent an Adam Sandler movie.”

  “Make it Starship Troopers and we have a deal.”

  “Twist my arm with Casper Van Dien.” I grinned. “Fine.”

  The butternut squash was pureed, the Parmesan was grated, and we were ready to start making our gnocchi. My stomach was rumbling and my mouth watering after the small taste of the balsamic blueberries we’d poached while the squash was roasting. My whole apartment smelled like a Michelin-starred restaurant.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Jimmy looked around at our mise en place. “I’ll get the ingredients for the dough combined if you want to prep the counter for kneading.”

  I cleared some space and floured the surface, then stood back to watch Jimmy cook. With everything already prepped, now all he had to do was mix it all together, but fuck, if he didn’t look sexy doing it. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing toned forearms, and I couldn’t help but stare at his hands as he manipulated the dough. It was hard not to be in awe of him, so obviously in his element. He looked hot in my shitty apartment, and in a proper kitchen with expensive ingredients and a full dining room waiting for an acclaimed James Carver creation, all bets were off.

  I still wasn’t entirely sure where things stood with us, and the thought of starting that “where’s this going?” conversation was overwhelming. Not knowing was killing me, but I didn’t want to destroy this delicate equilibrium we’d stumbled into by complicating our relationship with expectations and labels.

  Most of all, I didn’t want to allow myself to hope.

  “If you’re not doing anything anyway, you can chop the sage,” Jimmy teased, giving me a look that made me think he’d totally caught me staring.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I grabbed a cutting board and a knife and got to work. I didn’t use my kitchen often—usually I was too wiped after work to bother making anything, and cooking for one wasn’t all that enjoyable anyway, but at least it meant my knives were sharp. I sliced through the sage, keeping a steady rhythm with the movement of my knife. I loved the way the pieces of herb fell away with each swipe.

  This time when I looked up, it was Jimmy staring at me. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

  He shook his head. “No. You’re amazing.”

  “Amazing at chopping sage? A monkey could do this.”

  “A monkey with incredible knife skills, maybe.” He looked serious for a moment before looking back at the dough. “This is ready to go. You remember how to make them?”

  “It’s been forever, but yeah, I think so.”

  I stood next to him, and we each rolled out half the dough into long strips, then cut off small pieces to form the gnocchi. Carefull
y, I used a fork to create the perfect shape, and when I looked over to compare mine to Jimmy’s, I saw he hadn’t made a single one.

  Our eyes locked and for a second, I thought I’d fucked up our dinner. He seemed pissed, and I couldn’t figure out why until he finally spoke.

  “You’re too good to be cutting fucking celery sticks for garnish on a hot-wing platter.”

  “Huh?”

  He shook his head. “You’ve worked in that fucked-up excuse for a restaurant for too long, dude. You were born to be a chef, not a line cook. You’re better than that. You need to quit that fucking job.”

  I blew out air from my cheeks. “I know it was a bad week—”

  “Every week is a bad week. Byron’s a fuckwad. The other guys in the kitchen are nice enough, but that place is going to suck the soul right out of you. You deserve more than that.”

  “No, you deserve more than Buck’s.” I dusted my hands off and leaned on the edge of the counter. “This is it for me, J—there is nothing more. I squandered my chance to follow my dreams a thousand years ago. I should’ve finished my degree, but it didn’t happen.” Thinking about the missed opportunity still made my stomach tight with regret. Buck’s was only supposed to be a temporary thing. But one year had turned into three, and by then I’d felt so disconnected from that world and gotten so complacent in my own, I’d never gone back. “Yeah, maybe I should’ve made some better choices, but I’m good at what I do. I’m comfortable.”

  “You’re only comfortable because you’ve never tried anything else. You’re amazing, Ben. You could be doing so much more than this.”

  “What? Go back to college? I’d have to do the first year over again, and Christ, I don’t know if I’m cut out for school. That was always the plan, but now I don’t know what I want. I’m almost thirty fucking years old and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

  “All I’m saying is that you’re better than you think you are, even without formal training, and more than that, you’re goddamn smart. You should be doing something that makes you happy, not wasting your time and talent.”

  I barked a laugh at the thought of it. “I’m almost fucking thirty years old. You want me to haul my ass back to college and sit in a lecture hall with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds? And for what? So I can get in at some entry-level office job that’s possibly more soul-sucking than the job I currently have?”

  Jimmy wasn't laughing, though. “Yes. I think you should go back to school. Learn a real skill. Maybe start your own business.”

  I laughed again, louder this time. “You can’t actually be serious.” This conversation was getting more ridiculous by the second.

  He shrugged. “You’re built for more, that’s all I know. Think about it—what would you do if you were handed any job in the world?”

  There was a weight to his words, and I had to admit the thought of getting out of Buck’s, of doing something meaningful or at least halfway enjoyable with my life, was tempting. The notion that had seemed so insane a moment ago started to sink in. If I could do my life all over again, knowing what I knew now… But there were no do-overs in life. That’s not how it worked.

  “Not like it’s a possibility anyway.” I paused. “Maybe if I win the Powerball, though.”

  He shook his head. “In any case, wherever I go, I’m taking you with me. If you’re going to be working in a kitchen, you need to at least be working in a real one.” His jaw was tense, and he pointed at the gnocchi lined up in front of me. “I mean, look. Look at what you just did.”

  I chuckled. “Made some wonky-ass dumplings?”

  “I don’t know why you’re laughing. Those are textbook perfect. Mine aren’t that perfect.”

  “You didn’t make any,” I pointed out.

  “I was watching you.” It was said with such sincerity it made my throat feel tight. His expression, the way his eyes searched my face… it felt significant. I was oddly uncomfortable, like he could see right through me to where I hid all my insecurities and self-doubt.

  I grabbed his portion of the dough and with hurried hands, made a slapdash effort at forming the remaining gnocchi. He watched me the whole time like I was a student he was grading. I chucked the finished product onto the already floured parchment.

  “These need to chill, right?”

  “An hour,” Jimmy confirmed.

  I carried the tray to the fridge and shoved them inside. As I closed the door, I felt Jimmy’s hand on my arm. I turned to find him standing behind me, close enough that there was barely a breath of space between us.

  “Ben.” He said my name, soft and reverent. “You’re not hearing me.”

  “Of course I can hear you. You’re two inches away.”

  My attempt to joke fell flat as Jimmy slid his hands along the sides of my face. “You’re too good for that place. Too good for all of this.”

  I couldn’t breathe. He was too close, too serious, and the air around us was charged with so much electricity we could have started our own lightning storm. I held perfectly still, terrified of what was happening. How had we gone from talking about how my life had gone so sideways to this? One minute we were joking around, and the next I was trying to keep my head above water, trying not to succumb to the depth of my feelings for him. Jimmy leaned in, and his lips brushed against mine, barely a hint of pressure, like this was our first kiss and he was testing the waters. I held still, waiting, and when he pressed me back against the refrigerator and deepened the kiss, my whole body trembled with how much I wanted this.

  I’d always loved him.

  Always.

  But the more time we spent together, the more time he spent with his hands on me, his mouth on mine, his scent surrounding me, I was falling harder, losing more of myself in him and soon I’d cross a line that could never be uncrossed.

  Soon, there’d be no coming back from this.

  It was overwhelming, and it became starkly clear the decision I’d made to just enjoy what we had for now wasn’t going to work. When Jimmy had chosen Jenna over me all those years ago, it had very nearly destroyed me. And now, a decade later, I loved him harder, and with more of my heart than I ever had before.

  If he walked away again, it would kill me.

  I don’t know where I summoned the self-control, but I put my hands on his chest and gently pushed him away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jimmy

  I stood staring at Ben with his flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes, trying to figure out which way was up. He’d ripped the floor out from under me, just as I was starting to find my footing. Just as I was maybe ready to admit to Ben how much he meant to me.

  “What’s wrong?” I searched his face for an answer, but his expression remained wary. Defeated.

  “I can’t do this again.”

  “What?” I was grappling to understand what had changed in the span of two minutes. Things had seemed so good—better than they’d ever been, but the look on his face now, the hurt and wariness that tensed his features, had me taking a step back to give him some space.

  He grabbed my wrist, and I froze.

  “No. I didn’t mean… I just need to know what you’re thinking.” He speared his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, I did not want to be this guy.”

  “What guy?” I asked, still trying to catch up.

  “The guy who gets all emo about sex. I’m not that guy—at least I wasn’t. You fuck with my head like no one else ever has.”

  My brain was still foggy with lust, and I was having trouble switching gears. I waited while he got his thoughts in order, my fingers itching to reach out and touch him, wanting to pull him to me.

  Ben sighed. “I can’t handle losing you again. You walked away before, and it’s been six years of distance and awkward tension.” He pulled me back toward him. “I can’t do this if this is just a way to pass the time for you. I can do the casual-sex thing, but I can’t do it with you. I want all of you, J, but if you can’t give me that, then we
have to stop this.” He took a shuddering breath and leveled me with his gaze. “I will force myself to be okay with settling for your friendship. Because I’m sure as hell not willing to walk away from that.”

  I was an idiot. I’d lost almost everything, and here I was so close to losing the one thing that meant more than any of that. All because I’d been too fucking scared to admit the way I felt about Ben. It was huge and it was scary and it was so real that it fucking hurt. It had been there the whole time, simmering just beneath the surface, and if I’d bothered to look, I would have seen it.

  But I hadn’t wanted to look. I’d been so terrified of putting a name to what I felt and who I was that I’d ignored my one shot at real happiness.

  And now that look in his eyes—that hurt, that rejection—I’d caused that. And fuck if that wasn’t a knife in my gut, twisting with each painful moment I allowed this to go on.

  I closed the space between us, pressing our bodies together, and with a shaky hand, I swiped the flour from his cheek.

  We were so close I could feel him breathing, fast and shallow. He was waiting for me to make a choice, to move forward or step back and run. In that moment, there was no choice. It was Ben.

  It was always Ben.

  “I love you.” Before he could respond, I charged ahead. “I’m an asshole for not telling you sooner. I’m sorry.”

  I’d been feeling it for a while, maybe forever, but the thought of voicing those feelings had always filled me with a sense of apprehension. Now, though, after everything that had happened, it didn’t make me want to run. It felt… right. It felt right because it was true. And he deserved to know it. He needed to know how much he meant to me.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Am I the type to say something I don’t mean?” I pressed a kiss to his eyebrow and held him tighter.

  Ben melted in my arms. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”