by Kim Fielding
TULLY didn’t mention the flowers when he met Eddy in the lobby the following morning. He didn’t mention the fruit basket either, or the note, and he didn’t even want to think about the wine. He winced at the bitter taste of the aspirin from the hotel gift shop, and he clutched a paper cup of coffee as if it would save his life.
“Sleep well?” Eddy asked, all bright-eyed and chipper.
“Yeah.”
“Glad to hear it.”
They rode silently in the back of the limo, Eddy poking at his phone while Tully gazed out the window. He wondered if Sage had found the note in the kitchen yet and what he’d made of Tully’s absence. Not that it mattered. Maybe Sage was glad to have the condo to himself and Tully out of his hair. No, that wasn’t right. Full plate aside, they’d been enjoying each other’s company.
The meeting at Cromwell Williams dragged on. Tully thought everyone would be eager to leave for the long holiday weekend, but apparently not. Maybe Thanksgiving was less tempting if you knew you’d be eating stuffed Tofurky and seitan pie. The sky had grown dark by the time everyone packed up their laptops, shook hands, and headed to the parking lot.
The limo idled with Tully and Eddy in the back. “I can reschedule the jet,” Eddy said. “We could drive up to Santa Barbara instead, to this inn I know. We could get a lot of work done there and fly back Sunday night.”
“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving,” Tully said flatly.
“Well, sure. We could have a meal catered. I know a chef—”
“No.” Then a belated realization hit him. “You don’t have plans?”
“I’ve been too busy to solidify anything. My parents winter in St. Barts, and—”
Tully’s stomach gave an odd lurch of sympathy. “Join us.” Shit. The words were out before he could stop them.
“Us?”
Tully sighed. “My roommate and me. It’s not going to be a big thing, but his cooking is the best.”
“You have a roommate?” Eddy asked the question in the same tone of voice he might have used if Tully had admitted to possessing a third nipple.
“It’s a long story.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
Hoping his laugh didn’t sound bitter, Tully shook his head. “Nope. Platonic.” Well, almost entirely. Except for that one kiss. “He has a girlfriend back home in the boonies, and he’s— Well, it doesn’t really matter. But he’s making us dinner tomorrow, and you’re welcome to join us. Platonically,” he added in a warning tone.
Eddy stared at him. “I don’t want to impose.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! You put rose petals on my bed. Coming by to eat turkey and cranberry sauce is way less imposing. Just no kissing, no nothing. Our agreement still holds.”
Eddy smiled broadly. “I’ll bring the wine.”
AS they flew back to Portland, it occurred to Tully that he should have asked Sage before inviting Eddy. Not that the holiday dinner had been intended as a date to begin with, and not that they wouldn’t have plenty of food for a guest. But it would have been polite. Damn.
He said goodbye to Eddy on the tarmac, climbed into the car Eddy had called for him, and stewed. Then he cleared his throat. “Do you mind a little detour?” he asked the driver.
“Mr. Harrington’s paying me double-time tonight, and my kid wants some expensive video game thing for Christmas. We can take as long a detour as you want.”
The dinner rush at Dolly’s had passed, and fewer than a quarter of the tables were occupied. The restaurant smelled good, which reminded Tully he hadn’t eaten well for the past two days.
“How many?” asked the hostess.
“I just need to talk to Sage for a minute, please. If he’s not too busy.”
She widened her eyes slightly. “Okay. Hang on a sec.”
When she returned from the kitchen a minute later, Sage was at her heels, frowning with concern. His expression didn’t ease when he saw Tully. “What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel and tucking it into his apron.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I, um, I’m sorry I ducked out on you like that. I didn’t mean to leave you with all the work today.”
Sage seemed to relax. “No big deal. I know your job’s important.”
“I guess.” Tully glanced around at the customers contentedly shoving food into their mouths. “Actually, the reason I stopped by is to let you know I invited someone to dinner tomorrow. If you don’t mind.” Not that he could gracefully uninvite Eddy if Sage objected.
“It’s your house, man.”
“It’s our house as long as you’re living there.”
“Okay. Who is it?”
“Eddy Harrington. The guy whose case I’m working on.”
Something unreadable flashed across Sage’s face. “Right. The bazillionaire. Can’t he just buy himself a dinner? Or, I don’t know. Have it flown to him from Plymouth Rock?”
“Probably, but nothing he could buy would taste as good as your food. But look, if you don’t want—”
“It’s fine. More the merrier, right?” Sage didn’t look especially merry. He glanced over his shoulder. “I gotta get back to work.”
“Of course. Sorry to interrupt.”
“No big deal. But Tully—” He stopped suddenly.
“Yes?”
“Never mind. See you in the morning.”
Chapter Nine
ON Thursday morning Tully awoke to wonderful smells and a heavy feeling of guilt. Sage had worked late at Dolly’s the night before, yet he’d gotten up early and started cooking while Tully snored away. Tully rushed through a basic toiletry routine, threw on jeans and a T-shirt, and hurried into the kitchen.
The sight took his breath away.
Sage wore gray sweatpants and a plain white tee, with an equally plain white apron tied around his waist. Nothing fancy, and if the fabric of the sweats clung enticingly to his well-rounded ass, well, Tully could have ignored that. Possibly. What he couldn’t ignore was the look of serene happiness on Sage’s face as he stirred something in a large bowl. Before Sage had moved in, the kitchen had been as sterile and soulless as a showroom. Now, with his warm presence, it felt like home.
Tully cleared his throat, which felt tight. “How can I help?”
When Sage glanced at him—the right corner of his mouth turned up higher than the left, and his eyes were warm as cinnamon—Tully had to swallow hard.
“Want to get me the nine-by-thirteen baking pan?”
“Sure.”
After Tully looked fruitlessly inside three different cupboards, Sage laughed and pointed with his toe. “It’s in there.” And sure enough, it was, together with a collection of other pans. Tully set it on the counter and watched as Sage transferred the contents of the bowl into the pan.
“Stuffing?” Tully asked.
“Yep. Cornbread and sausage.” Sage grabbed a tablespoon, scooped up some of the mixture, and handed it to Tully. “Try.”
“Mmm!” said Tully with his mouth full. Because it was delicious, of course—salty, sweet, and savory, with a tickle of spices he couldn’t identify. As the flavors entertained his mouth, subtle warmth filled his body, as if after eating this food he’d never be hungry again.
“Cover it with foil and stick it in the fridge. I’m gonna get the bird ready.”
“But isn’t stuffing supposed to, um, stuff the turkey?”
“Not if you’ve brined the turkey, which I have. And besides, it makes it harder to cook the bird exactly right and can create a risk of food poisoning. I’ve used turkey broth in the stuffing, so that’s good, and I’ll pop it into the oven to heat while the turkey rests.”
“The turkey has to rest?”
Sage gave him a slightly pitying look. “Just put the pan in the fridge, please.”
Tully followed orders. Sage set him to chopping onions, but when Tully nearly cut his finger off, Sage gently took the knife away.
“How about if you’re on cleanup duty instead?”
“I ca
n handle that.” Safer. Maybe.
Tully washed things, and when there was nothing to wash, he leaned against the counter with a coffee cup in hand and observed Sage bustle about. In the kitchen, Sage moved with the confidence of a star athlete or seasoned dancer. Was this why TV cooking shows were so popular? Tully never watched them, and he had the feeling he wouldn’t find them nearly as engaging as his observation of Sage.
While Tully was scrubbing a pot, Sage took something off a plate, ate it, and frowned slightly. Then he grabbed another piece and brought it to Tully. “Try,” he commanded.
Tully held up his soapy hands, so Sage simply popped the morsel into Tully’s mouth.
Every ounce of blood in Tully’s body rushed straight to his dick. He turned quickly to face the sink, hoping to hide the tent at his groin, but even so, Sage’s eyes widened and he took a step back.
“I, uh, think it’s a little bland,” Sage mumbled.
Blushing furiously, Tully chewed and swallowed. Okay, fine. Pretend the awkward little moment hadn’t happened. He could play that. “It’s really good. But a little more kick wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah. More red pepper.”
“What is it?”
“Just a little appetizer. Shredded brussels sprouts with garlic and cheese on toast.”
“That’s brussels sprouts?”
“Sure.” Sage regarded him. “I didn’t think you were one of those ‘veggies are evil’ types.”
“Oh, I’m not. I’m just surprised.” Tully had never expected to find anything related to brussels sprouts erotic. Asparagus maybe. But sprouts?
Tully returned to his dishwashing duties, feeling the weight of Sage’s gaze. He was coaxing some dried bits off a spatula when Sage spoke again. “That guy who’s coming today….”
“Eddy.”
“Are you two, uh, a couple?”
“No!” Tully answered too quickly. Then he took a breath. “We dated, but not for long. It was never anything serious and it ended a long time ago. Now he’s just a client.”
“Isn’t that kind of awkward?”
“Not too much. He made a pass at me, but I hit him.”
Sage barked a surprised laugh. “Seriously? And then you invited him for Thanksgiving?”
“Well, there was some stuff in between, but basically yeah.”
“But you don’t want to date him.”
“I do not.”
“How come?” Sage squinted at him. “Is he ancient and hideous?”
“Nope. He’s close to my age and handsome.”
“And rich.”
Tully tried to keep the annoyance from his voice. “Loaded.”
“Yeah, he sounds awful all right.”
Assuming the conversation was over, Tully finished cleaning the spatula and turned off the water. But when he reached for a towel, Sage stepped closer. “You don’t seem to mind working with him. You can stand him well enough to invite him to dinner. And you have a lot in common. So why’d you turn him down?”
It was similar to Tully’s line of thought in LA. For a terrible moment, he toyed with telling Sage the raw truth: Because I get more excitement out of watching you in the kitchen than I ever did fucking him. But that was a no-go. Instead he smiled. “I guess my plate’s just too full.”
Sage scowled and made a grumbling noise. Then, dropping the subject completely, he began to dig for something in the fridge.
By early afternoon, Sage was able to take a break. “Let me know if anything explodes,” he said to Tully, who sat at the kitchen table with his laptop.
“Sure thing.”
Then Sage disappeared into his room. He must have left the door ajar, because through the quiet sounds of things cooking, Tully could hear him speaking. Although Tully couldn’t make out more than an occasional word, Sage’s tone was soft, a bit playful, and sprinkled with honeys and sweethearts. Right. Talking to the girlfriend on the phone. Tully felt both intense jealousy and a deep pang of sympathy for a man separated from his loved ones on a holiday.
After a time, Tully got up to set the dining room table. Shortly after buying his apartment, he’d had a brief fantasy about hosting fancy dinners, and he’d spent a small fortune on tableware he’d never used. Now he put out the ivory-and-beige tablecloth and the matching napkins, the Haviland china, the Christofle silver, the Waterford stemware. He wished he’d had time to pick up some fresh flowers—but then he remembered the bouquets in the LA hotel and was glad the table was flower-free. He set out candles instead.
Sage emerged just as Tully was straightening a fork. “Wow,” Sage said. “Fancy.”
“I never use any of these things. It’s nice to have an excuse for it.”
“I hope the food lives up to the setting.”
“The food will surpass it.”
It seemed as if Sage wanted to say something else, so Tully waited, considering whether they should draw the curtains during the meal to create a more intimate space or keep them open for the view. Open, he decided.
“I, uh, don’t have a suit or anything,” Sage finally said. When Tully looked at him quizzically, he continued. “I’m pretty much a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of guy. As you can tell.”
Then Tully understood and he smiled. “That’s okay. This establishment doesn’t have a dress code. I was going to go for casual myself.” Mentally, though, he adjusted his plans from slacks and a button-down to nice jeans and a sweater.
“That table looks like it calls for tuxes. I bet you own a tux too.”
Tully nodded. On rare occasions, the firm hosted events calling for formalwear. “I think I’ll skip it tonight, though. I feel silly in it.”
“Bet you don’t look silly.” Something flared in Sage’s eyes, and Tully was sorely tempted to kiss him. But Sage had a girlfriend, and Eddy would arrive soon, and, well, just no.
“I’m going to shower,” Tully announced. With cold water.
Sage simply nodded.
EDDY wore a dress shirt with an impeccably tailored suit, but at least he’d skipped the tie. And while his clothing had undoubtedly cost hundreds of dollars, Tully preferred Sage in Levi’s and a green T-shirt whose exact shade was, Tully thought, sage. Introductions went well enough, although Sage and Eddy appeared to be carefully sizing each other up. Eddy handed Sage a cardboard carrier with four wine bottles, and Tully hung Eddy’s overcoat and suit jacket in a closet.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Eddy said to Tully, then turned to Sage. “I hope it’s all right.”
Sage shrugged. “Of course.” Then he said something about checking the turkey and went into the kitchen.
“Nickel tour?” Tully offered. He’d never invited Eddy over while they were dating, although he’d been to Eddy’s West Hills mansion twice. Naturally the place was impressive, but Tully had wondered what a single man did with over twelve thousand square feet.
Tully’s place was much smaller and the fittings more modest, but he was proud of it, and Eddy made appreciative noises over the views. “You really feel like you’re in the city here.”
“We are. I usually walk to work.”
“No traffic issues for you, huh? Guess I won’t be able to sell you one of my pods.”
“Guess not.”
Eddy stood close beside him as they looked out into the gray afternoon.
“What’s the deal with Sage?” Eddy whispered. “Live-in servant?”
Tully didn’t want to tell him the whole story; Sage’s issues weren’t Eddy’s business. “He’s a friend, not a servant. And it’s been great having him here.”
“Friend with benefits?” Eddy asked, leering suggestively.
“Sure—he’s been doing all the cooking, and that’s a huge benefit.”
A moment later Sage walked into the living room. “I put out a couple things if you guys are hungry.”
Which made Tully feel like a complete asshole for treating Sage like a servant while he played lord of the manor.
He walked to Sage and clapped his shou
lder. “You’ve been working all day. Why don’t you sit down with a glass of wine while I dish things out?”
“In a few minutes, we’ll all be sitting down. Besides, I’ve worked the front of the house as well as the back. I know how to be a waiter.”
“But you’re not a waiter. You’re—”
“I know. C’mon. Let me know if those brussels sprouts give you a kick now.” And he waggled his eyebrows slightly, bringing heat to Tully’s face.
As it turned out, the brussels sprouts were delicious with the added pepper. Sage had set out a few other munchies too, arraying them on small dishes atop the sideboard. Tully had some of each, warning himself not to fill up yet. Meanwhile, Eddy questioned Sage about every morsel. “What kind of mushrooms are these?” “Do I taste cumin in this?” “How did you manage the balance of sour and sweet?” As if Eddy were a judge on one of those cooking shows. Sage answered him patiently, taking occasional bites of his own.
“Do you own a restaurant?” Eddy finally asked.
Sage’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “No. I just work at one.”
“Well, whoever landed you as chef is incredibly lucky! Can you give me the manager’s contact info? I’d like to discuss catering a corporate event.”
Tully started to say something, but Sage beat him to it. “I’m not a chef, man. I’m a line cook at Dolly’s. You know, that burger joint downtown.”
Eddy blinked a few times. “Oh.”
Of course, Sage was a hell of a lot more than that. Tully wanted to tell Eddy that Sage had been cooking his entire life, that he used to own the only non–pizza place in Hair Shaker, that he could make cheese from scratch and invented delicious riffs on worldwide cuisines, and that he’d learned all of it through hard work and sheer talent. But instead he grabbed a wine bottle. “Who wants some?”
Soon afterward, they all sat around the dining table, gazing at the enormous array of beautiful, aromatic foods.
