by Beth Bolden
Quentin’s gazing over at him like he doesn’t understand anything. Landon switches his phone on speaker. “Tell Quentin what this means,” Landon demands.
“It means you’re gonna get a really good edit,” Ian explains.
Quentin still looks confused. “It means that we’re going to do really well,” Landon murmurs to Quentin, bumping their shoulders together and not even trying to hold back his brilliant smile.
“Really well,” Ian repeats.
Landon manages to tear his eyes away from Quentin’s. They’re gorgeous in this half-light, glowing and ethereal and so fucking happy, Landon never wants to look away. He re-focuses on the phone call because he very clearly understands now why Ian was so excited about this. “So this interview . . .”
He doesn’t even get partway through his sentence before Ian is barking out requests. “Don’t confirm, don’t deny, play it super coy. You know how, Landon. And all they really need to do is catch the way Quentin looks at you, and it’ll all be crystal.”
Landon looks over at Quentin and he’s blushed bright red. “Also try to get something in about your new music,” Ian instructs. “The articles about your signing should hit Monday-ish, so it’ll be a great time to talk about it. Mention a few of the songs.” There’s a meaningful pause and Landon understands exactly what Ian means. He’s supposed to hint at the truth—that he’s essentially writing an album full of love songs about Quentin. It’s Landon’s turn to blush, because he’s writing an album full of love songs about Quentin. It won’t be difficult not to reveal too much, because Quentin still can’t know.
“Landon, your stylist is going to send over an outfit. I want you to wear it, okay? And Quentin, she’ll send something over for you too.”
Quentin opens his mouth, and Landon is sure he’s about to protest. “Yes and yes,” Landon inserts quickly before Quentin can. Quentin frowns.
Ian gives a few more sets of instructions, and tells Landon he’ll email over the details.
After the call, Landon doesn’t feel like he can stay in bed. His blood is fizzing with excitement and he feels light as a feather.
But Quentin’s definitely still on earth, in fact, he doesn’t look nearly as excited as Landon feels. Not even close.
Landon burrows into Quentin’s neck. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, wrapping his arms about Quentin’s waist and sending them on a controlled fall backwards into the nest of pillows Landon had gathered for them.
Quentin is quiet for a long moment. Fear begins to grow deep in Landon; Quentin has never, ever shut him out before. With how well everything’s been going between them, he really doesn’t want them to start moving backwards just when Landon was really beginning to hope that Quentin loved him too.
“I hate interviews,” Quentin admits lowly. He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he finds anything actually funny. “I know, it’s stupid. This is a great thing. But I don’t want to fuck it up for you.”
“For us,” Landon insists, squeezing Quentin tighter. “And you couldn’t possibly. If I haven’t managed to fuck up any of our dishes yet, I can’t imagine you messing up an interview. Maybe pretend like it’s just us talking together.”
“Just us talking,” Quentin repeats.
“Just us talking,” Landon reassures him.
“I feel ridiculous,” Quentin complains, as he stares in the mirror at the brightly colored shirt he’s wearing. “Like a parrot.”
“A gorgeous parrot,” Landon insists loyally, coming up behind him to give him a quick hug, giving no shits about wrinkling the Gucci silk shirt.
“It feels nice, though,” Quentin admits.
Landon reaches over and tweaks another button undone. Some of Quentin’s tattoos are now exposed and he looks a bit surprised. “What?” Landon asks with a smug smirk. “You look hot.”
Quentin looks back at himself in the mirror. “I don’t know, I’ve never worn anything like this before. I stick to t-shirts mainly. No need and no budget for anything fancier, really.” And he doesn’t have to add, he doesn’t like to draw this much attention to himself. Landon has spent the last few weeks discovering that as much as Landon loves the spotlight, Quentin shies away from it.
“Mainly I would agree with you,” Landon says. “The stylist is pretty useless most of the time. I ignore about ninety percent of what she sends over. But she did good with you.”
“It is soft,” Quentin says so quietly, his eyes intent on his image in the mirror. “And it’s got such beautiful colors.”
“Beautiful colors for a beautiful person,” Landon can’t help but say. He might care about what sort of feelings his words give away, but not right now, not when Quentin is staring in the mirror, trying to decide if he feels confident enough to give a television interview wearing this shirt.
Quentin turns back to Landon, a brilliant smile breaking over his features. “You look gorgeous too, you know,” he says.
Landon glances down at the Givenchy t-shirt his stylist sent and his favorite pair of black jeans. He figures wearing half of what she sent was keeping to the promise he made to Ian.
“I’ll do.” He shrugs.
Quentin reaches back and slides a big palm into the back pocket of Landon’s tight-fitting jeans. He squeezes a bit possessively and Landon’s mouth instantly goes dry.
Of course that’s when there’s a brisk knock on the door. Quentin barely gets his hand out before the door opens. Ian walks in and rolls his eyes. “I leave you alone for five minutes,” he complains, but there’s that particularly bright look in his eyes today—the one Landon always associates with pride at one of Landon’s accomplishments.
That doesn’t stop Quentin from flushing.
“You two ready to go?” Ian asks. Landon can’t help but notice that Ian’s eyes are almost primarily resting on Quentin. After all, he’s the rookie here; Landon could probably do this kind of interview in his sleep.
“All good,” Landon answers for both of them.
They move quickly through makeup and getting miked up. They meet Allison, their interviewer, who has kind eyes and a warm smile. Quentin relaxes a bit when he sees Allison, and even more when they start chatting about their favorite places to eat in LA.
By the time they take their seats and the camera starts rolling, Landon is positive they’re going to ace this.
“Tell me about Kitchen Wars,” Allison asks and Landon has to give her major props, she sounds like she actually wants to know.
“It’s an instrument of torture,” Landon explains, all straight face and deadpan voice.
Quentin lets out a huge belly laugh, literally just throws his head back and cackles, like Landon is the funniest person on earth. It’s a pretty good feeling, if Landon is being honest.
“Landon Patton, I heard you were a tease,” Allison says back with a sparkling smile.
Landon opens his mouth to say something clever and witty, but before he can speak, Quentin jumps in. “You have no idea,” he says, and Landon can feel his knowing smirk.
Well. Ian did say to play it coy and not exactly deny it.
Allison raises an eyebrow. “So you both enjoy being tortured?” she asks.
“Personally,” Quentin jumps in again, and Landon is so proud, he’s sure he’s beaming all over this damn uncomfortable couch, “I signed up because I would love to own my own bakery. Getting Landon as a partner is the real prize though.”
“And you, Landon?”
“Oh, you know me, I was just sitting around and thought hey, why not do a competitive cooking show? Because I love to cook and all.”
“Don’t you?”
Landon makes a face and shakes his head. “I’m the worst,” he confides, leaning forward a bit. He can work a camera blindfolded. “I feel sorry for poor Quentin here, saddled with someone who can’t cook to save their life.”
“Is this true, Quentin? Landon can’t cook?”
Quentin frowns. “That’s actually the best part about Kitchen Wars, it helps
teach the celebrity to cook. Without Landon picking up some culinary skills over the last few weeks, we’d have been sunk. Could he cook when he started? Not really. But he’s learned and caught on really well.”
Allison’s smile is cat-got-the-cream personified. “Sounds like you’re a big fan of his, Quentin.”
“Ever since he was on The Voice, if I’m being honest.” Quentin sounded a bit ashamed of this fact at Rory’s party, but today, he just owns it, pride bursting from his voice. Landon can’t help it; he blushes. He can almost feel Ian’s wildly-vacillating rage and excitement as this interview continues.
“So you feel like you’re working well together, Landon?”
“We’re awesome together,” Landon says, and it’s the complete truth. He’s never been part of such a tight team before. They truly are the Dream Team. He believed they might be back when he first met Quentin, but nothing could have really prepared him for the certainty he feels now.
“Absolutely bananas,” Quentin echoes.
Landon giggles. Why is Quentin so damn cute?
“Landon, I hear you’re back in the studio,” Allison says, shifting directions.
“Yeah, I am. With Epic Records. Very excited to be with them. And I’ve already started recording my new album.”
“Anything you can tell us?”
Landon hesitates for a split second. Ian did say to hint and to play it coy, and he absolutely doesn’t want for Quentin to find out about the album before he’s ready to tell him. However, Landon feels like he just can’t help himself anymore. He’s been holding all this in and some of it was bound to come out at some point.
“It’s about falling in love,” Landon says, and he knows he’s got that sweet Quentin smile on his face. “Falling in love with someone special.”
“I can’t wait to hear it. It sounds special.” Allison’s knowing grin tells Landon that she understands exactly what—or who—he’s talking about.
Allison wraps up the interview and it’s over. Done. And probably the most appallingly obvious thing Landon has ever participated in.
He doesn’t know whether to be excited or ashamed.
Allison shakes their hands and thanks them for such a great interview. “I’ll be rooting for you two to win,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re a very cute couple. Positively sickening, honestly.”
Landon freezes a bit, which is massively ironic, because on the couch, during the actual filming he was as relaxed as he’s ever been on camera. But now, he’s confronted with someone who thinks they know what’s going on and he has no idea what to say. Deny it because he and Quentin have never actually discussed whether they’re “together”? Or should he admit it? Landon doesn’t know and before he can figure it out, she’s already moving on, leaving him standing there, fish-mouthed and brainless.
Quentin is quiet when they get back to the dressing room, carefully unbuttoning and hanging up the Gucci shirt, shrugging on his own t-shirt and jacket and getting his things together to leave.
Landon frets, postponing actually leaving by fooling around with his own bag far longer than is truly necessary. He’s both dreading and hoping that Quentin will just say something and put him out of his misery.
“Why did you freeze back there?” Quentin asks, and his voice is more wary than accusatory.
Landon still doesn’t know what to say any more now than he did ten minutes ago. So he shrugs. Nice and non-committal.
“Did you not like her assuming we were together?” Again, Quentin seems more confused than upset, but Landon isn’t taking any chances.
“I think most people will get that impression after watching that interview,” Landon says.
“But her specifically,” Quentin presses. Landon looks down, he can’t actually meet Quentin’s eyes when he’s demanding answers and Landon has nothing to give him. “She was asking.”
“I didn’t really think so,” Landon says, even though he’s just flat-out lying by this point.
“I thought so.” Landon glances up and there’s a deep frown line between Quentin’s brows.
“Did it bother you, her assuming we were together?” Quentin continues, clearly not going to leave it alone.
“Of course not,” Landon admits. That much is certainly safe.
Quentin lets out a rather shaky sigh of what might be relief. “Well, then why didn’t you just say we were, silly?”
Landon glances up in surprise. “Because we haven’t talked about it?”
“I didn’t think it was even really necessary to have a conversation,” Quentin confesses, all shy voice and flushed cheeks. “I thought it was pretty obvious we were together.”
Landon feels answering relief flood through him. “Oh thank god,” he gets out.
Quentin flings his arms around him and holds him close. “You are so silly,” he whispers in his ear. “I’m crazy about you, boyfriend.”
I’m crazy about you isn’t exactly the three words Landon was hoping for, but it’s a really, really good start. He’s not complaining.
Also, as they’re leaving, he makes the time to quickly text his stylist and make sure that Quentin can keep the Gucci shirt. If he’s going to be lucky enough to be Quentin’s boyfriend, he’s going to be the best boyfriend.
Landon waits until they’re filming to present it to him. There’s no way for Quentin to wear it while they’re cooking, but he has an idea that maybe the shirt can be sort of a good luck charm—something they most certainly need. The competition is narrowing; every single pair left is stiff competition, and Landon is still not ready to lose.
Not now, not when they are so much closer to getting everything they both want.
Quentin’s eyes when he opens the box are worth every bit of the argument Landon had to have with the stylist when she said she couldn’t make it happen.
“This is too much,” Quentin says immediately, even though his hands are already reaching out to stroke the soft silk.
“You’re wrong,” Landon insists. “It’s honestly not enough, but I suppose it’ll have to do.”
Quentin’s answering smile is bright enough to power a small city and his kiss is passionate enough that Landon is really disappointed when a knock on the door of their green room tells them it’s time to film.
Quentin seems really relaxed even when Alexis walks out and the cameras start rolling.
“Last week,” Alexis says thoughtfully, as if she’s truly considering this, “we had breakfast. So it seems only fair that this week we should make dinner.” She pauses, and Landon can’t help but admire her dramatic effect. Kicks off her heels. Smiles and pulls the sharp-looking chopsticks out of her bun. Shakes her hair out. “A typical weeknight dinner. Whatever you’d normally throw together after a long day at work when you’re hungry and don’t feel like ordering in again.”
Landon never gets tired of ordering in, but he can see from the thoughtful expression on Quentin’s face that he understands exactly what Alexis is referring to.
“Today,” Alexis continues, “we’ll be doing our shop before any of our auction items. Sixty seconds, per usual. Off you go!”
Quentin grabs their grocery basket and heads off to the pantry at his usual quick clip. Landon watches with interest as he loads up their basket with what looks like a large amount of ingredients. When the minute is up, he heads back to their station, and Landon peers into the basket, not surprised to see a lean piece of meat, lots of fresh herbs, vegetables, potatoes, even rice. Quentin has prepared and then prepared again if they lose their ingredients or are otherwise sabotaged.
Except then Alexis opens her trap again and sends Landon’s stomach to the floor. “Looks like great baskets. Too bad you’re not going to keep them.” She laughs a bit maniacally and Landon feels legitimately sick. “You’re going to have to switch your basket with another team’s basket. Everyone except for Reed and Diego that is, a perk of currently having the most money in the bank.”
“Oh please,” Quentin exhales
under his breath. Landon feels similarly annoyed. He thought he was over the foil utensil debacle but he’s really not.
Alexis calls out the pairs, and Quentin exchanges their awesome basket of ingredients with Carson and Paul. Quentin instantly goes digging through their new basket and Landon thinks from his thoughtful look as he peruses their new set of ingredients they’re not so bad off. His sick feeling relents a little, but then Alexis calls for the first auction item.
Oh yeah, that fantastic experience wasn’t even a real auction item. They still have those to go. Joy.
The show assistants wheel out a contraption that has Landon thinking of the lazy Susan prep table and hoping with every fiber of his being that they do not end up with it. It’s a prep table attached to a diabolical invention—the stair stepper. Landon is proud of how muscular his legs and thighs are and even he doesn’t want to put himself through that torture.
The bidding starts briskly and it’s clearly between Nora and Carson right away. Landon can’t say he’s all that surprised. Neither Carson nor Paul are in the best of shape and he’s sure that both of them dread ending up with that disaster of a prep station.
Carson wins the stair stepper with a bid of $6,200, the highest-priced auction item to be bought thus far, and as Landon looks down the line, everyone is a bit shell-shocked by the money that’s suddenly being thrown around.
Unsurprisingly, Carson and Paul give the stair stepper to Nora and Oliver. No doubt their payment for driving the price up so high.
It comes as no additional surprise that the next auction item, a rounded dome of a pan with only the tiniest flat cooking surface, on which everything has to be cooked, goes for another high amount to Nora and Oliver, and they graciously bestow the pain right back to Carson and Paul.
Landon breathes out his own shaky sigh of relief. He and Quentin have new ingredients but they have no sabotages. No devilish prep tables or pans or anything else that will prevent them from getting eliminated. As long as they don’t stab themselves in the back, they should be okay.
Alexis calls out the start of the cooking period, and Landon and Quentin start to unload their basket.
