by Beth Bolden
“How different is it from the things you got?” Landon asks, looking at similar ingredients to the ones he originally spotted in their basket.
“Very much the same, honestly,” Quentin says. “Luckily I was going to go simple—meat, starch, veg.”
“So what’s the plan?” Landon asks, leaning over on the counter. Belatedly he realizes he's displaying his butt for all onlookers and he didn’t even mean to. Quentin shoots him a hot look across the cutting board.
“Flank steak. Roasted potatoes and sautéed zucchini. I think I might do a blackberry sauce with these berries,” says Quentin.
“I love blackberries,” Landon admits.
“Then definitely the blackberry sauce,” Quentin adds with a tiny smirk.
Quentin sets Landon to chopping up potatoes, while Quentin starts seasoning the steak, his arms whirling through the jars of herbs and spices, his movements resembling a mad magician. Landon is doing more boring chopping, but it also means he gets a front seat to the struggle that Carson and Paul are having over their horrible pan.
“I can’t cook on this,” Paul rages. Landon has never seen him rage before, but it’s certainly an interesting look. It’s also possibly a repeat of last week of Jeff and Jessa with the camp stove. Landon isn’t exactly disappointed by this development. He really wants to be safe from elimination and he really, really wants to win.
Landon glances over the other way, and giggles inwardly at Nora panting not very attractively as she battles the stair stepper. It looks intense and he is more relieved than ever that he and Quentin didn’t end up with that particular nightmare.
He finishes chopping the potatoes and Quentin seasons them quickly and throws them into the oven, roasting them with garlic, salt and pepper. Quentin then hands him a whole bunch of fresh parsley. Landon makes a face. “Am I just here for slave labor then?” he asks imperiously.
Quentin shoots him a smug look. “For your menial kitchen skills, darling, and for your glorious body.”
Landon puts down the knife long enough to blow Quentin a very dramatic kiss. He sees the camera catch the whole exchange and can’t help but think of the interview they gave this week and the edit they’re almost certainly going to get.
He can’t even say he’s the slightest bit surprised or disappointed. He and Quentin have spectacular chemistry together and it would be a horrible waste for the producers not to take advantage.
After the parsley is reduced to a heap on their cutting board, Landon sidles up to where Quentin is heating up a grill pan on the stove. He shoots Diego and Reed a quick look, and returns his attention to Quentin. "Do you see what they're doing?" he asks, under his breath.
"I'm trying to ignore them," Quen says, and there's that annoyed edge to his voice again. Landon doesn’t think Quentin is annoyed with him, but it's impossible to say for sure. "Can you open that bottle of red wine?"
Something Landon can do. He has the bottle of wine open in a minute, and Quentin pours it in with the blackberries, drizzling in honey and balsamic vinegar.
"Better if it could simmer for an hour," he huffs at the pan as he swirls it around.
They don't have an hour and Landon doesn't feel he needs to contribute this fact to the conversation. "What else can I do?" Landon asks because he hates feeling useless and because they don’t have a weekly challenge that forces him to participate, it feels like Quentin is cooking the entire dish.
"Chop the zucchini?" Quentin suggests.
Being the sous chef sucks, but Landon will do it to win. As he carefully chops, he takes the opportunity to glance around the other kitchens.
Reed and Diego are making tacos. Rory and Kimber, some sort of soup. Oliver is stirring sauce on the stove while Nora sweats and forms meatballs. Carson and Paul have clearly stopped speaking to each other as Paul tries to cook a chicken breast on the smallest pan known to man. It'll be impossible to know where he and Quentin will fall until the judging begins, but his faith that Quentin is brilliant helps reassure him. They can do this. He feels even more certain when Quentin is done plating.
The meat fans out, succulent and juicy, drizzled with the bright red sauce. The vegetable sides piled carelessly but artistically. It’s a gorgeous plate, and Landon feels the most confident so far as they head into judging.
The judges start with Oliver and Nora. They look even worse for wear than he or Quentin do, and Landon is not surprised because while Nora normally never looks anything less than flawless, she's spent the last thirty minutes climbing the stair stepper of death.
They’ve prepared spaghetti and meatballs. “Really tasty sauce,” Zach says and goes in for another bite. Landon can’t help but tense up. "You got a lot of layers of flavor in a short amount of time.”
“Really beautiful plate of food,” Jasper observes, “but I would have liked something green besides the parsley garnish.”
Simone is silent, which Landon can’t decide if that’s better or worse.
The judges move on to Carson and Paul, and this time, Simone is the first to speak at the very small portion of chicken she was given and the odd way it’s been prepared. “It's dry,” Simone says skeptically, “and yet feels a trifle undercooked. I've never had overcooked and undercooked chicken at the same time.”
Landon has to hide his smug smile. Nora doesn’t hide hers at all.
It’s clear that Paul and Carson were forced into preparing their dish this way because of the very tiny flat cooking surface of the pan they were sabotaged with.
Zach tries to give a compliment to the Dijon sauce on the side, but it’s clear that unless anyone else’s dish is worse, chances are not looking good for Paul and Carson.
Kimber and Rory are up next. Landon reaches out and grabs Quentin’s hand. He knows the wonders Rory can create with meat. As it turns out, he didn’t cook meat. And then Landon remembers that he didn't use his own ingredients. He was stuck with someone else's and he made. . . soup?
Simone frowns. "When you're tired and hungry from a long day, you take an eternity to make butternut squash soup? To build flavor layers at a time, then blend, then strain?" She looks absolutely skeptical, but Rory just shrugs.
The flavors are good, but not as developed as either Jasper or Zach would like. "You only had thirty minutes, man," Zach reprimands kindly. "Pick something to cook that's doable in that time limit."
Diego and Reed prepared pork tacos seasoned with spices and citrus. However, Jasper pokes around the plate and says, “I wish there were more sides to go with this dish. It feels a bit unfinished.”
Simone nods. “A slaw or rice and beans. Something else besides the tacos.”
Quentin and Landon’s turn is last, and Landon’s insides are curdling as Quentin tells the judges about their dish. “Rosemary flank steak with blackberry sauce,” he says, “accompanied by roasted potatoes and zucchini.”
Their dish looks more elegant than any other, and from the moment Zach cuts into the meat and doesn’t even need the knife he’s been provided with, Landon feels incredibly proud.
“This sauce is delicious,” Zach exclaims, and takes another bite, and then another. “I’d love the recipe.”
Simone nods. “Rosemary and blackberry aren't flavors I'd normally combine but it works perfectly here,” she says. “Absolutely delicious.”
Jasper doesn’t comment, but considering he’s eaten half his plate by the time they step away, Landon can’t help but give a triumphant smile in Quentin’s direction. They’ve done it; they’ve finally won.
All that’s left to do is for Alexis to confirm what he already knows is true.
But first, there’s the expected announcement that Carson and Paul have been eliminated. Carson looks disappointed but not really surprised to hear their name called out as the pair that will be leaving next.
“A valiant effort,” Alexis says kindly, shaking their hands, and Landon thinks she’s probably more right than truly kind. They did the best they could with what they had. He isn’t sur
e he or Quentin could have gotten around the challenge of that pan.
“As for our winners, well, it’s rather obvious, I think,” Alexis says, shooting them an astonishingly fond look. “Quentin Maxwell and Landon Patton. Second place to Oliver and Nora. Third, Diego and Reed.”
Landon always wondered what it would feel like to actually win. He feels like he’s spent his whole life coming second or third. As it turns out, he’s waited to win until the best possible time, because nothing could possibly feel better than winning with Quentin by his side. They feel like a team in the best sense of the word, and when Landon wraps his arms tightly around him, he tells him he loves him for the second time in two weeks, but this time he feels okay saying it a little louder.
Not loud enough that Quentin might hear, mind you, but a little louder. And some day, hopefully someday soon, Landon will feel comfortable saying it loud enough for Quentin to hear it all.
The interview with Quentin and Landon airs Monday morning, and by Monday night, when Quentin comes over to Landon’s apartment for dinner and some snuggling, Landon has personally gained about 10,000 new Twitter followers and Quentin’s follower count has tripled. Landon knows from the frustrated emoji Quentin sent that he’s not all that happy about it.
Landon is on the couch, attempting to sift through the massive pile of mentions he’s gotten after a day at the studio, when Quentin walks in, carrying a bag of groceries. “Hey!” Landon exclaims as Quentin sets the bag down on the kitchen counter and comes back into the living room to give Landon a kiss. “I do have food, you know.”
Quentin rolls his eyes, fondness radiating from every pore. “Snacks and cereal. I can’t make dinner out of pretzels and Cheerios, Landon.”
Landon lifts his face and accepts the kiss Quentin drops on his lips. “Hello to you, darling. Did you see that we’re famous now?”
“You were already famous,” Quentin calls out as he heads back to the kitchen.
Landon mumbles something to himself about YouTube culinary demonstrations and a few recorded karaoke videos he’s dredged out of the abyss of the internet, but he doesn’t say it loud enough for Quentin to hear. Even though Quen’s his boyfriend now, he doesn’t ever have to know the depths Landon sunk to during the height of his desperation for new Quentin Maxwell material.
He hears Quentin unloading bags in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge, and then a startled gasp. “Landon! Have you ever even turned this oven on?”
Landon has to think for a long moment. He’s a bit embarrassed at the answer. “No?” he calls out hesitantly.
“It’s okay, it’s gonna get a bit of a workout today,” Quentin answers back. Landon can hear the smile in his voice and a tiny sigh of relief escapes him.
He’s been thinking all day of what he wants to say in response to the attention he knew they’d get, but the amount is staggering and intense. It occurs to him suddenly as he’s scrolling and he doesn’t hesitate as he types out the tweet.
Love the excitement! he writes, I’m pumped to tackle @KitchenWars with the greatest partner ever, @QuentinMaxwell. #DreamTeam4Ever.
By the time the pizzas are out of the oven and Landon is scrolling through Netflix looking for something good to watch as the food cools to a level that won’t scorch their mouths, Quentin has time to glance at his phone.
“Landon,” he says very seriously as Landon mentally debates The Avengers over the first episode of Daredevil—Quentin hasn’t seen either, and Landon feels it’s his civic duty to educate him—“Dream Team is trending on Twitter.”
Landon drops the remote and picks up his phone, frantically scrolling to the Twitter app. “It is?”
“Worldwide,” Quentin says and he’s clearly in shock, because he must not be reading it right. Landon opens his app and is greeted by the exact same revelation. They have gone global.
It turns out, after some digging and Quentin reheating their pizza twice, what’s actually happened is that Buzzfeed got ahold of the interview, a two-minute preview of Kitchen Wars in which apparently Landon and Quentin feature prominently and then the tweets they’ve made to and from each other. They gathered it all together into one article titled, “The Cutest Reality Show Couple Ever.” Right now, it’s the most popular article on their site and has started to be picked up by many, many media outlets.
Then Landon tweeted—and apparently, from what Landon can figure out from the tidal wave of info he’s trying to wade through, to many people, Landon’s tweet was a confirmation of all the speculation that Buzzfeed spent the day generating.
Quentin’s head falls back on the couch. “I don’t understand,” he says. Unlike when they agreed to be together, he doesn’t sound thrilled. He sounds terrified.
Landon’s phone rings out shrilly. It’s Ian. Of course, it’s Ian. Landon debates quickly the pros and cons of putting his manager off while he and Quentin try to salvage what’s left of their quiet night in.
Quentin’s face is resigned as he glances over at the buzzing device on the coffee table. “You know he won’t stop calling if you don’t answer,” he points out.
“I know, I know,” Landon grumbles. But still his finger hesitates over the answer button. It’s exciting to become this popular this quickly and it will certainly help both of their public profiles and it will absolutely contribute to the success of Kitchen Wars, but it’s almost too much too fast.
The first thing Ian says when Landon picks up is, “Quentin needs a manager,” and the conversation goes downhill from there.
Thirty minutes and another pizza reheating later, Landon and Quentin are finally off of the call with Ian and are debating whether it’s a good idea for Quentin to also become Ian’s client.
“I think there are a lot of positives,” Quentin says between big bites of pizza. “Like he can work together on our PR. I can’t imagine there would be much I’d want to really do separately, PR-wise, from you. Other than the bakery, of course.”
Landon just shakes his head. Quentin’s so smart, and a wonderful cook, but he’s so naïve. “You’re amazing,” he says softly, “you can’t even imagine how many people are going to come knocking on your door. And most of it won’t have anything to do with me.”
“I just want to open my bakery,” Quentin keeps insisting. Landon cracks open a beer and chugs down half before calling Ian back.
“Quentin works tomorrow afternoon,” Landon explains to Ian. “Come to my place and we’ll talk contracts before he goes. Bring bagels.”
Ian makes a grunt of assent.
“I want to state for the record that I wanted him to seriously consider different representation. At least looking at different options,” Landon says, shooting Quentin an arch look. Quentin just smiles, because he really doesn’t know what is going to happen shortly, but Landon does. Landon knows what it feels like when suddenly everyone wants you. He also knows what it feels like when everyone forgets you. The trick is trying to keep your balance somewhere in the middle.
Even after four years in the entertainment industry, Landon is still trying to figure out that technique
“I think that you’ll be more than paranoid enough for both of us,” Ian says with a chuckle. “He’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll take good care of him.”
They make the final arrangements for tomorrow, and Landon hangs up, grabbing another piece of pizza to avoid looking at Quentin. He’s never done that before. Not once since he’s met him. Usually he can’t look away.
“Landon,” Quentin says softly, scooting closer on the couch until their thighs are touching and Quentin is cuddling into his side, “Ian will take good care of me. You trust him to take care of you, right?”
Landon doesn’t know exactly how to say this—or if he should even say it at all—but it’s one thing to make sure he has a manager who takes care of him. But Quentin? Quentin deserves more than that. Quentin deserves the very best. End of story.
“I do,” Landon confirms after he chews and swallows. If the bite has tro
uble doing down, only he has to know about it. “Of course I do. He cares more than anyone else has before. But if we’re both his clients, he might . . .” Landon clears his throat. The lump won’t go away. It’s definitely not pizza. “I’m worried he might try to use our relationship as PR.”
“Would he do that?” Quentin asks. “I guess it’s better than using a fake relationship for PR.”
“It is,” Landon says. He can’t seem to shake the worry in his bones. Maybe it’s the two years of fake relationships he had to endure before he came out—stupid stunts that were fake replicas of a real relationship. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if their relationship, which is one hundred percent real, had a little light shown on it.
Landon thinks for a long moment, then continues. “What if we made sure to write boundaries into your contract? It wouldn’t be in mine, but it would be in yours, and as long as we were together, nobody could force us to do anything.”
Quentin nods slowly. “It’ll be okay,” Landon promises. “Ian is a good guy, as managers go. I was lucky to get him, honestly, and you’ll be lucky too.”
Quentin looks so trusting as he stares back at Landon. Landon also wants to believe his expression could also qualify as loving—and as a hypothesis, it’s not so crazy, actually. “Would you mind if we wrote out a few things I want to make sure are priorities when we discuss the contract?” Quentin asks.
“Of course!”
Landon finds a copy of his contract on his laptop and they go over it until late, all thoughts of Netflix forgotten, writing down ideas of clauses that Quentin feels are important to him.
It becomes very clear that Quentin, while not being particularly creative in his search for a manager, is not going to be the type of client who simply lets things happen to him. The final list of requirements is not lengthy, but it is firm. Quentin is going to open his bakery. He wants to prioritize his PR commitments around the bakery and its opening in the near future. Everything has to come back to his business. He is not in this for personal glory. There is a point about relationships. Quentin wants to see all the offers that Ian gets. He wants to make his own choices, with advice from Ian. He is willing to let Ian manage him, but not control him. The distinction is so important and Landon is relieved that Quentin never had to learn the hard way how horrible it can be when someone else has complete control over your life.
