by Beth Bolden
“Well,” Landon says when Quentin finishes. “It certainly looks big enough.”
There’s a flash of uncertainty in Quentin’s eyes. An uncertainty that Landon hoped he’d moved past, but it’s understandable that Quentin hasn’t because this is a big undertaking, even with the kind of financial and business support that Ian’s connections are bringing to the table.
“Any smaller though,” Landon continues, “and it wouldn’t be big enough.”
“I mean,” Quentin says and the uncertain tone is in his voice now, and Landon can’t take it. Quentin is so full of life and promise and possibility that the idea of him sounding nervous is difficult to hear.
So Landon just interrupts him. “It’s perfect. It’s absolutely fucking perfect, Quen. Stop worrying.” He pauses. “Please.”
Quentin reaches over and wraps his arms around Landon, tugging him tight against his body. “Thank you,” he murmurs into Landon’s shoulder.
A knock coming from the back of the kitchen interrupts their moment. “That must be the rental company,” Quentin explains. “Tables and chairs.”
“I thought this was just the four of us,” Landon wonders.
“It is, but we still needed a place to sit down,” Quentin says, moving towards what must be the stockrooms and the back door, Landon trailing behind him.
After Quentin’s signed for the table, chairs, the simple place settings and linens the rental company delivered, Quentin makes an impatient gesture to Landon. “You can go, you know. I know you have a meeting. I’ll be fine here. I’ve got prep to do and dessert to bake.”
“You’ll be fine here?” Landon asks, even though he already knows the answer. Quentin is insanely self-sufficient and besides, the last thing he probably needs is Landon’s assistance, which is inconsistent at best and a hindrance at worst.
“Seriously,” Quentin says, digging out his portable speaker from one of the bags and his wooden box of knives. “I’ll be perfectly fine here.”
Landon leans over and gives him a quick kiss that is in the middle of turning into a much longer, much hotter, full-on make-out session, when his phone buzzes in his pocket and reminds him that he has an important meeting to get to.
Quentin knows it too, and gently, but firmly, pushes him out the door.
As Landon slides into his cab, he thinks that Quentin is maybe beginning to understand him a bit too well.
“We love the way the album is coming along.”
The woman on the other side of the conference table is a clone of the producer at the first Kitchen Wars meeting, down to the navy-blue Max Mara suit she’s wearing.
“Good.” Landon squirms in his chair and wishes he’d asked Ian to come to this marketing meeting. He thought it would be silly stuff, like picking the font for his album title, and talking about the cover photoshoot. But only having one marketing executive meet with him for that doesn’t make sense and a bad feeling is growing in the base of his stomach.
“I wanted to talk to you specifically about Quentin Maxwell, and what sort of promotion you’d be willing to do with him to support it.”
“To support the album?” Landon should have known this conversation was coming. It was inevitable. They’re big news right now, and with Kitchen Wars starting to air in a few weeks, their exposure will only increase. It makes sense to ask the person the album is about to participate in some of the promotional appearances.
“Yes, to support the album,” the woman confirms a little testily.
“It’s my album. It doesn’t have anything to do with Quentin.” Landon can only imagine how Quentin would like this conversation. He doesn’t love the spotlight like Landon does, and the idea of being paraded around as the love interest subject of an entire album would probably be hellish for him. Landon can’t help but remember all those interviews he’d watched on YouTube, when Quen had turned away every ounce of personal attention and credit.
The sick feeling in Landon’s stomach grows.
The marketing executive taps a pen impatiently on the glass tabletop. “Nothing to do with it? I didn’t realize you were planning on hiding your relationship.”
“We’re not. We’re . . . not.” That’s as far as they’ve gotten. They haven’t decided how to confirm it yet, but at the very least, they know they’re not trying to hide.
“You don’t think people will naturally assume it’s about him?”
They would have to be deaf, dumb and stupid. Landon does not say this, and wishes Ian was here so he could get some brownie points for holding back.
“Of course they will,” Landon retorts. “But I’m not going to shove it down people’s throats.”
Landon watches warily as she regroups.
“I would think Quentin would be proud to be part of this. He must be so proud of you.”
It’s so fucking presumptuous of her to assume how Quentin would feel. She’s never even met him before. It pisses Landon off even more that she’s pegged it perfectly. Quentin would do this even if he didn’t want to. He’d volunteer himself into an entire press junket that he’d hate.
“Can we at least talk about it? Get back to you?” Landon says, gritting his teeth. He was so looking forward to tonight, but all he can feel is a faint dread at the thought of having to discuss this with Quentin.
The problem with this whole conversation is that she hasn’t been wrong once. It would be great promo to include Quentin. Landon can completely understand why Epic wouldn’t want Kitchen Wars to monopolize how adorable of a couple they are.
“Of course,” she says with a bright smile. Like she already knows what he’s going to come back with.
She knows he wants to be a big star. The best, easiest way to that is to utilize his love for Quentin. The problem is that Landon knows this is the very last thing Quentin is going to want.
When Landon returns to the bakery a few hours later, it’s like he’s walked into a totally different space.
The lights are dimmed, and there are candles scattered everywhere, their glass jars glowing bright green and yellow. There are flowers grouped across a long trestle table, daffodils and white hydrangea, and in the niches throughout the room. It’s fresh and bright and fragrant and it makes Landon wonder what Quentin’s capable of with more than a few hours and some temporary staging. His apartment is lovely and elegant but simple, and Landon knew he had good taste, but seeing it executed like this, like the beginning of Quentin’s internal vision, is breathtaking.
There’s bottles of wine chilling in a rustic stainless ice bucket next to the counter and four wine glasses sitting on top of it, along with a large wooden cheeseboard, scattered with cheese and dried fruits and nuts.
It’s inviting and homey, and Landon didn’t think that was even possible to achieve in such an empty, blank space.
Quentin walks out of the kitchen and lights up, his lips curving into a bright smile. “I thought I heard someone come in,” he says, reaching for Landon and hugging him tight. “What do you think?”
I think I’m in love with you and I think I want you to create a home for me and our future kids. I think I want to keep you forever.
Landon’s throat clogs a bit and he can only hug Quentin tighter. “It’s perfect,” he mumbles into Quentin’s neck. His hair is tied up in one of his buns, a few loose tendrils tickling Landon’s nose. “You’re perfect.” He’s too perfect. Too kind. Too giving. Until the moment that he realizes he’s lost himself and he leaves just the way Steve did.
Landon pushes the thought away. This is an important night for Quentin and he refuses to ruin it. He’ll think about the marketing angle of the album tomorrow.
Quentin pulls back a little and the look on his face is as wondrous as Landon knows his own must be. They’re like two infatuated fools, gazing at each other like they’ve discovered the secret of the universe. Landon is wondering if he can maybe convince Quentin to have that make-out session they didn’t get earlier, but of course, before he can suggest it, the front doo
r opens and closes again, and they both reluctantly part as Rory and Kimber walk in.
“You two are the worst,” Rory exclaims. He glances over at Kimber, his eyes twinkling. “Can’t leave ’em alone for a moment.”
Landon gathers himself, remembering a bit belatedly that while this night can’t help but be a tiny bit about him and Quentin, considering where they’re at, it’s mostly about Rory and Kimber.
When Quentin had suggested the plan initially to Rory over speakerphone, so Landon could, naturally, listen in, Rory had explained that Kimber seemed interested enough, but had seemed nervous and shy about accepting any of his rather broad hints at invitations. Not wanting to face certain rejection, he’d avoided saying anything more pointed. But Landon knows how Kimber looks at Rory when he’s not watching. Kimber might be concerned, but she’s definitely interested.
Which is what Landon had told Rory in order to convince him to actually bite the bullet and ask her.
Rory had texted back ten minutes after hanging up that she’d said yes, and seemed quite excited about the proposition.
It seems to Landon that there isn’t much more work to be done. Unless Rory screws it up, he and Kimber are on their way to figuring everything out. At least their intertwined hands seem to indicate strong movement in the right direction.
Landon’s gaze drops to them and then back up to Rory’s face for a long, pointed moment. He has the nerve to flush.
“What’s for dinner?” Rory asks. Landon isn’t sure if he’s thinking with his stomach or he’s trying to change the subject.
Quentin gestures them behind the counter, which Rory admires profusely, through the door to the kitchen, like the Pied Piper leading his children.
“Welcome to my new kitchen!” Quentin exclaims.
Rory drops Kimber’s hand and throws his arms around Quentin, catching him by surprise, and they embrace, hopping around the kitchen like two enthusiastic puppies who’ve just been given a brand-new bone.
Kimber leans over. “They’re pretty cute, aren’t they?”
Landon observes the two of them for a moment. They’re holding each other still, Quentin excitedly and in extreme detail describing all sorts of foodie things that Landon can’t understand. He just really loves this man.
“Tolerable, I’d say,” Landon says with a quirk of his lips. He’s afraid if he says more, it’s all gonna come tumbling out, unbidden. Kimber is a nice person. She doesn’t need to know about that little panting gasp Quentin makes when he gets really turned on and Landon is nosing at his pants-covered cock. Or the way Quentin curls around Landon in bed when he’s had a bad day, even though Landon will loudly and vociferously claim he is always the big spoon. The way Quentin’s hair gets stuck in his mouth and Landon not only doesn’t mind, he likes it.
“Are you two finished over there or are you going to keep gossiping while we slave over the stove?” Landon looks up to see Quentin’s eyes twinkling. “So?” he asks again impudently.
“Let’s cook,” Landon says with a lopsided smile. “And yes, for the record, I actually said that.”
Landon is painstakingly chopping vegetables for a salad, which isn’t really all that interesting when he can see Rory and Kimber giggling over the grill top, cooking beef tenderloin medallions wrapped in bacon. He doesn’t know how he ever thought Rory needed assistance with Kimber. The two of them aren’t quite as wrapped up in each other as he and Quentin are, but it’s closer than Landon realized.
Quentin comes up behind him. “How’s it going?” he asks, snagging a piece of tomato.
Landon gives an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know why I ever thought they needed help.”
Quentin’s expression is innocence personified, though Landon thinks he maybe knows better. “Trying to make me feel necessary was nice,” Landon continues. “A great touch.”
Quentin shrugs. “Rory would’ve asked her out at some point. You just speeded along the process. That was important.”
It isn’t really. Quentin’s being nice. But Landon always likes it when Quentin is nice, so he lets it go.
“They’re cute,” he pronounces as he tosses the rest of the veggies in the wooden salad bowl, “but not as cute as us.”
Quentin smacks an exaggerated kiss onto Landon’s cheek. “Not even close,” he says, as he turns around to check on the potatoes in the oven.
“You know who’s really cute,” Rory says, wandering over, followed closely by Kimber, who’s holding the tray of steaks. “Reed and his boyfriend.”
Landon does a double take. He had no idea Reed had a boyfriend. Or that Reed liked boys at all.
Kimber swipes a cucumber slice from the salad bowl. “I take it from your astonished expressions you don’t know about Reed and Jordan.”
“Jordan who?” Quentin asks as he dishes up his potatoes onto a platter, handing Landon a bowl of yogurt whipped with feta for the potatoes.
“Jordan Christensen,” Rory explains patiently as they all load up their arms with food and move out of the kitchen towards the dinner table.
“The name sounds familiar,” Quentin confesses as they sit down.
“He’s a football player,” Kimber supplies.
“He plays for a team that just relocated to LA. That’s why Reed’s doing a lot more work in California, lately, and why he agreed to do Kitchen Wars,” Rory explains. “He owns a restaurant in Chicago right now, but he wants to open one in LA.”
“I thought being out wasn’t okay for football players,” Landon says, even though as soon as he says it, he feels like a complete dumbass. It wasn’t okay for pop singers either, and Landon did it anyway. And not even for as good a reason as Jordan.
“Wait,” Landon continues before anyone could comment. “I said that without thinking. It doesn’t matter if he’s out or not. Or if he’s a football player. He should do what’s best for him.”
Quentin looks over at him pensively. “It’s a legitimate question,” he says softly. “When Colin O’Connor came out as bisexual last year, he faced a lot of backlash.”
“The pressure in that world is unrelenting,” Kimber offers. Landon realizes she would know, not only being an Olympic swimmer, but going through the very public war with her mother. “Everyone wants something out of you, but all they want are the same things; variations on the same themes. They want to be able to package you and sell you easily, and that only works with what they’re familiar with. So they force you into the pattern and hope you don’t fuck it up by saying or doing the wrong thing.”
It’s the most Kimber has said this whole evening, and it’s by far the most profound. Midway through cutting his first bite of steak, Landon freezes and lifts his eyes to her. There’s heat in her words, and a fierce intelligence. She won’t be forced into anything, that much is clear. And he likes her more for it.
She blushes. “Sorry that was so serious. Here we were, having a good time, and I had to go bring down the meal.”
Quentin is the quickest to speak up. He reaches over and covers her hand with his own, squeezes. “On the contrary, all you’ve done is elevated the conversation.”
She flushes brighter when Rory casually wraps an arm around her waist. “Really, what Quentin’s saying is that you’re a hell of a lot smarter and stronger than the rest of us. Two chefs and a singer. You’re slumming it tonight, babe.”
Kimber’s very shy, sweet glance in Rory’s direction, like he’s everything she’s wanted but afraid she couldn’t have, is the last bit of reassurance that Landon needs that he did the right thing in planning this double date. He might not be completely responsible for this bit of matchmaking, but he will certainly take credit for speeding up the inevitable.
After finishing off the bitter chocolate crème brûlée with the salted caramel hazelnut whipped cream, Quentin and Landon are in the kitchen, doing a last cleanup. They’d sent Kimber and Rory off to go get drinks (or to go back to his place for a drink, as Quentin had whispered with the cutest giggle in Landon’s ear). Ki
mber had half-heartedly protested, but Quentin and Landon had been unyielding, and so off they’d gone, with stars in their eyes.
“They’re good for each other,” Landon pronounces as he jumps up on the stainless steel counter, letting his legs swing carelessly.
“Agreed,” Quentin says, as he finishes packing up their last bag of supplies to take back to his apartment. He turns, and lets out a groan. “What have I told you about sitting on counters?”
Landon smirks. “That it’s a very naughty thing to do?”
Quentin’s laughing as he sets down his bag and walks over to where Landon is sitting, resting one hand on each of his knees, situating himself in-between Landon’s legs. Right where he should always be, if Landon has any say in the matter.
“I told you,” Quentin says, very seriously, but he’s smiling so wide it feels like his mouth takes up half his face, “not ever to do it.”
Landon shrugs. That’s never really stopped him before. Besides, he likes riling Quentin up. And he certainly looks riled up right now.
Quentin just sighs, tilting his head and looking unbearably fond. “That’s what I love about you.”
It’s very stupid, because it’s not like Quentin actually says it—then again, he kind of does say it—but it doesn’t matter because Landon freezes anyway, like Quentin has, in fact, said those three magic words.
Quentin doesn’t even realize it, doesn’t even notice that Landon has frozen, his eyes big and wide, just keeps babbling on about Landon’s stupid jokes and teasing and all these other things that are usually important but right now just feel quite silly in the face of what Quentin has just said.
“Did you mean that?” Landon interrupts him breathlessly. Finally. This is the end of the line; the end of all those endless rounds of mental interrogations he has with himself.
Quentin looks perplexed. “Did I mean what?”
Landon isn’t amused. This is not the time to be joking around.
“Did you mean that you loved that about me? Or that you loved me?” The words are frankly out of his mouth before he can even dream of taking them back. It’s been too long, and he’s been holding them back for enough time that they just tumble out now, gracelessly.
