by Beth Bolden
Xander rose then. “And, somehow without drinking, my boyfriend still manages to be cheesy and a little bit maudlin.” He walked over to the head of the table where Damon was standing and slung an arm around his shoulders. “I think what he’s trying to say is that he’s grateful for everyone sticking with us, especially during the shaky beginning.”
“Not so shaky!” Wyatt called out, and he was smiling like crazy.
Xander shot him a look, as always fiercely protective of Damon. Damon couldn’t have been more endeared if he was trying.
“We also have to thank Miles and Evan for sneakily mentioning how great the Barrel House is on their show,” Xander continued. “If you’d asked for permission to name drop, I would have said no. But luckily for us, you didn’t ask.”
Miles mimed giving him a fist bump across the length of the table.
Xander turned to Damon, eyes glowing, and he knew this was the moment.
“There’s actually a third thing,” Damon said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. “I was going to wait and do this in Italy, but I just discovered that I want to share this with everyone we love.”
Among whoops, Damon dropped to one knee and opened the box, revealing a simple platinum band. “I love you, I’ve loved you from the moment you walked out in the rain and asked me what the fuck I was doing. It turns out what I was doing was waiting for you.”
Silence fell as Xander stared down at him, not saying a word. He didn’t look unhappy exactly, but he also wasn’t saying yes. Or no. Or let me think about this for a damn second. Damon’s heart skipped a beat, and then another. He didn’t move, giving the love of his life a moment to figure out what he wanted to say.
This was Xander, so chances were he had a lot to say.
Finally, he spoke, and instead of heartfelt tears or smiles, all he said was, “Why aren’t you proposing in the bathroom?”
There were a lot of things Damon could do in response to that question. But truthfully, there was only one; he roared with laughter.
“The bathroom?” he asked incredulously.
“You love that bathroom,” Xander countered, a glimmer of a smile on his face, eyes soft and warm. There wasn’t a question of him saying no, it was more the venue that Damon hadn’t quite gotten right.
“If you want a proposal in the bathroom, we’ll go in there right now.”
“You’ve got it,” Xander said, and held out a hand to Damon, helping him up.
They walked past all the incredulous faces, and shut the bathroom door behind them, muting the excited chatter.
“Well?” Xander asked, raising his eyebrow the way Damon adored. “You’re not going to get down on one knee again?”
“This is a small bathroom,” Damon complained.
“Hasn’t ever stopped you before,” Xander pointed out cheerfully.
Damon laughed again. “One of the many reasons I love you. You don’t let me get away with any bullshit.”
“One of the many reasons I love you—you totally give in to all my bullshit,” Xander retorted, but there were tears in his eyes now, and he pressed Damon against the door, kissing him the way he intended to for the rest of their lives.
A minute later, Damon came up for air, and pinned Xander with a look he’d learned from the source. “So was that a yes?”
“What do you think?” Xander asked, holding up his hand and wiggling a finger, which suddenly seemed to be sporting a silver band. Damon glance down to the box, and discovered he’d been so distracted by their first engaged kiss that he hadn’t even noticed Xander take the ring out.
“Yes,” Damon said, and pulled him in for another, even deeper kiss—lasting forever or eternity, whichever felt the longest.
The Spa Day
a Savor Me short story
“You really need to relax,” Damon said, in a tight, tense voice that made it clear that nobody would actually be doing any relaxing anytime soon.
“I don’t think any of us will be doing any relaxing,” Xander said rigidly. “Besides, isn’t the worst way to get someone to calm down, to tell them to calm down?”
“Uh.” Damon hesitated. “No?”
“It’s just the Michelin reps,” Xander said through clenched teeth as he eyed them through the large glass partition that separated the Barrel House kitchen from the dining room. “What could go wrong?”
“Nothing,” Damon said loyally, and Xander could see him nearly reach out to wrap an arm around Xander’s shoulders. Xander knew he’d have done it too, if they’d been home alone, or if the dining room had been empty. But they were at the restaurant and it was packed, and while Xander might not normally give two shits about showing PDA in front of their clientele—if they didn’t like it, they could fuck off, as far as he was concerned—the Michelin guys might feel differently.
And right now, all that mattered was Barrel House maybe getting its first star. The fact that the Michelin inspectors were here was news enough. Xander had acted as if their coming was inevitable, but secretly he had worried, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, when Damon was snoring away next to him, that all his certainty would dissolve into embarrassment if they didn’t come. But they had. It was hard to recognize them if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but they were creatures of habit because the idea was to judge each restaurant on as level a playing field as possible.
When they’d come in, Damon had spotted them right away, then after seating them—in the prime table no less; the Barnsdales were just going to have to make do with the second best table tonight—Damon had hurried over to where Xander had been plating in the kitchen, carefully watching as each plate cleared the pass-through.
“They’re here,” he’d said quietly. “I’ll serve them myself.”
Xander had looked up and felt everything inside him condense into one big knot of anxiety. “No,” he’d said. “Let Mari do it. She’s a good server. We don’t want to give away we know it’s them.” Besides, Xander hadn’t added, you’re a mediocre server at best. He hadn’t said it because he loved Damon, flaws and all, and it wasn’t his fault he was a terrible waiter, because usually the most serving he ever did was filling in for the occasional sick day.
“Yeah, yeah,” Damon had agreed, nodding mindlessly. “I’ll take care of it.”
Mari had done an exemplary job with taking their orders, and as Xander had examined their choices, he’d become more and more sure that this was them. The infamous Michelin inspectors, who could make or break a restaurant with a single sentence in their guide. Stars were what everyone wanted: one was really good for an up-and-coming restaurant like Barrel House; two was amazingly good, and they reserved three for chefs like Bastian Aquino who ran his ship so tightly even the tablecloths were afraid of creasing in his presence.
Xander knew the best they could probably hope for was one star, but even that was potentially incredible and also career-making. It was all he’d ever wanted since culinary school; to be the head chef in his own establishment, and to earn Michelin stars. He’d gotten so much more than he’d ever dreamt of. Not only did he have the restaurant, but he had the love of his life working right alongside him. It felt like a fantasy sometimes, a dream that went on just a little too long, just long enough you knew it couldn’t quite be real.
He’d been excruciatingly careful with the order, not even letting anyone touch the food except himself. He couldn’t have earned this star without his staff in the kitchen, or without Damon’s endless support and love, but if this star was going to be his, he was going to be the one to earn it.
When the dishes finally went out, carried in Mari’s capable hands, Xander leaned back against the counter and tried to take his first real deep breath since the inspectors had walked into the restaurant. But it felt impossible to breathe because they were eating now, and then Damon had joined him, suggesting to him that he actually relax.
Relax. Like that was going to be happening while the Michelin inspectors ate his food.
“Hey,” Damon said, turning to him, wearing a huge, proud smile on his face. “We did it. They actually came. Even if we don’t get a star, we still did that. And we did that together.”
Xander looked over at him, and couldn’t help his own grin. “Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”
“Did you ever doubt it?” Damon asked, even though he knew Xander through and through and undoubtedly already knew the answer.
“That they’d come?” Still, they might have been together going on six months now, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for Damon—and Xander knew Damon wouldn’t have it any other way.
Damon nudged him. “That we’d do it at all. That we’d open, that we’d be full every night. That we’d open for lunches. That you’d be talking about adding weekend brunch. And yes, that the Michelin dudes would come.”
Xander leaned into him, just a little. Maybe not enough that the Michelin inspectors would notice. “They’re not dudes,” he said in a hushed, dramatic voice.
But Damon just beamed. “Everyone’s a dude to me, you know that.”
Xander did. It was reason number two million six hundred thirty-five thousand and twenty-four why he’d fallen in love with him in the first place. Damon didn’t stand on ceremony; the only reason he even cared about Michelin or the stupid stars was because Xander cared, and Damon wanted only the best for the man he loved and the restaurant they’d built together.
“At least a little respect might be in order,” Xander said. “They could make or break us.”
“Nope,” Damon said, sounding supremely confident. “No way. We’ve already made it. Our dining room is full. Our margin is decent. We haven’t had any turnover. You’re happy. I’m happy. That’s making it, baby.”
Xander thought about this for a long moment. Everything Damon said was true. They’d built this place and then filled it, and kept guests coming back time after time. And even better, they’d managed to find a work-life balance that worked for both their restaurant and for them.
Still, those Michelin stars were everything he’d ever dreamt of; it was hard to let that dream go, even when a better one might beckon.
“It is,” Xander agreed. “But I still want the stars.”
“Then you’ll get them,” Damon said, supremely confident, watching as the Michelin “dudes” dug into their food.
* * *
What nobody had ever told Xander was that the waiting for the new guide to come out, for the phone call that would make all his hard work and his sacrifices worth it, was the fucking worst.
It was months, and as the weeks dragged on, Xander found his anxiety ratcheting tighter and tighter. What if, after all of this tense waiting, the call never came? What if he’d been tested and hadn’t measured up? Xander didn’t know how he’d deal with that.
It was clear that Damon knew that Xander was struggling; he’d started giving him more space in the kitchen at the Barrel House, because even Xander knew that his temper was fraying.
And at home? Things were much the same, even though Xander could acknowledge that he’d gotten shorter and testier. He knew he wasn’t laughing at Damon’s dumb jokes. He wasn’t flirting the way he liked to with his boyfriend. Their sex life had taken on a distinctly intense, angsty desperation that Xander couldn’t seem to turn off.
He kept telling himself that if he got the phone call, then everything would be fine. But every day that the phone call didn’t come, the worse it began to feel, until one day, Xander woke up and didn’t even want to go into work. He wanted to pull the pillow back over his head and go back to sleep. Maybe if he ignored everything that was giving him so much hell, it might just go away.
But that wasn’t the way life worked.
“Are you okay?” Damon asked cautiously as Xander stumbled, bleary-eyed, into their kitchen a few hours later. He’d already texted his sous chef that he wasn’t coming in today, and the good news was that Xander had specifically hired someone who could manage well enough without him. It wasn’t like Xander didn’t take days off occasionally, but he usually did so for a reason. And he knew the only good explanation for this was that he couldn’t face going into the restaurant and all those judging stares. Not for another day.
“I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re asking,” Xander said morosely, opening the refrigerator door and then closing it again almost immediately. He didn’t want to cook, he didn’t want to sleep, it felt like he was going out of his skin with all this anxious energy.
“I know you aren’t,” Damon said carefully. “But there’s more than just being physically sick.”
Xander nearly accused him of calling him “mentally sick” but that was a step too far, even for Xander. He’d pushed Damon plenty of times, but never that far. He’d never wanted to before, and the fact that he’d been tempted was really evidence of how out of control he was.
“I’m a mess,” Xander said, collapsing onto the living room couch. “A fucking wreck.”
Damon left the kitchen and detoured into the living room, propping a hip on the edge of the couch. “Yeah, you kinda are. I think you need to figure out a way to relax.”
Xander rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the sex isn’t helping. And I can’t believe I’m actually admitting that.”
“I know,” Damon said wryly. “I figured that out, too, actually.” Of course he had; Damon was way too astute to have missed it. “I’m not talking about sex. I have another idea, if you trust me?”
It wasn’t even a question; there was nobody Xander trusted the way he trusted Damon. “Of course.”
“Then I’ll make a call. Put on some loose clothes and get ready to go. Your hair . . .” Damon waved in the direction of Xander’s head, barely containing his smile.
“Yeah, yeah,” Xander said, brushing it back from his forehead. “I’ll fix it.”
“Okay good.” Damon leaned down and kissed him briefly. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
If he’d been in a different kind of mood—AKA a normal kind of mood—Xander might have tried to eavesdrop on Damon’s conversation so he could figure out where they were going. He didn’t really like surprises and Damon knew it, but there was a reason why Damon hadn’t told him and Xander figured that was solely because he never would have agreed to whatever it was.
Massage? Acupuncture? Energy healing? Xander wasn’t sure he believed in the relaxing properties of any of that, but he was willing to try just about anything.
When he finished dressing and taming his hair, he walked back out into the living room and Damon was waiting for him.
“All ready?” Damon asked.
“Am I going to hate this?” Xander asked plaintively.
“I don’t know,” Damon said, “I’ve never done it before, but I’ve heard good things. At the very least, I’m not asking you to do anything I wouldn’t do with you.”
“You’re going to do it too?” Xander wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Damon had never been the kind of guy who shoved you in face-first without holding your hand and falling in with you. It was yet another reason why Xander loved him.
“Of course I am,” Damon said with a quicksilver grin. “You ready to go?”
“I’m never going to be more ready,” Xander muttered, and they walked out to Damon’s truck.
The drive was not short, and at first that made Xander more anxious, causing him to tap his fingertips against his thigh impatiently, until Damon had shot him a look.
“Sorry,” Xander said, “it just turns out I’m shitty at waiting for things.”
Damon chuckled. “I know. It’s been a little hard to miss. But we’re almost there.”
A minute later he turned the truck onto a side street, a discreet sign identifying the nondescript building making Xander’s eyes grow wider. “We’re doing a mud bath?”
“Yeah,” Damon said, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s supposed to be relaxing for both body and soul.”
“Okay,” Xande
r said. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of a mud bath, but he’d already told himself that he was willing to do whatever Damon suggested. At least this suggestion didn’t involve needles?
The spa itself seemed relaxing as they walked in. Damon gave his name, which naturally got a double-take, since they were still in Sonoma County. Xander saw Damon make a little grimace at the note of deference in the receptionist’s voice, and he knew that despite all the progress Damon had made over the years, he still disliked being a Hess.
“This way,” she said, pointing towards a doorway. “We’ll take you to the mud room first.”
“The mud room?” Xander questioned under his breath. Remembering, even though this was the worst possible time, the first time he and Damon had ever met, and how they’d stripped down, soaked to the skin, in the little mud-slash-laundry room in Damon’s house.
Xander had never imagined that they’d ever see each other after that night. He’d definitely never imagined that they’d end up partners and lovers and intertwined in so many different, unique and wonderful ways that he wasn’t always sure where he left off and Damon began.
With anyone else it’d have been claustrophobic and a little too connected, maybe, but with Damon, it was just right.
The woman ushered them into a room entirely covered in tile, with a rank, rich smell coming out of the huge pits of mud set into the middle. “This is the mud room,” she said, closing the door behind her. “It’ll be the first step in your process today. First, you’ll need to undress, and then carefully slide into the hot mud.”
“It’s hot?” Xander asked, eying the big pits dubiously. He really didn’t want to get anywhere near them, but he would have to get a lot more than just close.
