A Taste of You (15 page)

“Text me when you get on the ground. You can call me later if you feel up to it. We’ll all miss you.”

Carlo disconnected before Garrett could answer.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he whispered to the blank screen. Then he gathered up his things and headed for his gate.

****

When Carlo walked back into the main room, Joey wasn’t even pretending to work.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, delayed flight is all.”

“You sure? What was all that heading off into the other room?”

“Mind your business.” Then, because somehow he always told Joey more than he should, he said, “He doesn’t want us to see other people when he’s gone.”

“You ask for that?”

“No. He came up with it all on his own.”

“No shit?” Joey started laughing. “You two are a piece of work. You’ve been mooning over him for years and won’t make a move. He don’t want a boyfriend but don’t want you to fuck no one else either.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hilarious.”

“You two were made for each other, Carlo. Stop fucking around and ask him to marry you.”

“Let it go, Joey.”

Joey finally stopped laughing. “I’m serious, man. I don’t think you can wait for him to come up with a marriage proposal on his own.”

“Don’t push it, Joey.”

“You gotta take a risk sometime, bro.”

“Maybe,” Carlo admitted. “But if he won’t admit he’s my boyfriend, I doubt he’s ready to consider anything more permanent.” He thought for a minute. “Since you’re so interested in my love life, I’ll tell you something else, though. Next time you call me his boyfriend in front of him I’m going to knock your teeth down your throat.”

Joey just grinned and flipped him off.

Chapter Twelve

Garrett lived up to his promise to call more often. Every night, in fact. Despite the time difference, he had an uncanny knack for knowing just when Carlo was getting ready for bed. And yeah, the video chats, previously a way for them to catch up on business-related details, took on a whole new dimension. Technology rocked.

To Carlo’s surprise, the nightly calls weren’t all about maintaining a healthy long-distance sex life. Garrett actually took the time to share stories from his day with Carlo. While most of the anecdotes were work-related, what he wanted in return from Carlo wasn’t. How did Nonna’s trip to the doctor go? Did Carlo have any new herbs in his garden? Had Carlo seen Valentina lately, and was she still cooking?

The separation, which Carlo had been dreading as an opportunity for Garrett to pull away, actually seemed to bring them closer together. Garrett might not think they were boyfriends, but, for the first time, Carlo felt confident they were.

The closeness didn’t end when Garrett came home. Garrett’s apartment became a place they visited to pick up clothes. They were together in and out of Ransom. They settled into a routine, who cooked when, what shows they watched on TV. Life was good.

In every way that mattered, they were a couple. Although Garrett’s trips west were getting longer and more frequent, Carlo told himself he was happy with what they had. He tried not to think about the fact that soon Garrett would be living in Los Angeles for at least a year. Video chat, no matter how fun, didn’t seem up to the task of maintaining a relationship in which they saw each other only a few days out of the year.

The proposed opening date for Ransom West had been moved back several times. Garrett always had a good excuse, but the delays were costly. Carlo hadn’t examined the situation as closely as he should have. He was willing to pay for the delays if it meant more time with Garrett.

Aside from the looming separation, the only other obvious stress on their relationship was the new Rotolo’s, which was moving ahead at warp speed compared to Ransom West. Garrett showed no interest in the project, other than to complain if it took Carlo away from him, until they reached the point of no return—new company formed with Joey, lease signed, finish-out started.

After that, Carlo couldn’t get rid of him. Garrett had opinions on everything. Wouldn’t those tables look nicer? Surely this shade of paint was better? Keeping his suggestions out of the menu was a losing battle. Somehow, despite his own busy schedule, Garrett always seemed available to drive out to Brooklyn with Carlo, where he spent his time squabbling with Joey and mostly getting his way. If tempers got too heated, he sulked off to Nonna’s, leaving Carlo to worry over what the hell they had to talk about for hours on end. He could only pray they discussed food.

So the summer wore on, and everything was
fine
. More than fine. Perfect. He was living his dream life, Carlo told himself. They would work out the separation thing when it happened. And just case everything
didn’t
work out, he had a beautiful new restaurant to land in and lick his wounds. He tried not to notice that Garrett had somehow imprinted himself on Rotolo’s almost as much as he had on Ransom.

****

“Yo, Carlo!” Joey’s voice carried across the prep area.

“Gimme a sec.” Carlo didn’t look up from the invoice in his hand. Opening night and the fish delivery was short. Really short. And fixing it at this time of day would be almost impossible. Could they make do? It was a soft opening, after all. Business would probably be slow the first few nights.

“Carlo!”

“Jesus, what is it?” He looked up to find Joey practically vibrating in the doorway of the office.

“We’re booked,” Joey said reverently.

Carlo grinned at him. He was used to Ransom being booked months out, as soon as they opened reservations. No reservations at the sandwich window though, so Joey had been excited when a few had started trickling in despite the lack of advertisement.

“No shit? That’s great! For what, the first hour? How many we got?” Mostly family, Carlo assumed. How many other people knew they were open tonight?

“Fully. Booked. Fully booked for the entire night. Can’t squeeze another person in for love or money. Already filling up the rest of the weekend.”

“
Madonn’!
You’re kidding me!”

“What? It’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, customers are always good.” But Carlo’s mind was already racing. Soft opening. He had planned a slow start to ease the crew into the routine and iron out any kinks.

“Get on the phone. We’re not staffed for this.” And the fish wasn’t going to be the only thing they ran out of.

“Oh. Shit.” Joey finally seemed to get the problem.

“It’s okay, we’re going to get through it, but get as many people in here as you can, especially servers. Kitchen’s probably going to run slow, and we’ll be eighty-sixing stuff left and right. People will forgive a few glitches opening night, but we’re going to need to make it up in service.”

Any nerves Carlo had about opening night disappeared in a whirlwind of activity. Fully booked. How had he failed to predict that? He could only hope they weren’t all pescatarians.

The rush of activity felt good though. He was good at this—the organization, rallying the troops, dealing with inevitable nightly crises. Without Garrett to add any further drama to the situation, they were probably going to make it through with flying colors.

Perversely, he missed Garrett, who had been told unequivocally that he could not “help out” in the kitchen on opening weekend.

An hour into dinner service they were rocking and rolling. Every available chair had a diner on it. Outside, several dozen people stood on line hoping to squeeze in despite being told that the best they could hope for was to eat at the bar after a two-hour wait. Carlo had managed not to break a sweat, but it was a close thing. Working in Ransom’s rarefied environment, he had forgotten how hectic higher volume dining could be.

He was at a POS station in the bar, voiding a server error, when a commotion broke out in the dining room. What now? He rushed through his log-out and went to investigate. It sounded like a louder version of the chatter Garrett caused when he walked out in the dining room at Ransom. But that was ridiculous because Garrett was….

In Rotolo’s dining room.

And he was doing The Chef Garrett Ransom Show. Garrett was working the room with utter disregard for the fact that this was
not
his restaurant.

Carlo stood at the far end of the room and watched him make his way from table to table. It was around this time that he began taking a better look at the guests.

Not from the neighborhood. No friends. No family.

Now that he was paying attention, he spotted restaurant reviewers from two papers and half a dozen food bloggers. The remaining guests trended hipster by a much higher percentage than Bay Ridge could boast.

Garrett had shown up along with a roomful of foodies and members of the culinary press from at least three boroughs. That could not be a coincidence. Carlo took out his phone and pulled up Garrett’s web page.

His lips tightened as he read,
I’ll be in Brooklyn tonight with my partner, Giancarlo Rotolo, opening the new Rotolo’s. Make sure to check it out if you’re in the neighborhood
. He went on to give a brief history of Rotolo’s Italian Restaurant, a local landmark for generations, and to describe the new menu as “a fresh and modern interpretation of traditional Italian family dining.”

“Hey.” He grabbed Joey as he headed past. “You know about this?”

“What?”

Carlo handed Joey the phone so he could read.

“Lookit, he gave us a nice plug. No wonder we’re booked.”

“No wonder we’re out of half the menu. He made it sound like Rotolo’s is his place.”

“Nah, it don’t say that, exactly. What’s the big deal? Look at all these people. He did us a favor. Anyways, you’re almost as famous as he is these days, so it’s not like it wasn’t going to happen once the word got out.”

“Joey, do you recognize anyone in here?”

“Not so much, but most of the family came last night for the training shift. You can’t expect them two nights in a row when we just fed them for free last night.”

“That’s not what—”

“Hey, I got to get back to the kitchen. Tell Garrett thanks for the plug.”

Carlo let him go. Joey only saw the success. How could Carlo explain that he had been looking forward to a place where people might actually get a table without making a reservation a month in advance?

Garrett had finished up his tour of the dining room. Carlo pasted on his game face and stood his ground as Garrett approached him.

“
Sweetheart
.” Garrett, still playing to the crowd, pulled him in for air kisses next to both cheeks. “Everything looks fantastic. Well done.”

A volley of flashes went off from around the room. Perfect.

Vanilla and sugar hung in the air, but, for once, Carlo was immune. Garrett had done this behind his back.
On purpose
.

“Garrett. So glad you could drop in for the opening.” He bared teeth at him in what he hoped passed for a smile to the rest of the room.

Garrett wasn’t fooled.

“What’s wrong? The place looks great. Everyone’s happy with the food. You’re a success, darling.”

“Am
I
?”

“Of course.” Garrett gave him a searching look.

“You didn’t
help
, just a little?”

“Oh. Well, the blog. I jumpstarted things a tad, maybe.” He looked pleased with himself.

“Garrett. It was supposed to be a
soft opening
.”

“What’s the point in that? I know you. If the place wasn’t packed, you would just stress over the numbers. Now you don’t have to.”

“No, now I can just stress over the fact that we’re running out of food left and right with half the blogosphere here. Thank you, Garrett. Thank you very much.”

“You’re pissed.”

“You don’t say.”

“What does Joey say?”

“Leave Joey out of it.”

Garrett stared up at him, tapping his foot. Carlo could see the exact second when he decided that he was offended.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m
so
sorry. I’m sure I thought you would appreciate some business out here at your little trattoria, but I can see I was wrong. Perhaps you’ll be in a better mood tomorrow.”

And with that, the Chef Ransom Show left the building. In a slow huff. Stopping for multiple photo ops with fans.

Carlo didn’t go after him.

Damn straight he was pissed.

Predictably, things fell apart the minute Garrett left, as though his mere presence had been holding the world together. They sold out of everything.
Everything
. It took every ounce of Carlo’s charm to convince diners during the final hour that they were happy with their experience. By that time, they were pretty much making up new dishes with whatever ingredients they had left and then hard-selling them as “specials.” It didn’t help that half the customers wanted to know if Chef Ransom was there.

Joey was jubilant.

Carlo left him handing out a congratulatory round of drinks to the crew and headed home. He didn’t want to look at the place any more. His place. His refuge. That somehow had Garrett all over it.

He got back home an hour later to find Garrett curled on the couch with a book. Carlo stomped past him into the bedroom.

Garrett trailed after him and propped himself against the doorjamb. “How did things wind up?”

“Fantastic.”

Garrett smiled tentatively. “Good.” He was obviously ready to be unoffended.

Too bad Carlo wasn’t.  He rounded on Garrett. “Next time you decide to publicize
my
restaurant, I would appreciate you running it by me first.”

“Okay,” Garrett agreed, but he had a stubborn tilt to his chin. “Anything else bothering you?”

“Yes. Stay out of Rotolo’s. You’ve got plenty on your plate as it is. It’s not your restaurant.”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think it was. I just wanted to be…supportive.”

“Well, I don’t need your support. Things are a mess in L.A. I don’t know why you have to poke your nose in my business when yours is falling apart.”