“Hi, Addison.”
“Hey, guys.” He tried to sound casual, like he wasn’t scared out of his wits. He pulled up a chair.
“We’ve got a merlot here, but if you want something lighter, we can call the waiter.”
Addison nodded and forced himself to relax. “That would be good. I prefer whites.”
Jillian chuckled. “I should’ve figured as much.” She waved at a white-shirted waiter, and Addison smiled as he settled into his chair and pretended that he did things like join friends for drinks all the time.
Chapter Three
“What is this place?” Frankie squinted at the sign over the door.
“There’s wine here. You’ll like it. Quit asking questions.” Dom pushed Frankie through a swinging glass-paned door into the clinking warmth of the bar. “Mmm, something smells fantastic. Whatever it is, I want it.”
“C’mon, let’s go sit at the bar,” Frankie said.
The bar was dark and romantic with candle-thrown shadows that flickered sexily off the walls. It was mostly filled with men—there were some women, in a group by the corner, and a couple clearly on a date, and one was hanging on the arm of a guy who was looking Frankie up and down like he might want to lick him. Frankie wasn’t interested. Anyone who looked at him like a juicy hunk of steak wasn’t his guy.
He sat at the bar with Dom, who ordered a chardonnay and scanned the room.
“What are you looking for? You’re making me nervous.” Frankie chuckled softly, but it was true. Dom’s behavior had him on edge.
“There’s this guy I met at the market last week. He said he comes here Friday nights sometimes.”
Frankie snorted. “Oh, now I see. I’m a safety blanket. Thanks, dude.”
Dom elbowed Frankie. “I’m looking out for both of us! I thought maybe you could get some action too. Exactly how long has it been?”
“Shut up.” Frankie rolled his eyes.
“That’s what I thought. Beaujolais?”
“Sure.”
Dom flagged the bartender down and ordered Frankie’s glass and a basket of herbed cheese straws. Frankie sipped at the wine and slouched on his stool. He hadn't realized how tired he was until he'd sat still. It was the first night he’d let himself take a break from the restaurant since it had opened. They usually closed right after dinner, but he often stayed late doing accounting, working on recipes. The work really never ended. L’Osteria’d had a good first two months, despite the harsh review from the
Chronicle’s
critic The Phantom Foodie, which had deflated him for days.
Even though things had gone well so far for the most part, Frankie was bone-deep exhausted. It would’ve been nice to flirt with a guy, or perhaps even more, but the effort wouldn’t be worth the—
“Hi, can I please have another glass of the Chateau Ste. Michelle Pinot Gris?”
Frankie felt him without even turning around. Seriously. Whether it was his hereditary sixth sense or just a strong reaction to that sexy molasses voice, Frankie’s entire body burst into waves of pleasure. He inhaled and picked out something woodsy and fresh with a touch of sandalwood…and saltwater? He saw candles flickering in a beach house and flashes of sleeping in with the window open so salt air could flow in over their naked backs…
Wait a second. Their? What the—
Frankie had to turn around. He ditched Dom in the middle of a sentence and swiveled on his stool to come face-to-face with the palest set of blue eyes he’d ever seen. The other man looked surprised. Frankie was as well. He hadn’t meant to get right in the stranger’s face. But that was the odd part—the man didn’t feel like a stranger. Frankie didn’t know him, was pretty sure he’d never even seen him before, but those eyes. They were so…
“Hello,” Frankie said. He mentally chastised himself for such a lame opener.
“Um, hi.” Blue Eyes smiled hesitantly. His awkwardness made Frankie melt.
“What’s your name? I’m Frankie.” He stuck out his hand. Frankie could’ve been accused of lots of things, but shyness wasn’t one of them. Good thing, because the gorgeous guy who smelled like heaven looked like he had his voice stuck in his throat.
“Addison,” he finally choked out. “My name is Addison.” Then he reached his hand out to shake Frankie’s.
The touch felt like a puzzle piece falling into place. Perfect. Frankie saw the possibility of how good it could be between them all in a flash in that one odd moment—the house he’d never seen, sleepy Sunday mornings in bed kissing, a Dalmatian curled at their feet. A Dalmatian? Frankie smiled. He’d always wanted a dog. He wanted all of it.
Addison looked at him with wide eyes. Frankie shook out of his momentary cloud. He didn’t want to scare this one away.
Frankie cleared his throat. “Addison, huh? That’s unique.”
He got a wry smile for his efforts. “Sometimes I hate my mother.”
Frankie laughed. He couldn’t help it. That low voice was sexy and self-deprecating, and he wanted to hear more. “Me too.” He gestured at himself. “Francois.”
“Ouch.”
They chuckled together. The bartender brought Addison his wine, and Frankie panicked for a moment.
Shit. Come up with something brilliant so he doesn’t walk away
. Frankie turned to Dom, but he’d disappeared while Frankie was busy trying to get his pounding heart to calm down.
“Your friend is over there.” Addison pointed. “Were you looking for him?”
Frankie followed his gesture. “Oh.” He chuckled. “Looks like Dom is busy. Do you want to sit here for a while?” He hoped that sounded casual. Really, Frankie wanted to hog-tie the guy to the bar and kiss him breathless.
“Sure.” He got another one of those hesitant smiles. “So, um, Frankie, what do you do?”
“I’m a chef.” Addison looked a bit uncomfortable at that.
What's wrong with being a chef?
“Where do you work?”
“You’ve probably never heard of it. Little place. L’Osteria di Pomodoro. It’s in Cole Valley, right by the Haight.”
“O-oh. I’ll have to check it out.” Addison turned pink.
Frankie smiled at his awkwardness. It was adorable. Addison had to be at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but he acted like a bumbling teenager. Frankie loved it. Made him feel experienced.
“I think I can arrange that,” he replied with a smile. “What do you do?”
“I work at a newspaper. The
Chronicle
.”
He was lying about something. Or evading. Frankie could easily tell. Addison's face turned red, and he looked at the counter. Why Addison was lying wasn’t so apparent. Maybe he just worked in the mail room or something and was embarrassed by his grunt job. Frankie nodded and let the topic go. He didn’t want to do anything to make Addison walk away.
It took Frankie an hour or so, and a few more glasses of pinot, to get Addison to loosen up. Once he did, they had a great time talking. Frankie wasn’t surprised. Addison was flirty and had a sharp, sarcastic sense of humor that Frankie loved. They talked wine and food and San Francisco versus Louisiana. Addison told him his Southern accent was sexy. Frankie blushed, which he hadn’t done in years. They shared the basket of cheese straws and another of fried zucchini with a creamy pesto dip. In between comments to Addison, Frankie decided he was going to have to experiment with something pesto based soon. He hummed around a mouthful of zucchini. Addison smiled and handed him another.
“Don’t you like it?” Frankie asked. He suddenly realized he’d eaten far more than half of the crunchy-soft zucchini slices.
“I think I might be in the mood for dessert,” Addison answered with a wink.
Frankie moaned. He wondered if Addison had any idea how dirty he’d just made that sound.
God, he's hot.
“I think I can arrange that,” he said again. “If you really want some.”
Addison had been rubbing his free hand absentmindedly along Frankie’s jean-clad thigh while they talked. He nodded and stood. “You want to go say good night to your friend?”
Frankie looked over to where Dom had a tan blond laughing at his jokes and leaning closer and closer. “I think he’s fine.” He did take out his phone to text Dom that he was leaving, though. “What about your friends?”
“They left a long time ago.”
Frankie vaguely remembered Addison's friend Jillian giving him a big grin and a thumbs-up as his group had slipped out the door.
“Um, do you want to go to your place?” Frankie asked as soon as they were on the street. He knew how it usually worked. He had a feeling it wasn’t the same with this one, though.
Addison hesitated. Frankie wondered if he’d read the man all wrong. “I do, but my mom has a key and an awkward habit of showing up on Saturday mornings.”
Frankie chuckled. “Don’t worry. I know all about mothers who pop in unannounced. My place is up on Strawberry Hill, but I know somewhere closer.” He took Addison’s hand and laced their fingers together. Addison seemed surprised at first but then sighed and smiled.
Frankie was nervous, which was strange, since he’d already decided he wasn't going to have sex with Addison. He realized as soon as they’d stood to leave the bar that this one was too important for a one-night stand. Maybe that was the source of the nerves, the lack of a clear agenda. Or the fact that he already wanted there to be a future with this guy. There had been boyfriends before, of course, but he’d never felt a stomach flip of such magnitude. It was tripping him out. He’d never gotten a picture so clear and immediate before either. He hadn’t been as good at reading people since he’d stopped practicing his magic. Maybe it had come back a little since the spoon incident.
“Here’s a cab. I didn’t drive.” Frankie waved the cab down and gave him the address for L’Osteria.
The ride was short but filled with tension, the good kind where both people are intensely aware of each other and not quite sure what they want to do about it yet. Frankie didn’t let go of Addison’s hand; instead he played with it, tracing his fingers across the back, clasping and unclasping. He wanted to kiss him—had the whole time in the bar, watching those lips move and that tongue lick up droplets of wine from the rim of his glass. Addison might seem uptight, but the man was a sensual creature waiting to be released. Frankie couldn’t wait to see it when it finally happened.
“Here we are,” he said when the cab pulled up to the curb. He dug the key out of his pocket.
“Are you going to get in trouble for being here?”
Frankie chuckled. “From who?”
“Um, your boss?”
Addison looked so unsure. It was adorable.
“I am the boss. This is my place. Come.”
Addison froze for a moment, and Frankie laughed again. He held out his hand and tugged Addison out of the cab and into the darkened restaurant. He led him through the maze of dining tables to his kingdom. Frankie always left the smaller of the two kitchen lights on. He looked around.
“Dessert. Hmm. What’ll it be?”
* * * *
It was his place? Frankie? Addison’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t believe he’d been flirting all night with the man he’d panned so unfairly in his review. Of all the guys in San Francisco, why him? Addison knew immediately he should tell Frankie what he’d done—who he was. The thought of that gorgeous face falling was enough to make his stomach clench again.
I can’t. I shouldn’t be here
. That much was obvious. Addison really hadn’t planned on doing anything. Really. He was just going to talk to the beautiful man in the wine bar, then go home and fantasize about what could’ve been. What could never have been, actually, since he wasn’t going to do anything about it. So why was he here, then, with said beautiful man in a deserted restaurant kitchen about to do what was definitely something?
Because I want to. More than anything I’ve ever wanted before.
Frankie was dancing around the kitchen, clearly in his element, taking out ingredients and cookware.
“What are you making?”
He grinned, that sweet flashy smile that made Addison’s belly weak.
I want to touch him again
. It had been heaven simply holding hands. Who would’ve thought his routine day would end in such an amazing way? He had expected to have a glass of wine and walk himself home. Alone. Instead he was with a gorgeous chef in an old-restaurant kitchen that should’ve been creepy but was instead atmospheric and wonderful. Addison didn’t want to wake up from whatever dream he’d landed in. Telling the truth would result in a short ride back to reality.
It’s okay. Just for tonight. I don’t have to tell him who I am if I never see him again.
Frankie poured cream and cracked eggs into a glass bowl. He made the motions look graceful. Effortless. Even when he whisked it all with a big metal thing that looked like a torture device.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re cooking?” Addison couldn’t believe he wanted to know so badly. Even though there was nothing really happening yet, he smelled magic on the breeze. Wait, there was a breeze? There was. It was subtle and warm and sweet but didn’t seem to have an origin. “Where’s that wind coming from?”
“It’s a surprise, nosy, and what wind? The door is closed.” Frankie cocked his head to the side and listened. Addison didn’t feel anything.
Weird.
Frankie put the bowl of cream and eggs over a pot of water that he set to boil. Then he started splitting black stalks that looked like beans over the bowl and scraping out the tiny bits of seeds until they were swirling in the cream before dropping the pods in whole. The vanilla smell was instant and intense. He then added a cascade of sparkling sugar and began to stir with an old wooden spoon.
“I get the vanilla from Madagascar and Tahiti. The flavor is gorgeous. It’s sexy and rich.”
Addison’s mouth watered. He wanted sexy and rich. He wanted to feel it on his tongue. Frankie sprinkled in a spoon of white powder.
“What’s that?” Addison asked. He sat on a stool opposite Frankie’s cooktop. He couldn’t stop staring.
“A bit of cornstarch. It helps everything to get nice and thick.”
Why does everything he say sound so damn hot?
Frankie kept stirring. He concentrated hard for a moment, eyes closed.
“What are you doing now?” Addison had never seen anything like Frankie cooking.