Authors: Irene Preston
Garrett didn’t know. He and Joey always sniped at each other. Mostly it was friendly, but recently there had been an extra edge. Joey seemed to be popping up everywhere lately and monopolizing Carlo’s time.
“He calls me names.”
“He calls everyone names, Sweets. If he pokes at you, it means he likes you. You should be worried if he’s too nice.”
“He made fun of my wine at Nonna’s birthday.”
“Now, babe, you have to admit you were something to see, hopping all around like a mad sommelier, evaluating everyone’s plates and choosing their wine for them.”
“No one complained.” Were they all laughing at him? What was wrong with wanting everyone to have proper pairings?
“Of course no one complained. They loved it. Best show ever. Best wine ever, for what it’s worth. I don’t think you realize what you’ve let yourself in for, though.”
“What do you mean?” One-time event. What could it possibly matter?
“You’ll be expected to do the same thing next year, probably holidays, too, all the big family gatherings.”
“
What
? Why?”
“Same reason Nonna or I always make the tortellini, Joey brings his homemade sausages, and Aunt Vera does a cookie plate. If you haven’t noticed, we’re big on family traditions. You made an impression with the wine. They’ll expect it next time. Count on it.”
“Well, that’s going to be annoying. You said I could cook something next time.”
He didn’t feel annoyed, though. He knew he
should
be annoyed. What chef wanted to be relegated to bringing wine? But somehow, the idea of showing up at Rotolo family gatherings year after year lugging cases of wine failed to illicit the expected degree of irritation.
“Don’t worry, they won’t mind if you do both. Just don’t bring the same dish twice or you’ll be stuck making that, too.”
“Bloody hell,” Garrett said. But he couldn’t get any real heat behind it. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
“You’re taking this trip to the West Coast next week.”
“Yeah?”
“And there will be a lot more trips after that.”
A fluttery feeling started in Garrett’s stomach, the kind he sometimes got when someone expected him to eat overcooked fish or gave him a dish with the food slopped all over the plate. There was no reason for that flutter. Of course he was going to California next week. He had made the reservations himself.
“And then you’ll be opening Ransom West and filming the show,” Carlo continued.
Not news, but Garrett’s stomach went from fluttery to clenched anyway. Carlo droned on, reciting upcoming events off Garrett’s own calendar,
good
things, goals he had established for himself that would take him to the next level in the culinary world. Things he was looking forward to. So why did he feel so sick?
“Yes, I
get
it,” he finally interrupted. “I have a lot on my plate this coming year. What’s your point?”
“I just thought I might try my hand at something new, too.”
Garrett moved his laptop aside. He ignored his roiling stomach and gave Carlo his undivided attention.
“Like what?”
“I want to re-open Rotolo’s. Joey’s found a location a couple of blocks from the old place. I’m headed over there in half an hour to take a look at it.”
Garrett blinked. “You want to open another restaurant?”
Carlo nodded. “An Italian place like my family used to have, but updated. Remember when we met? Nonna and Grandpa Frank were running it then. Everyone always assumed I would take over someday, but then Grandpa Frank got sick and I was off….”
With Garrett. After they both graduated, Garrett had convinced Carlo to go on a kind of chef’s tour. Garrett had known he couldn’t open the kind of place he wanted straight out of culinary school. They had moved around the country for a few years working in a lot of different places and learning the things you couldn’t learn in a classroom.
“So it’s my fault Rotolo’s closed.”
His stomach didn’t hurt anymore, but everything went very, very still.
“No. No, babe. Not you. It was my fault. I should have paid more attention. No one told me how sick Grandpa Frank was until the decision to close the restaurant had already been made. Anyway, back then I was already focused on opening Ransom with you. Everyone knew that. I was the only one who didn’t realize what it meant for the family place. Nonna couldn’t run the restaurant on her own and take care of Frank. The rest of the family was already set on different careers. Joey might have done it, but he was just a kid back then. If I had stepped up for a few years, he could have taken over later.”
“Instead of selling sandwiches out of a window,” Garrett said. “So you want to do this for Joey? Finance a restaurant?” It was the type of family thing Garrett didn’t understand, but Carlo seemed always to be doing. Garrett had lost count of the number of nieces, nephews, and cousins that Ransom had employed over the years.
“Sweetheart,” Garrett said, “it’s a nice gesture, but bad timing. Everything is tied up in Ransom West right now. Maybe in a year or two we can make it happen.”
“Garrett, I do the books. I know we can’t open a third restaurant right now. That’s not what I want. Joey and I both have some money put aside. Between us, I think we can pull it off on our own. It will mean hiring another manager at Ransom so I can devote time to the new place, but otherwise the company won’t be involved.”
NO
. Garrett stopped himself from saying it just in time because Carlo had obviously thought this through and it was something he really wanted. Anyway, Garrett couldn’t think of a valid reason for his instinctive rejection of the idea.
“You want to leave Ransom to open a restaurant in Brooklyn with your cousin?” He was proud of himself for not making any snide comments about tiny windows and meatballs. Not constructive. Carlo was leaving. That was the relevant bit.
“Not leave,” Carlo said. “I’ll just spend less time there while I get the new place open, same as you’re doing with Ransom West and the show.”
Not the same. Not the same
at all
. When they opened Ransom West, it would be an expansion of their company, his and Carlo’s. Even the show, which technically only involved Garrett, had been conceived as publicity. Garrett was only doing what was best to grow their business. He hadn’t left Carlo alone and gone off to open restaurants with someone else.
“But I need you at Ransom.”
“Sweets, any number of people can do what I do at Ransom, especially if I’m still around to look over their shoulder occasionally. I promise you, everything will keep running just the same while you’re off in L.A. You won’t even notice I’m not there.”
Wrong
. No one else understood Ransom the way Carlo did. Garrett could leave because he knew Carlo would keep it safe for him until he came back. He didn’t want anyone else there taking Carlo’s place. When he tried to imagine Ransom without Carlo, all he saw was a gaping hole.
But Carlo had obviously set his mind on this new thing with Joey. He didn’t sound as though he could be talked out of it without a very good reason.
“Let me get my keys. I’ll drive you.”
****
The trip started going sideways before they made it to the car. Carlo, suddenly realizing that having Chef Garrett Ransom show up to look at restaurant space might not be their best bargaining strategy, tried to convince Garrett he didn’t need to come. Despite not sounding enthusiastic about the project, Garrett insisted that Carlo couldn’t possibly go without him.
“You suck at locations and don’t get me started on Joey’s skill in that department. Get in the car, Carlo.”
Those were pretty much the last full sentences Garrett uttered for the entire drive. Carlo finally gave up on conversation, looked out the window, and tried to convince himself that Garrett showing an interest was a positive sign in their relationship.
The next happy moment came when the listing agent arrived and Joey introduced Carlo as his partner. Garrett made a little sound in his throat, like he had inhaled a big ball of wasabi. Joey smiled broadly at this and added, “and Giancarlo’s
boyfriend
, Garrett.”
Carlo’s heart stopped. He didn’t dare look at the man standing at his side, but he could feel a nuclear blast of tension radiating off Garrett. So much for the positive state of their relationship.
Fucking Joey
. And what was the big deal about Joey calling him Garrett’s boyfriend, anyway? Was it such a ridiculous label for their current relationship?
The situation only degenerated from there. For every positive thing Joey or the realtor found to say about the space, Garrett found five negatives. There was no street appeal. Surely that was a sign of mold? A few blocks west things were quite fashionable, weren’t they? Were those mouse droppings? What was that smell coming from the floor drain? The place would have to be completely gutted, and that was just for starters. No, he certainly could not recommend this location to his very good friend and
partner
, Giancarlo.
In between the comments on the building, the personal barbs flew even faster. Joey was an uneducated hack who couldn’t make anything more complicated than a sandwich. Garrett was a swishy little British fanuk who wouldn’t know real food if someone shoved it up his ass.
Garrett’s accent, normally blurred from a decade in the States, got colder and more clipped. Joey sounded like every Vinnie hanging out on the avenue with a side of Jersey Shore thrown in for good measure.
Fifteen minutes in, Carlo wanted to knock both their heads together. The realtor had retreated to a spot near the door, presumably so she could make a quick escape if an actual brawl broke out. Carlo stood about foot away from her, trying to view the place objectively. Yes, Garrett had some good points. The place would require a lot of work. And no, this wasn’t the trendiest block in Brooklyn. But he didn’t want trendy, and he didn’t mind the work. He could see the restaurant he wanted to build here – a new Rotolo’s in the old neighborhood. This felt like home.
Carlo turned and headed for the door. Garrett and Joey caught up to him just as he reached the realtor.
“Well, that’s it, then,” Garrett said. “Ready to go?”
Carlo ignored him and caught the agent’s eye. “It’s a little over-priced for the neighborhood.”
Garrett swung around to face him. “You can’t be serious?”
The agent ignored Garrett. “There might be some room for negotiation. I understand you’ll be making some improvements?”
“I’ll need to discuss it with my—” Joey and Garrett both went still next to him.
Jesus
. “We’ll need to discuss it and get back to you.”
Things wrapped up pretty quickly after that. Garrett was obviously in a
mood
and ready to go. Joey seemed inordinately pleased with himself.
This time it was Carlo who didn’t want to chat in the car. Garrett, who apparently was
not
his boyfriend, seemed intent on pointing out yet more flaws with the location and didn’t require any dissenting opinions.
Carlo tuned him out as they cruised through Bay Ridge. Mike Fasano used to live down that block. He was the first boy Carlo had ever kissed. There was the candy store where Aunt Vera bought her lotto tickets once a week, the corner where Joey wrecked his bike and broke his nose. The deli with the good pastrami had been replaced by a bank. That sucked. The space where Rotolo’s had been wasn’t even a restaurant any more. It had been divided up into a nail salon and a chain tax prep office.
Carlo leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes, and didn’t open them until they were back in the city. Somewhere along the way, Garrett finally shut up and cranked the radio. Good.
The silence between them lasted until they were back in Carlo’s apartment. As soon as the door closed behind them, Garrett was on him, pushing Carlo against the door and leaning in to capture his mouth.
The contact felt so good, Garrett kissing him, wanting him. But it wasn’t enough to make him forget the reason he had decided to re-open Rotolo’s in the first place. No matter how much Carlo thought their relationship had evolved, Garrett had a problem with calling Carlo his boyfriend.
Carlo twisted away.
“I want that space.”
Garrett stilled instantly.
“You can do better.”
“No. It’s exactly what I want. If we can come to terms on the price, we’re going to take it.”
“Sweetheart, just take some time to think about this. If you can hold off for a year, I’ll come in with you and Joey. I’ll find you a place ten times as good. I promise.”
“No, Garrett. No. I don’t want Ransom’s Italian bistro. I want Rotolo’s. I want to do this with Joey, in the old neighborhood.”
Garrett tilted his head to one side and looked at Carlo. His hands kneaded absently where they rested on Carlo’s hips. “Do you need help with the menu?”
Carlo shook his head. “Family-style Italian, Garrett. Joey and I grew up doing this. You can run off to California and do your thing, there. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? Okay?”
“Yeah. You want to do this. You don’t need me. So do it.”
Garrett’s hands tightened on Carlo’s hips, making him very aware of how close they were standing. Thumbs brushed Carlo’s waistband, sliding his shirt loose and finding their way to skin. Carlo wanted to step back, away from the warmth of Garrett’s body, but he was trapped against the door.
“Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Garrett’s heat was contagious, spreading out from his hands at Carlo’s waist.
Because when you told me you were opening Ransom West I felt abandoned, betrayed. Don’t you feel anything? Don’t you care that I’m doing this without you?
“I don’t know,” Carlo said.
Rotolo’s was supposed to be for him. He wasn’t really doing it to get back at Garrett for Ransom West, was he? “You had a little meltdown in Brooklyn.”
Garrett’s thumbs stopped moving, but the heat didn’t recede.
“I’ll get over it,” he said. His hands slid the rest of the way under Carlo’s shirt as he closed the distance between them. This time Carlo didn’t pull away when Garrett’s mouth found his. Despite everything, he wanted this, craved whatever connection with Garrett he could find.