Dinner for One (15 page)

Bastien props his laptop on his knees, wriggling to get more comfortable in his bed. “It was good.” He hesitates a moment. “Jean wants to meet you. Do you want to come in after work when you get back?” He figures it’s better to get it done and over with. That way Jean doesn’t pester him, and he doesn’t have to worry about it. Besides, he’s sure they’re going to hit it off.

“Sure,” says James. “I can come in Thursday? I’m coming back that morning, and we can do takeout at mine after if you want.”

“All right.” They talk for a little longer, mostly about their day and other random things. James looks good in his sleep shirt and flannel bottoms, his hair mussed from running his fingers through it while he talks.

Bastien goes to bed feeling good about everything.

THEY’RE ON
him the second he shuts his laptop.

Denver hangs over his back like a monkey, while Dorian stretches out on the couch next to him and shoves his socked feet in his lap. James shoves them away and tries to nudge Denver back at the same time.

“So that’s the guy we keep hearing about?” asks Denver.

“He’s a cutie,” says Dorian. “Never would have taken you for a ginger fan.”

“There’s nothing wrong with gingers.”

“There’s not,” says Dorian. “But every other guy you’ve been with has been dark haired. You’ve got a pretty solid type.”

“It’s good to see you branching out,” adds Denver earnestly.

James wonders why he thought it would be a good idea to hang out with them for a few days. A little time apart and he forgot how much of a headache they were. If he doesn’t say anything, maybe they’ll go away.

Denver climbs over the back of the couch instead of walking around it like a normal person. He’s hemmed in by the two of them on either side now.

“Laurence said he’s a chef.”

“And Georgina said you’re lying to him.”

James pulls his knees to his chest and buries his face against them. “I’m going to tell him Thursday night. Do you think you could refrain from putting out a family-wide notice?”

“Mom and Dad already know you’re lying about what you do,” says Denver. “Jackson called them. Mom wanted to talk to you about it, but Georgina told her to let you do whatever you were gonna do. She thinks you’re an adult.”

He groans. “How did Jackson even find out?”

“Laurence called to tell him that you were taking his advice.”

“So if we let them all know you’re finally manning up, that’s probably for the best,” asserts Dorian. “Mom and Georgina can get over their disappointment in you.”

“Marcy got a talking-to when Mom found out she was involved.”

“I’m disowning you all,” says James, wide-eyed with horror at the sheer scope of it all. “Why can’t any of you keep your mouths shut?”

Denver presses his bare toes against James’s leg. They feel like ice even through his pants. “Like you’re one to talk. When Dorian started dating Jackson’s friend and you found out, you squealed to everyone.”

“That was different,” argues James. “Mark is Jackson’s best friend. You don’t go sleeping with your brother’s best friend. That’s weird.”

“Says you.” Dorian kicks him lightly. “I think it’s going pretty well.”

James chooses to ignore that. Dorian is and always will be his little brother, even if little now means twenty-six.

“But back to the topic at hand,” says Denver. “How’re you going to tell him? Why now?”

“More importantly why did you listen to Laurence?” butts in Dorian. “Why didn’t you come to one of us?”

He is painfully aware that he has to phrase his answers carefully, because he’s not entirely sure they’re not recording this so they can play it to the whole family when he leaves. And if not, they’re definitely going to remember it (twist his words) and relay it. “Laurence is married,” he points out, “and Marcy backed him up. She’s normally pretty solid when it comes to advice. You would think they’d know what they were doing.” He’s been clinging to that this entire time.

He picks at a loose string on his pants. “And I’m telling him now because it’s time. I feel bad.” He shrugs. “It isn’t right for him not to know, and I
really
like him. It’s not fair to keep this from him.”

The twins are nodding along, scarily thoughtful expressions on their matching faces. “And how’re you going to do it?” repeats Denver when James trails off.

He sighs. “I’m going to order his favorite takeout, and I’m going to tell him during dinner.”

Neither of them looks impressed.

“There’s not really a good time to do it,” he says exasperatedly. “No time is ever going to be perfect to tell a guy you lo—like that you gave his restaurant a shitty review and you’ve been omitting the fact you’re a famous food critic.”

He knows his mistake the second he had to scramble to change the word, and both Denver and Dorian glom on to it like he screamed the word in its entirety.

“You love him?” they exclaim.

His head makes a dull thunk when he lowers it to his knees.

HENRY COMES
into the kitchen as they’re starting to clean up. Bastien is bent over as he attempts to rearrange a drawer that had shut with no problem when he’d got there that morning but was all of a sudden too full to close. “Your boyfriend’s waiting in the dining room,” he says to Bastien, hovering near his side.

Unfortunately Jean is standing next to him, leaning against the counter and poking fun at Bastien’s organizing skills, and so he hears that. He’s off like a shot, before Bastien even has time to fully grasp the meaning of Henry’s words. He groans, almost banging his head on the shelf as he stands up. He follows Jean at a more sedate pace, wiping his hands nervously on his chef whites.

He finds Jean and James in the dining room. James is wearing slacks and a sweater vest, open at the collar. He hasn’t put any product in his hair, so it’s nice and fluffy, stray strands falling over his forehead. James’s hand is tucked into Jean’s as they shake. Jean introduces himself, and James follows suit. It looks normal enough, so Bastien sidles up and can’t help but smile, pleased, when James leans in for a quick kiss. When Bastien pulls back, Jean’s still holding James’s hand.

That’s more like the odd he was expecting. He looks at Jean. “You can let go of his hand,” he says.

Jean grins, like he’s not a weirdo, and lets go. “You can tell a lot from a handshake,” he says seriously.

“What does mine tell you?” asks James, and he looks honestly curious. Bastien rolls his eyes.

“That’s for me to know.” Jean is smiling wide, expression pleased.

James laughs at that, shaking his head. “Let me know when you know,” he says once his laughter has subsided.

“I’m insulted you don’t think I know already,” says Jean, but he’s smiling back at James, and he nods at Bastien. “I’ll get back to the kitchen now. Good to meet you finally.”

James returns the sentiment and waits till he’s gone to say to Bastien, “You still coming to mine? I’ll order Chinese.”

“So romantic.” Bastien kisses him, pulls away before he can get too into it. “I suppose I can do that. I need to finish up here first, though.” He doesn’t want to set a precedent that he’ll leave work early for personal reasons. It’s not a good habit.

He leaves James sitting in one of the booths, messing around on his phone, and tries not to rush through the closing portion of the night. Going by the snickering he can hear behind his back, he’s not entirely successful, but it’s still forty or so minutes before he’s able to collect James and leave.

He’s going to call that a victory.

They sit side by side on the couch, touching from ankle to shoulder, eating their Chinese. James uses chopsticks. Bastien uses a fork. James tried to show him how to use chopsticks the first time they ate Chinese together, insisting he could teach Bastien what everyone else had failed to but had conceded defeat after Bastien dropped noodles on his couch.

Now they’re eating in comfortable silence, letting themselves sink into each other and the couch as they watch one of the
Mission Impossible
films. Bastien’s not really sure which one this is, but it’s got Jeremy Renner in it, so he’s not going to complain. James’s chopsticks appear in front of his face, orange chicken poised between the twigs, and Bastien opens his mouth, lets James feed him. A couple minutes later, he proffers a forkful of rice for James, trying to hold the fork steady so the rice will actually end up in his mouth and not on his couch. They don’t do it a lot as they eat, but every so often, when there’s a lull in the film or they catch one of them looking at the other’s food, they’ll offer it up.

By the end they’re lying down on the couch, empty cartons scattered on the coffee table. Bastien’s on top of James, his head pillowed on his chest and his hands under James’s shirt. He’s got a thing for James’s muscles, can’t help but let his fingers play over the definition of them idly. He doesn’t want to move, but James is shifting restlessly underneath him. He props his chin on his chest, digging the point in. “Want to do the dishes and then go to the bedroom?” He’s missed James, and he doesn’t feel like sex on the couch tonight. He wants room and the comfort of a bed.

James gets an odd look on his face, but it’s quickly gone, the furrows between his brows smoothing out. “Yeah. Let’s do the dishes.”

They’ve got a system at this point. James washes and Bastien dries. It’s quick and efficient. Except this time, James is moving kind of slow, and he opens his mouth to say something while he’s washing out one of the bowls they dumped the sauce into, and the sauce splatters everywhere. There’s flecks on his face, in his hair, on his shirt, and on his arms. Bastien starts laughing, turning the water off before a bigger mess can be made.

“Go clean up,” he says. “I’ll finish the dishes.”

James opens his mouth, shuts it. “Okay,” he finally says. He takes a few steps and turns back. “I want to talk to you.” He clears his throat nervously. “Before we go into the bedroom. So wait here, yeah?”

That doesn’t sound ominous or anything. Bastien nods, trying to hide how worried that makes him. He wants to talk to him? They’d been cuddling on the couch not five minutes ago. It doesn’t feel like James is about to break up with him.

He hears the shower come on, James probably hopping in to wash his hair. Maybe he’s going to offer him a key to his place? That’s the kind of thing couples talk about, yeah?

His phone rings, and he turns, thinking he’ll just hit Ignore, but his sister’s name is flashing on the screen. He turns the water off and picks up. “Hello?”

“Bastien?” her voice sounds tight, and his stomach drops.

“Fleur, what’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” she says, but her voice is cracking. “We’re all fine, but there was a car accident, and mine’s totaled, and Avery broke her arm. We’re in one of the rooms waiting.” Her breathing catches. “Can you come to Bellevue? Chandler’s catching a flight back home. He had a meeting.”

“Of course,” he says, already looking for his wallet and keys. He’ll have to tell James he needs a rain check. He flips his wallet open, wanting to check that he has enough cash to grab a cab. It’s not his wallet.

It does, however, belong to one James Harper Carlisle.

His stomach feels like it might be somewhere near his feet. He didn’t think it could plummet any farther. Absently he notes that the sound of the shower has stopped. “I’m on my way,” he tells Fleur numbly, and when she hangs up, he takes a moment to just stare.

He wonders what the odds are that there’s two Harper Carlisles who are super into food out there, and thinks they’re probably not good.

He’s a writer, he thinks. He’s a writer.

He’d laugh if he thought it wouldn’t make him cry.

The new review, the retraction and the praise, flashes in front of his eyes, and his stomach clenches. He wants to heave. Had he gotten a good review by sleeping with the reviewer?

He sets the wallet down and goes to the bathroom, his phone clutched in hand. He knocks on the closed door, hopes his voice doesn’t come out as wrecked as he feels. And if it does, well, his sister and niece were in a car accident. He has a reason. “I’ve got to go,” he says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat. “My sister’s at the hospital with Avery.”

James opens the door abruptly, and Bastien’s gaze flicks down automatically before he forces it back up, noting the look of concern on his face before he has to look away altogether. “Is everything okay? Should I come?”

“No,” says Bastien, and then realizes how that sounds. He shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair. “Yes, everything’s okay. They’re fine. No, I think it’s something I can handle on my own. I don’t think she’d want anyone else there. They’re waiting, you know, and Avery hasn’t met you yet….”
Isn’t ever going to meet you now.

James seems to buy it. “Oh okay.” He looks worried, chewing on his bottom lip. “Let me know everything’s okay when you get there. Are you good for the cab? Do you want me to call one?”

“I’m fine,” says Bastien, feeling anything but fine. “It’s fine.”

James doesn’t look like he believes that, but he doesn’t argue. He presses a kiss to Bastien’s lips, rubbing his arm. He walks him to the door, squeezes his hand, which is clammy and gross.

It’s not running, he tells himself as he leaves James’s apartment, gaze avoiding the counter where James’s wallet sits. It’s self-preservation.

SO MUCH
for telling him tonight. Sighing, he drops his towel and pads naked to his bedroom, letting his body air-dry. He scrubs at his face. When the hell is he going to be able to tell him? He’s been such an idiot. He should never have lied to Bastien. He tugs his clothes on more roughly than he normally would, and heads out to the kitchen to finish the dishes.

It isn’t till he’s done with them, the last of them dried and put away, that he notices his wallet lying open on the island.
No.

Hands shaking, he pulls it close, and there it is. His driver’s license, his face, smiling painfully up at him.

And Bastien had fled. He hadn’t confronted James. There was no yelling, no fighting, not one chance to defend his moronic actions. He’d just left. He’d looked devastated. Either his sister hadn’t really been in an accident, and he was using that as cover, or she had and he’d managed to hit Bastien when he was already down.