The Boy Who Came in From the Cold (38 page)

“Peter?” Gabe asked, surprise in his voice. Maybe something else as well?
“Yes, my boy. And I brought a guest.”

A guest? Oh for God’s sake
, Todd thought.
Does Peter do this kind of thing all the time? Thank goodness the roast is so big. But there isn’t enough dessert. I could cut one in half. It would be small portions….

“I hope you don’t mind,” Peter was saying. “I ventured a guess that if Todd could make his chicken dinner stretch for three, he could make a dinner for three work out for four.”

Todd stepped out of the kitchen, towel in hand, and then his mouth fell open in near horror. Standing just to Peter’s left and one step back was Izar Goya.

She was carrying a small box, and when she turned to Todd, she gave a nod and said, “I don’t know what you’ve prepared, but I hope this will make a good dessert. Or you can save it for later. It’s from the Jatetxea. I made it this morning.”

Dessert made by Izar Goya herself? Todd couldn’t believe it. Somehow, it shocked him enough to make him step forward and take it. “Thank you.”

“I believe you two have met already,” Peter said with an amused raise of his brow. “Not on good terms I understand, but I trust this evening will be better. Let’s pretend this is the first time you have ever met, shall we?”

Izar nodded. She wasn’t classically beautiful; she could disappear in a crowd of nondescript people if she wanted to—at least before she started to become a local celebrity. She had long thick hair, a brown so dark it might as well be black, and large dark-brown eyes. Her chin was perhaps a bit too narrow and her teeth might not be perfectly straight. But standing there, she felt like a force of nature to Todd. He had to admit she scared him. She pursed her full lips and responded to Peter’s challenge. “Thank you for having me in your home,” she replied, her voice deep and musical.

“Izar Goya?” Peter replied. “This is Todd Burton, the young man who so impressed me. And this is Gabriel Richards, the master of this domicile. Toddy? Gabriel? Izar Goya.”

They took their guests’ coats and Gabe led them to the couch. “May I get you a cocktail?” Gabe asked as Todd put the coats away and dashed back into the kitchen. “If you like them, a Manhattan would go perfectly with what Todd has prepared.”

A Manhattan goes with lamb?
Todd knew he would have never known that. Since he couldn’t really drink, except for what he and his

Buckman friends had kyped from their parents’ liquor cabinets, how would he have known something like that? Thank God Gabe knew. Izar Goya was here. Everything had to be right.

Izar Goya is here. For dinner. My dinner? Ohmygawd
. He peered in the oven at the roast, knowing it would be ready any minute. But did he dare slice it to see before bringing it to the table? Of course not. Meat needs to rest after it comes out of the heat to redistribute the juices He couldn’t. Plus, presentation was everything. But what if it was dry? What if it was overcooked?

Well, it’s too late to worry about that
, he answered himself.
Leap. Trust your instincts. Isn’t that what Gabe always does?

He made the last preparations for the appetizer by spreading the cranberry pesto over fresh organic goat cheese atop some fancy crackers and further decorating the plate with a few dried berries. The frozen ones just weren’t pretty enough, and he’d decided they might be too mushy. Fresh berries were just not available this time of year, even though their season had barely passed. And it was a pretty plate if he did say so himself.

There wasn’t a lot (he’d originally only planned for two) but when he brought the plate out and laid it on the coffee table there were enough “oohs” and “aahs” that the hated voice of his stepfather vanished in an instant, like ashes being blown away in a breeze. Then, to Todd’s delight, they each took some and the pleasant noises continued. Did this mean he did well? He had made a few changes in the recipe he’d found months ago, especially by using dried fruit.

Todd went back to the kitchen to get the lamb out of the oven. It looked beautiful, and he hoped the crushed pistachio crust would taste as he imagined. His mouth began to water as the aroma hit him full in the face. He covered it with the glass lid and called everyone in for dinner, the small appetizers already gone.

Soup was their first course, a chunky tomato that not only complemented the appetizer in appearance, but started taking the taste buds to a different place as well. Again, the portions were small, but he wanted there to be room for the lamb. It wasn’t quite what he’d hoped for, but again, it was the wrong time of year for really good tomatoes. Luckily the grocery store that Cody had taken him to had some grown in a hothouse. Maybe he was just being picky?

Peter cried out in poetry over it, and Todd couldn’t help but be pleased. “Ah, Gabriel, thou art a lucky man having this prince to feed you every day.” The lanky man stopped, tilted his head toward his friend and employee, and said: “I trust the couch has gone back to its traditional usage and Todd will be cooking for you for some time to come? I do sense that in the air? Love?
L’ amour
?
Liebe
?
Alofa
?”

Of course, Todd blushed, but when he turned to glance at his lover, he saw Gabe beaming at him, l’amour pouring from his eyes. That made Todd’s eyes grow wet, and he knew there was no hiding what was happening between them. A quick look at Izar showed she was busy with her course, and politely doing nothing to embarrass her hosts.

When they were finished, Todd brought out the roast, placed on a fancy platter he’d discovered on top of the kitchen cabinets. He drizzled the natural juices over top and was thrilled to see the meat was practically falling apart, and proud that he’d managed to transfer it without a mishap. Then he served the couscous, which he’d finished with some lightly pan-toasted pine nuts while Gabe cleared the table of the first course. The grain cooked almost instantly, so it had to be prepared at the last minute, and he hoped the nuts gave it a little crunch, again complementing the crust on the lamb. At least he hoped it did.

As with the rest of the meal, Peter used poetry and uncredited quotes to describe his feelings (and compliments)—“If more of us valued food and cheer above hoarded gold, it would be a much merrier world!”—and Gabe simply glowed. Todd was starting to think he could have done no wrong with his new love, though. The feeling was incredible. Like coming home.

But at least Todd liked the meal. No. Despite his nervousness, he loved every bite (including the soup), and it was all he could do not to scrape the roasting pan for more of the lamb-sautéed pistachios.

The wine was a perfect fit, just as the liquor store clerk had claimed. It was plummy and reminded Todd of some dark berry pie with clove and maybe some vanilla. Not overly sweet like the Schwartzbeeren, but far more subtle, going well with the crust of the lamb and the couscous.

Todd watched nervously through the whole meal. Goya did seem to be enjoying herself, but was she? Was she just being polite? After all, she was in their home.

Their?
Todd smiled despite his nervousness. He was saying “their home,” if only to himself. He was absorbing all of this: what had happened in less than a week, falling in love, the miracle of love returned—love from another man—and now simple things, like them working together to make a good meal.

And their guests treated them like a couple. A real couple. They were two men, and by the grace of God—or something out there—they were a couple. More than once, Gabe had reached over and placed his hand over Todd’s. No eye blinked, at least not in derision or shock. The sparkle in Peter’s eyes could not be missed. More often than not, Todd’s heart was pounding. Would it always feel like this? Would it last?