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“I know. That’s why I love you, why I’ve always wanted to make you happy. But being stuck in a kitchen for the rest of my life?” He gripped his uncle’s hands. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not even for you. Furthermore, you wouldn’t want me to, because if you want your restaurant to succeed, you need a chef who can actually cook.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be Chez Dontatien.”
“As well it shouldn’t. It was Dad’s dream and now he’s gone.” Casey met Uncle Walt’s eyes. “Tell me the truth. Do you even want to own a restaurant?”
“I… I…” He looked away, blinking rapidly, and exhaled on a half sob. “I miss him so much.”
“I know. But isn’t the best way to honor him to move on? Build on the legacy. Don’t try to recreate the past, because you can’t. Hire a new chef. Let them make the place their own. Maybe have one night as an homage to Dad, with a menu that’s a nod to his food. But then say goodbye to it. To him.” Casey squeezed his uncle’s hand. “It’s time. Don’t you think?”
“Hey, babe.” At Dev’s call, Casey released Uncle Walt’s hand and turned, his smile blooming at the sight of Dev’s grin.
“Hi.” He studied Dev’s face as he trotted across the street toward them between a cheesemaker’s stand and a Ben & Jerry’s ice cream truck. For the first time since Casey had arrived in Home, for the first time since he’d seen Dev without his welding mask, Dev looked relaxed. At home in his own skin.
At home in Home.
Casey wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was the whole cause of Dev’s contentment. The apparent success of the event, with registration fees that more than covered the cost of the dang Port-a-Potties, not to mention his rediscovery of music, probably had more to do with it. But Casey liked to think he’d had at least a supporting role in putting that sparkle in Dev’s eyes, the ease in his wide shoulders, the spring in his step.
“Sylvia wants to know if you’ve got the rosters for her interactive cooking demos.”
“Oh! Right. Yes.” Casey pulled out his phone and forwarded the list to Sylvia and Dev. “Sorry. I intended to do that right after registration closed down, but then Uncle Walt showed up.”
Dev’s eyebrows rose. “This is your uncle, then?” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Dev Harrison.”
Uncle Walt glanced a little frantically at Casey as he shook Dev’s hand. “How do you do?”
“Dev is the direct descendant of Home’s founder, the town manager, and”—Casey inhaled and took the plunge—“my boyfriend.”
Dev’s grin grew even wider as he wrapped an arm around Casey’s waist and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “And proud of it. He’s the most remarkable man I’ve ever met.”
“But… But…” Uncle Walt glanced between them. “What about Bradley?”
Casey leaned into Dev’s side. “Bradley was never in the picture. Not my picture, anyway. If you want to partner with him for the restaurant, you can certainly do so. But I’d think really hard about that.”
“Why?” Uncle Walt asked.
“Because the guy’s a dickhead,” Dev said. “A dickhead who doesn’t deserve Casey. But if I’m lucky”—he smiled down at Casey, the warmth in his eyes enough to melt Casey’s knees—“someday I will.”
As the time for his and Haru’s performance grew closer, Dev’s adrenaline-fueled energy grew, just as it had always done before any gig. With the awareness zinging through his veins he couldn’t keep himself to a walk, loping across Harrison House’s lawn with a wave at Winnie Barrows, the last song in their set list—one of Haru’s, which he’d never had a chance to perform with POV—rolling out in his head.
They’d open with “Wait for It,” and Dev’s chest warmed, his smile dawning. Casey’s gonna love it. When they got to the last verse—
The screen door banged open and Nash stormed down the steps and directly into Dev’s path.
“What the fuck, Dev?”
Dev skidded to a stop in the gravel before he barreled into him and knocked him on his ass. Not that the asshole doesn’t deserve it.
Nash’s face was a mask of fury and revulsion. Whoops. Guess he must have seen the new lineup.
But Nash Tambling had no power over him anymore. Not when Casey had proclaimed right to his uncle’s face that they were together. Not when he’d found music again.
“Afternoon, Nash.”
Dev tried to sidestep him, but Nash blocked his way. “What kind of fucking rig are you running here, Dev? Are you trying to screw with my head? You know I need my space before I go on stage.”
Is that what you call finding somewhere to fuck a groupie? Asking for a former friend. “You’ve got your own room, Nash. Go there.”
“I would, but it’s been defiled.” He crossed his arms. “Your little boy-toy probably did it out of spite.”
