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“Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have any complaints.”
I sighed. “He’d never voice them, but years ago, I found his drawer of travel brochures. Italy, Switzerland, Egypt…all the places he never got to see.”
He was quiet for a moment as he obviously considered the picture I was painting. “If you do find your father and end up being able to send Romeo on those adventures, what will you do?”
“I’ll go back to Mud Gulch and run the bar. It’s been in our family for generations. It’s a staple of the town. There’s no way I’d let it go.”
Gage looked up, staring at the stars that had just begun dotting the sky. “You’re torn in two directions,” he said.
I thought about that. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly how I felt. I felt loyal to Mud Gulch and to my uncles, but I also felt torn to be somewhere else, even if I hadn’t quite identified where that was just yet. For so long, deep inside, I’d felt like I was ignoring a call I needed to heed. That feeling had subsided here, and yet I still hadn’t found what I was looking for, and so I remained just as lost.
“What about you?” I asked. “Where do you picture yourself finding peace like this? Is it a place or a…person?”
He glanced at me and then away. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never thought about my life in terms of peace. I’ve always been guided by my actions, more so than my feelings.”
“Feelings? You mean dreams?”
He tilted his head, appearing momentarily confused. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Feelings. Dreams. I’ve never used those terms. I have goals, and I have aspirations, of course. But dreams? What’s the real difference? To me, they’ve always been pretty synonymous.”
I thought about that for a second. “I’m not sure. All I know is that dreams are what create peace like this. You can sense it, can’t you? This is Haven’s dream come true, and she puts her whole heart and soul into it.” I waved my arm around. “I guess if you can find a way to monetize your dreams like she obviously does, you’re pretty damn lucky.”
He smiled and it was sort of wistful. “I suppose you’re right. And I also guess most people aren’t lucky enough to be able to monetize their dreams.”
“Probably not. Pesky little things like needing to buy groceries and pay rent get in the way.” I gave him a small tilt of my lips and he smiled back. As our eyes lingered, I wondered if Gage Buchanan had ever in his life had to worry about “pesky things.” Probably not. And if anyone had been born into a life where they had the ability to monetize their dreams, whatever Gage’s might be, it was him.
Gage Buchanan required no luck. And yet he acted like that sort of life—the one where you did anything you wanted because you could—was an impossibility. He called himself privileged and obviously, in many ways, he was. But if he couldn’t follow his own dreams, what did any of that privilege mean? Wasn’t privilege without passion simply…duty?
“Walk with me?” he asked, standing and reaching out for my hand. I took it and he pulled me up, rising so fast that I met his chest with mine, laughing and slightly breathless as I gazed up at him. So close. He laughed softly too, smiling down at me, neither of us moving. God help me, I didn’t want to move. I wanted to get even closer. I wanted to kiss him—
I pictured the woman whose lips had been on his earlier. The flashy beauty with the shiny car.
I stepped back and turned away, facing the trees, heavy with fruit. A slight breeze rustled the leaves and cooled my overheated skin. As I reached for a peach, Gage came up next to me. I brought it to my nose and inhaled, letting out a sigh. “Gosh, this smells good.”
“I’ve come out here a few times and picked fruit for a cobbler,” he said.
“You just whip up a cobbler every now and again, huh?”
He laughed. “You know I—”
“Enjoy cooking. Yes. You’re amazing at it too.” He made it sound like a hobby, but to me, it looked like more than that. The way he seemed to…sparkle, when he was commanding a kitchen, whether his own or the one at Cakes and Ale. I’d known cooks all my life. They didn’t do their job with a tenth of the finesse or obvious enjoyment I saw in Gage. They didn’t describe a dish as the melding of earth and sea. “Since your early days under Chef LaCourt, have you taken classes?” I asked. He’d made it sound like he’d learned from the French master when he was young, but he’d obviously honed his skills since then. I thought about the crab cakes and the pasta dish he’d made so effortlessly and how both of them almost seemed like an experience more than food. I’d never in my life eaten anything better than those two whipped-together-at-a-moment’s-notice meals.
“No, I’m not professionally trained in any way.”
I tilted my head. “Well, neither were Mozart or van Gogh. Some people are just naturally gifted, I suppose.”
He seemed to consider that, a frown marring his handsome features as though something about the idea distressed him. “I’ve always had this ability to sort of…break down recipes and even scents. I’ll taste something in a restaurant and know the ingredients that were combined to create it. I can tell if it’d benefit from some rosemary, or shaved truffles…if it might be better roasted or baked on a cedar plank. And then I’ll go home and re-create it and I’m nearly right. A random talent that really only means I have to be diligent about gym time.”
Shaved truffles. Whatever those were. “Not random. A talent that benefits chefs and recipe creators,” I said. “Some people’s senses are more keen than others.”
He suddenly seemed very interested in a branch next to him, running his fingers along the leaves at the end. “Well, I’m obviously neither of those things. I just do it for fun.” He smiled, the barest tilt of his lips. “My job is demanding and in the last few years…I honestly haven’t gotten out a lot. I have to eat and so…you know…”
I’d taken a bite of the peach as he’d spoken and when I moaned at the juicy sweetness that burst across my tongue, his gaze lowered to my mouth. His eyes drooped slightly and he brought his thumb to the side of my lips, catching the peach juice that had begun to run toward my chin.
Kiss me.
No! Don’t kiss me. God, this was awful. The tension between us was so thick with desire. My skin felt hot and prickly just being near him and we still hadn’t gotten those damn test results back. Part of me wanted to say, Fuck it. Who cares! We’ve already crossed the line. How would two times be worse than once?
Because you’d know you were doing your brother.
