In the Distance

Chapter One

Tyler

Mid-September 2014

Seeing as how I’m elbow-deep in this chutney, I will happily pay time-and-a-half to the first person who turns this crap down and then hides the remote, Chef Lassiter yelled over the death metal blaring from the kitchen’s sound system.

Each of Bistro 30’s cooks glanced warily at the stereo system’s remote, which sat in its usual docking station on the wall. No one touched Chef Ethan Martin’s stereo. No one except Chef James Lassiter, co-executive chef, co-owner and co–culinary god in charge.

It wasn’t that Chef Lassiter didn’t love music; he just didn’t love his music at the earsplitting volume Chef Martin enjoyed. This wasn’t the first time Ethan’s choice of music, and the decibel level, had been a topic of conversation in the kitchen. For Jamie to have actually offered a bounty for turning the music down meant one thing: Jamie was testing us to see who had the balls to help him wage his war on Ethan’s inability to listen to music at a volume that didn’t reach a two-block radius from Bistro 30.

Enrique looked at me and wriggled his eyebrows, daring me to make a move.

Not a chance, I whispered. Just touching Ethan’s precious remote would earn me at least three weeks of scrubbing the spills in the walk-in cooler. Besides, he’s still giving me the eye over rooting for Jamie during their kitchen challenge last month.

Ethan wasn’t an asshole. Well, not all the time. After a year and a half of working for him, I’d learned to see past his kitchen tantrums to the funny, generous guy underneath. Most of the time, he treated me like the kid brother he’d never had—but even I wasn’t stupid enough to screw with his remote. Not even for an extra boost to my paycheck.

When no one took Jamie up on his offer, his shoulders sagged in defeat. He walked over to the sink, washed the chutney off his hands, then grabbed the remote off the wall. He aimed it at the stereo and suddenly the guitar riff disappeared. Really? No one wanted the overtime?

He sighed, returned the remote to its proper place, then resumed chopping apples for this week’s top menu item: braised pork chops with homemade apple chutney. Chef might be world-famous but he never failed to pitch in with prep work when we needed help.

Barely a minute had passed when the volume soared to an earsplitting level again.

Dammit, E. Can we just for one night have the music at a level where my eardrums won’t explode?

Want me to put on some Michael Bolton for you? Kenny G? Something light?

Ethan leered at Jamie and leaned in to whisper in his ear. When a wicked grin replaced the annoyance on Jamie’s face, I had to push down my stab of envy. It was an inspiration to work in a restaurant where two men loved and respected each other so openly. It was also a reminder of what I didn’t have.

When Ethan caught me staring, I immediately looked down at my maple glaze. That’s great. Gawk at your bosses instead of doing your job.

Ethan and Jamie were still newlyweds, so we’d been getting a lot of PDA in the kitchen. I didn’t mind, but I still hadn’t quite gotten used to seeing it. Public displays of affection had been frowned upon in my ultra-religious family. Not once in all my eighteen years at home had I ever seen my parents hold hands, let alone kiss. Then the unthinkable happened. They not only caught me kissing someone, but the someone turned out to be a guy. It was a complete clusterfuck, starting with a horrific fight and ending with my ass out on the streets.

One night Ethan had discovered me digging a bruised apple out of a restaurant Dumpster. As I’d tried to hide the fruit behind my back, he’d given me an appraising look, taken a drag off his cigarette, then asked, Ever work in a restaurant before, kid?

Now, a year and a half later, I had a safe place to live and I was being trained by two incredible chefs as a sous-chef in their kitchen. I wasn’t the most social guy on the best of days, but I’d found a place where I wasn’t always looking over my shoulder and second-guessing myself. Except for when one of my bosses was heading my way with a clean tasting spoon in his hand.

Hey, Tyler. Is that the glaze for the new pork chop recipe we’re putting on the menu next week?

I nodded nervously, keeping my eyes on the saucepan in front of me. Yes, Chef Martin. I’ve been tweaking it a bit since the new mustard we got from Schumann’s is a little coarser than the one we normally stock. I think I finally got it to the consistency Chef Lassiter asked for.

When Ethan dipped a spoon into the sauce to taste, I felt my heart trip-hammer. It had been two months since they’d moved me up to Sous-Chef-in-Training, but I had yet to get over my nerves when I presented them with anything I’d worked on by myself. The sauce was minor in comparison to what I’d be expected to take on once I got a few semesters under my belt, but for months they’d gone out of their way to teach me new and different techniques. They’d never put any kind of pressure on me to be perfect, but the thought of screwing up in their kitchen was unthinkable.

I held my breath while Ethan tasted the sauce. He cracked a smile. Really good. I think you knocked it out of the park with this one. Hey, Jamie, try this.

I removed the saucepan from the burner and felt my tension slowly ebb. Thanks, Chef.

You’re a quick study. We’ll have to give you some harder preps soon. What do you think, Jamie?

Jamie nudged his husband out of the way and dipped his own spoon into the sauce. This is excellent. It’ll go perfectly with the new rub we’re using on the pork.

Ethan snorted, then shot Jamie a semi-apologetic look. "You said rub."

Jamie laughed. God, Ethan. I swear I’m going to start drinking the cooking wine instead of cooking with it.

Ethan smirked as he bumped his shoulder against his husband’s. Admit it. You love me.

Jamie’s expression softened and he nodded. "Even when you drive me nuts. And yes, I just said nuts."

Jamie refocused his attention on me. You look dead on your feet, Tyler. Make sure you write down the proportions of ingredients you used before you leave, then go home and get some rest.

Ethan pulled one of the restaurant’s paper bags out of one of the fridge drawers. Without any fanfare, he thrust it into my arms. And take this with you. No one trusts a skinny chef.

I tried really hard not to sigh, but this was an ongoing issue between me and my bosses. My grocery budget was limited, but I made enough to keep myself fed, even if that meant more soup than I’d prefer.

Thanks, but I’m fine. I already had family dinner here and I have leftover soup at home.

Ethan crossed his arms. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Between work and school, it’s a wonder you have any time to sleep, let alone eat. I remember the days of having a twenty-year-old’s metabolism. I also remember the days of not having enough to eat, and I’d rather send our leftovers home with our staff than see food go to waste.

He wasn’t going to budge on this. He and Jamie took care of all their staff with frequent doggie bags and family-style lunches and dinners, but I knew they did even more for me than for the others.

Jamie was giving me The Look now, the one that told me to stop arguing and take the food Ethan needed to give me. I tucked the bag under my arm.

Thanks, Chef. I really appreciate it.

No problem, Tyler. It’s late and I’d rather you have a meal that will put meat on your bones if you’re planning on working all that overtime you signed up for this weekend. Just keep your hands off my stereo, regardless of what Chef Lassiter tries to bribe you with, and we’re good.

Noted. I’ll never touch your stereo without express permission.

Jamie rolled his eyes. I make no such promises, E.

I made the last of my notes and when Ethan looked up from the menu he was planning with Jamie, he grabbed the remote and turned down the music.

Good job with the sauce, Tyler.

Jamie’s smile turned smug when Ethan kept the music volume low enough not to rattle the pots and pans around us. Jamie might not win every battle, but he’d won this round.

* * *

One bus ride and thirty minutes later, I finally stumbled into my apartment. It was almost eleven o’clock, much earlier than I normally would have gotten off work on the dinner shift, but my classes at the Culinary Institute had worn me down this past month. I had the partial scholarship from the school—the one Jamie let slip that Ethan had set up—and a small stipend from the financial aid department, but I still had bills, groceries, my bus pass and all the other things that ate my paycheck. Not that I had much to complain about. My wage at Bistro 30 was well over what I’d ever imagined I’d be making with only a high school diploma to my name, and no matter how much I tried to refuse, Ethan and Jamie always had a way of making sure I kept my head above water. Between the overtime and extra hours they tossed my way, I always had just enough to get by. One day, though, I wanted to do more than just scrape by. I didn’t want to be rich, just comfortable enough to ensure I’d have a roof over my head and food in my apartment. Living on the streets hadn’t been a pleasure cruise, but it had shown me how much even my shabby apartment and long hours at school and work were worth.

The growl of my stomach reminded me of the leftovers Ethan had sent home with me. Angel-hair pasta with a spicy marinara sauce and a strip of Jamie’s signature grilled chicken breast. There was even a chunk of Italian bread in there with a small container of the herbed olive oil we used at Bistro 30. It was a complete meal. One I didn’t have to cook or pay for. Just like last week’s salmon, which had a perfectly dressed side salad with it, and the braised pork roast with succulent new potatoes from the week before. Ethan and Jamie not only set aside extras of whatever we’d prepared but hadn’t served, but they also had a few of us prepare simple dishes for the staff to eat during our lunch and dinner breaks. I didn’t know how he thought I’d starve when I was constantly surrounded by so much food.

As I waited for the pasta to warm up in the microwave, I grabbed a bread knife and began slicing the bread Ethan had added to the bag of food. I really did enjoy cooking my own meals, but I almost never seemed to be home long enough to do it. I looked around my respectably stocked kitchen. New pots hung from a rack over the small island. A fancy coffeemaker perched proudly on the counter, and a huge block of gleaming, sharp knives sat next to the range. All were presents from Ethan, Jamie, and Ethan’s sister, Claire, when I had gotten into culinary school. All were things I would never have been able to afford for myself. And all were reminders that my friends were more supportive of my choices than my own family was.

My family. That was a joke right there. It had almost been two years since I’d last seen my sister and brother. Megan was in high school now and Ollie would be starting his last year of elementary school. I had no clue what my parents had told them about me, but it still hurt to have missed out seeing them grow up. Since the moment they’d shut the front door in my face, I’d known things would never be the same.

The microwave dinged, steam wafting off the food as I took my plate out of the microwave. Chicken spaghetti had been Ollie’s favorite dinner the last time I’d seen him. The smell of freshly heated dinner suddenly turned my stomach. Annoyed at myself for wasting food, I forced it down anyhow. My mind may not have wanted to eat, but my body did.

A quick shower and thumb-through of my reading assignment on preparing red meat had me yawning by the time midnight rolled around. My muscles ached from work, but my exhausted brain kept going back to work and how much Ethan and Jamie looked out for me.

It was then that I finally realized what had really been bothering me all night.

At the end of each day, regardless of how many people I talked to at school or work, I came home to an empty apartment. No family. No friends outside of the restaurant. I’d been on my own for so long, I couldn’t even fathom what it must feel like to have the kind of relationship my bosses had. Life on the streets and in the homeless shelter didn’t lend itself to getting close to people. It was safer to rely on myself instead of waiting for someone else to save me or take advantage of me. But the more I settled into this new routine of my life, the more I ached to have someone I could share it with. To have strong arms around me when I’d had a bad day. Or simply someone to talk to who didn’t see me as a little brother or adopted son. The warmth of someone pulling me close at night, reminding me I didn’t have to be alone. I had so much more than a lot of kids who’d been on the streets, but there were times I felt lonelier here than I had at my parents’ house or the shelter. Most days, between my hectic work and school schedules, I could ignore the ache of not having anyone special in my life. But when it was just me and the oppressive silence of my apartment, I had to face facts. I was still just as alone as I’d been two years ago.

Chapter Two

Trevor

Late September

The heavy thud of my feet as I pounded the treadmill was in perfect sync with the bass line of the music blaring through my earbuds. As I swiped my towel over my face and neck, a tanned work of lean, chiseled art caught my eye as he walked by. There weren’t too many members who worked out at this gym who didn’t play for my team and it was easy pickings if you knew the routine.

The guy checked me out as he started the treadmill next to me. Thank God for the wall of mirrors. The trainers instructed us to use them as a tool to help us keep our form while working out. The members used them as a tool to ensure we had company in the cab afterward.

Life in New York was a never-ending sea of company if you had the means and the time. Thanks to my healthy trust fund and Jamie’s move to Seattle and subsequent publicity hiatus a year ago, I had both on my hands. My gaze traveled over to my neighbor on Treadmill Alley, who already had a nice sheen of sweat forming on his face and neck. He was early to midtwenties with short black hair that swept low over his eyebrows. I hadn’t seen him at the gym before.

When my eyes finally made their way back up his body to his face, I watched as his own gaze traveled down and back up. I smirked in answer to his raised eyebrow, and then returned my focus to my workout. I cranked up the volume on my iPod and increased my speed.

Losing myself in the steady rhythm of the treadmill or the pain and sweat of the free weights at the gym had offered an escape from the churning loss of Jamie’s friendship, which we were only now beginning to repair. After seeing him in Seattle at Bistro 30, I knew he was happier with Ethan than he had been in years. Now, I finally understood that everything I’d built up in my head had been a fantasy. I had never told him about my feelings for him and he had never seen me as anything other his best friend. To a somewhat more rational thirty-year-old, it made sense. To a twenty-two-year-old kid alone in Paris with a very handsome and talented roommate, who just so happened to also be gay, rational thought had never entered into it.

Five miles later, I slowed down the speed on the treadmill, slipping into my cooldown run. As my breathing began to calm, so did my chaotic thoughts. I still cared about Jamie; hell, I knew I always would. The difference was, I now knew I wasn’t in love with him. It had been a helluva ride getting to this point, but I was finally there.

When the treadmill finally stopped, I lifted my shirt to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. My neighbor was still pounding away on his, but his eyes were focused on my now-exposed abs. I sent another smirk his way before grabbing my things and heading to the locker room. A quick detour to the sauna and a hot shower later had my mind and body feeling better than it had all week. Alejandro Ortega, my newest project, was all drama all the time. We’d kept it low-key, just some publicity junkets for him to attend to get his restaurant Almuerzo in the spotlight more, but his prima donna attitude and need to be the center of attention was draining at the best of times, downright intolerable at the worst. How laid-back Jamie had ever dated him still boggled my mind.

With my gym bag resting on my shoulder, I made my way to the front of the gym. My treadmill neighbor was leaning against one of the poles near the front desk. The sly twist of his smile and steady gaze told me all I needed to know.

* * *

Four hours later, I leaned over the side of the bed to grab my jeans. An arm snaked around my waist, urging me to lie back down, but a meeting in Midtown tomorrow at too early o’clock made midnight my cue to leave.

You could stay, you know. I promise I won’t hog all the covers.

A quick look at the freshly fucked handsome man behind me almost had my resolve crumbling. Tempting.

My fingers tightened around the soft denim in my hands when I felt the slow, wet glide of his tongue on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and leaned back, my eyes drifting closed as that magical mouth worked its way down my neck to my shoulder. A million excuses drifted through my mind for pushing my meeting back an hour or two. Then, my jeans trilled out the all-too-familiar chorus of Dinner Bell.

I quickly dug my phone out of the pocket and swiped my thumb across the screen. Do you have any idea what time it is?

Jamie’s familiar laugh came through the earpiece as I cradled it between my ear and shoulder, renewing my effort to get my jeans on. What? It’s midnight in New York. You’re never in bed this early.

The bed shifted behind me and a soft voice drifted over my shoulder. I’m going to grab something to drink. Want anything?

I shook my head.

Jamie laughed again. Looks like I spoke too soon.

A nice, toned ass passed me, but I didn’t feel the urge to stay. I needed to catch a cab and head home. Blaine? Blake? Blake—it was definitely Blake—had been a nice way to cap off my workout.

Trev? You there?

I cradled the phone closer to my ear and tugged my jeans the rest of the way on. Sorry, J. I’m here. What was that?

Hey, no problem. We can talk tomorrow. I shouldn’t have called this late anyway.

A quick glance at the ground helped me locate my shirt as I shifted the phone so I could finish getting dressed.

Nah, your timing is perfect. What’s up?

I was wondering if you were still coming to visit next month. E and I finalized our holiday menu and I’d love your input. You’re one of my best critics when it comes to food but it’s kind of hard to get your opinion long-distance.

I sighed and scrubbed my hand over my face. It was hard to do a lot of things long-distance. After all this time, Jamie hadn’t given up on our friendship. Redefined it, yes. But he hadn’t given me up completely. This was just another reminder that I needed to put in the same kind of effort if I wanted this to work. To everyone else, I was Trevor Pratt, trust-fund baby. From the moment we first met in Paris, Jamie had always just seen me as Trevor, a friend and lifeline during one of the most difficult semesters of his life. We’d seen each other at our best and, more recently, at our worst. Out of all the friends I had, Jamie was the one I didn’t want to lose.

Yeah. I’m booked to arrive the week before Halloween. Want me to come out earlier? I’m sure I can change my flights.

No. That’s perfect. It’ll give me and Ethan time to test out the new dishes on the staff and tweak them before we offer them to the public. Where are you staying this time?

The sound of the fridge opening and closing in the next room reminded me of where I still was and where I wouldn’t be staying tonight.

I’ll be at the Westin. The Maxwell was nice, but I wanted something closer to the restaurant this time.

You know you’re always welcome here with me and Ethan. Our place has plenty of room and it’s close to Bistro 30.

A gruff voice shouted in the background, I have connections at the Westin! It’s awesome. He’ll love it!

The muffled sound of Jamie’s hand covering the phone preceded his not-so-quiet whisper. E, I love you, but shut up.

I slipped my shoes on and left the bedroom, trying to force levity into my tone. It’s no problem, Jamie. I know you guys are exhausted when you get home from work. The last thing you need is a houseguest you’ll feel compelled to not only entertain, but cook for.

I wouldn’t feel—

You would. We both know you would. Now, Ethan? He’d let my sorry ass starve. But you would get up early just to have something ready for me before you had to leave for the restaurant. It’ll be easier this way, J. I’ll still come and bug you at Bistro 30, we’ll talk about the upcoming promo on your new cookbook, and you guys can still have your privacy.

Are you sure?

A quick glance into the kitchen stopped me dead in my tracks. Blaine’s—no, Blake’s—lean body was leaning the counter. His lower half was now covered in some sweatpants, but the semi he was sporting told me he’d be ready for another round if I chose to stay.

Yeah, J. I’m sure. It’s better for everyone this way. My eyes met Blake’s and I tilted my head toward the front door. J, can you hold on for a minute?

Blake came up behind me and murmured against my neck. Sure you don’t want to stay?

The feel of his lips on my skin should have tempted me to tell Jamie I had to go and take the gorgeous man behind me back to his bedroom. But suddenly, I was bone-tired and wanted the comfort and familiarity of my own bed. Meetings tomorrow. Rain check?

Can’t wait.

No phone numbers had been exchanged, no promises made. There was always the possibility we’d see each other at the gym, but both of us knew this had been a one-time deal. I flashed one last smile, hoisted my gym bag over my shoulder and left all thoughts of Blake and our rain check at the door as I tucked my phone back against my ear.

Sorry about that.

Jamie’s sigh conveyed everything we never ventured even remotely close to these days. I could have called you back. Hell, we could have talked about all this tomorrow.

As I made my way out of the apartment building, I looked around for a cab. Thank God Blaine, Blake, whoever, lived in Midtown, where there was always a cab somewhere close when you needed one. Nah, I told you before, your timing was perfect.

If you say so. How’s New York?

I paused and looked down the quiet street. I could have answered that question so many ways, none of which would have helped lessen the distance between us. New York is great. I just got laid. What more could I want? Or maybe New York is the same. But I’m wondering if that’s not enough anymore. Or even New York hasn’t been the same since you moved. Nothing has been.

I made my way toward Forty-Second Street and hopefully a cab. Same old, same old. You and Ethan should visit sometime.

I’d love that, Trev, but it’s not in the cards until Bistro 30 is more established. Or until we get a full-time sous-chef in place.

Of course. Time to steer the conversation into safer waters. How is Tyler?

He’s great. Just started classes at the Institute and working his ass off, but he’s a sponge. I swear I didn’t pick up things at his age half as quickly as he does.

A voice cut into our conversation from the background. You just needed the proper inspiration, Golden Boy!

And I thank the culinary gods every day, Ethan, for sending you to inspire me.

I groaned. As happy as I was for Jamie, it was late, my body ached from not one but two workouts today and I needed some food. Everyone had their limits and I was steadily approaching mine.

Hey J, I gotta let you go. I’m exhausted and I need to find a cab. My parents are cool, but I’m pretty sure even they wouldn’t like waking up to their son making headlines in the tabloids for passing out in the middle of Midtown. Tell Tyler I said good luck with his classes and not to take any of Ethan’s crap. I’ll email you the details of my trip this week so we can try to plan a dinner or two.

Jamie’s laugh burst through my phone. I can see it now. Trevor Pratt Makes a Pratt of Himself on Fifth Avenue. Yeah, I’m pretty sure your mom would kill you over that one. Be safe getting home and I’ll talk to you soon.

The connection went dead before I could reply, but then again, what more would I have said? Jamie was there and I was here. We might not be as close as we once were, but we were still friends. After all the crap that had happened last year, that was a miracle in and of itself. We just needed more time to work out all the kinks. That was all. And there’s some oceanfront property in Kansas you might want to look at.

I rounded the corner at Sixtieth and Lexington, grateful for the endless supply of Manhattan cabbies as I grabbed the first one that idled at the curb. West Twenty-Ninth and Seventh.

As the lights and buildings raced by, I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I needed my own pillow and mattress and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. But the closer we got to my condo, the more restless I became. Talking to Jamie and hearing how happy he and Ethan were had only emphasized that he’d moved on and I was still stuck in the same place I’d been for the past nine years. Leaving Blake’s had been a no-brainer, but the thought of going back to my empty condo had my brain scurrying for anything to quell the rising loneliness that surged inside me.

With only a few blocks left until we hit Seventh Avenue, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my list of contacts. As it started ringing, I pushed aside everything from the past year and focused on the here and now.

My ass is too tired for you to come over for a booty call right now, Pratt. And that’s saying something, seeing as I’ve been trying for months to get a booty call from you. So, since we’re not hooking up in the next few hours, what couldn’t wait until, say, nine, when I’ll be more coherent?

I pulled out two twenties for the cabbie and got out of the taxi. My building was trendy, expensive and perfectly located. And the thought of walking into it, knowing I’d be all alone, made me sick. I needed a friend. Specifically, a friend with benefits.

My calendar suddenly cleared for next weekend.

And that means what exactly?

I stared up the windows of my very dark and empty condo.

Tell me about the place you’re taking me to in Reno this weekend.

Chapter Three

Tyler

Last Week of October

Siouxsie and the Banshees crooned over the speakers in the kitchen. Ethan’s latest playlist included all his usual rock favorites, but he’d included a few themed songs to help get us in the mood for the holiday.

Halloween had always been my favorite holiday as a kid. I loved the candy and decorations, wandering around the neighborhood with my friends. But my favorite part had been the costumes. For one night, I could be anyone or anything I wanted to be, as long as I didn’t dress up as anything my parents considered deviant or satanic. For a few hours, I was able to forget I was Tyler Mitchell, perfect son of Marjorie and Ed Mitchell. Tyler Mitchell, who had to pretend to be someone he wasn’t all year long. Family or no family, at least now I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Tyler, we need more cranberries from the back. Chef Martin’s need to dress as many of our dishes with cranberry sauce as possible has put a dent in our supply. So before we have an uprising of dissatisfied, cranberryless diners on our hands, I need to whip up a new batch for the other hundred plates that seem to require that extra special touch.

Trying to suppress my laughter, I smiled and set my knife down. Sure, Chef Lassiter. Chef Martin threw his towel at his husband and feigned a hurt look. What? It’s festive.

It looks like blood, E.

Chef Martin smirked before turning back to his station. Exactly. It’s festive.

Cranberry relish. Fingerling potatoes. Pumpkin tarts and scones. Ethan and Jamie celebrated all the major holidays with their ever-changing custom menus, but they had gone over the top with their Halloween dishes and decorations.

"Back me up here, Tyler. I mean, I could have done