Vintage

“This weekend?” “That’s what I said.” “This weekend.” “Yes, do you have a problem with that?” Claude’s already saucered brown eyes widened further. In the bright Parisian sunshine, with his boyish cap of blond curls, he looked even more than usual like a Hummel figurine. It didn’t help that he barely came up to Alain’s chest. Alain had to bite the inside of his cheek and concentrate on unlocking the back door in order not to embarrass the young chef by smiling. “I just don’t know why you’d leave the restaurant on one of the busiest weekends of the year,” Claude persisted. “Surely, you want to be here, to make sure everything goes well?” Cooler air and blessed darkness comforted Alain Tiessart as he stepped through the rear entry of Rêver. He’d been unlocking and opening that door for nearly thirteen years; each time still unwound every knot that might reside within him. The ease didn’t last, of course. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to make his restaurant a success. But now, with Rêver finally making its mark on Parisian cuisine, he could enjoy the fruits of his labor. “Everything will go well.” Alain didn’t look back as he strode through the hall for his office. “You’ve handled busy nights before.” “But…” Claude pushed past Alain to hold the door open for him. His face shone with continued alarm. “It’s the Fourteenth. We’ll be swarmed. Everybody will be in Paris for the festivities.” “Everybody but me.” “My point exactly!” Alain shot Claude a reassuring smile as he leaned against the edge of the desk, his long legs angled in front of him. It brought him more to the other man’s level, a habit he’d picked up when he’d first hired Claude out of culinary school. “I have complete and utter faith in you. Do you honestly think I’d leave Rêver in your hands if I didn’t?” Pride warred with confusion in Claude’s dark eyes, and he fidgeted for several seconds, his fingers twisting the drawstring of his long shorts. “I’m grateful for your respect, of course. I guess I don’t understand what could be so important that you’d leave us behind now of all times. Where are you going?” Alain reached back to his desk blotter and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “That’s my itinerary.” He passed it over, watching Claude scan the long list. “And the numbers where you can reach me. I’m only two hours away. I can be back before the building has time to burn down, if you need me to be.” Claude’s bowed mouth made a perfect o as he read over the notes. “Can’t he get away this year? The Bastille festivities are better in Paris anyway. That tiny village he lives in probably won’t even have fireworks.” “Simon loathes Paris.” “He comes often enough.” “Only because I nag him about never visiting.” “So nag him again.” Alain shook his head. “He’s not even expecting me this time.” The Hummel eyes were back. “You’re surprising him?” “Yes.” He laughed. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?” * * * * It was more than time. As he navigated the narrow lanes that led away from the village, Alain found it increasingly difficult to keep from smiling. His friendship with Simon Hastings went back over a decade, ever since the night the Englishman had requested to meet Rêver’s head chef. Alain had gone out to accept what he hoped to be praise, and ended up walking Simon home at the end of the dinner service. A camaraderie over good food and better wine had begun then, only to deepen into something more satisfying as time went on. Yet, Alain had never left Paris to go and visit his friend. There was always an excuse. The restaurant needed him. Simon was traveling for work. The rain made the country roads a mess. Alain had used them all, though to be fair, Simon found plenty of his own reasons to avoid Paris. The man hated big cities. He only came when it seemed his solitude weighed too heavily on him. Alain understood solitude. With his commitment to making his restaurant a success, relationships took a back seat. He had his share of flings with pretty young men, usually interested in what an esteemed Paris chef could do for their career, but nothing lasting. In fact, his friendship with Simon was likely the longest relationship he’d ever had outside of family. This weekend was long overdue. He pulled to the side of the road in order to let a young boy and his border collie guide a small herd of sheep diagonally across the lane. He nodded when the boy waved in acknowledgement, watching them in bemusement until the road finally cleared again. Though Simon found the slower pace of the village charming, Alain had always disparaged it as old-fashioned. The fact that he hadn’t even drummed his fingers in annoyance or frustration boded well. Simon’s home was set off the road, though the rolling fields opposite left it in clear view. The stone farmhouse bordered on the edge of a forest, and the towering trees shaded it away from the worst of the summer sun. Gravel crunched under his tires as Alain approached. The rosebushes Simon always bragged about nearly hid the edges of the building, but it was the man himself, bowed slightly as he trimmed the branches, that truly captivated Alain. Simon was younger by two years, but regardless of the fact that they both neared fifty, Simon had the toned body of a man fifteen years his junior. His forearms flexed with each pull of the brambles, and his tanned skin glowed with health. Though he wore a floppy hat to protect his bald head from the unforgiving sun, his strong profile was more than visible. The long nose. The full mouth that begged for kisses and lots of them. Deep-set eyes the shade of freshly ground cinnamon. Simon turned more than one head when he came to Paris. Alain always considered himself fortunate that Simon chose a craggy old bastard like him to spend time with. As Alain pulled up to the house, Simon looked up. For a moment, his eyes narrowed, only for his brows to lift in surprise when he saw who was behind the wheel. Alain climbed out with a broad smile and a sly wink. “Good to see you’re as predictable as ever,” he teased. “I was planning on you being home for the holiday, and, look, I was right.” “One of these days, I might surprise you.” Simon’s deep voice boomed across the yard, and he spoke in fluent French with only a hint of an accent. He pulled his gloves off and tossed them to the ground indifferently, then crossed the yard to pull Alain into a warm embrace. “As for me, I would have expected you to be at work on a holiday. What brings you all the way out here?” Alain clapped Simon on the back, letting his fingers massage the tight muscles a moment longer than necessary before stepping back. “You do, of course.” Simon tilted the rim of his hat back, exposing his furrowed brow. “I do?” He gestured toward the house, and Alain noticed the dark circles of sweat on his shoulders and chest. “Let’s get out of this sun, and you can tell me what you mean.” It was several degrees cooler in the old farm house, and Simon took a moment to hang his hat on a peg by the door before leading Alain into the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” “No, nothing’s wrong. But Claude and I were planning for the festivities, and it kept getting later and later, and I realized, I really didn’t want to have to work another holiday.” “Well, Claude’s a good man.” Simon poured two glasses of water as he spoke, then downed his quickly, the column of his throat moving with each swallow. “Why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming out? I would have chilled some wine and made you a nice dinner, for a change.” His fingers chilled in the condensation on the glass, his thumb stroking along the thick lower curve. He wasn’t thirsty. He was far more interested in watching Simon. “And give you the chance to argue with me about leaving Rêver behind? It was hard enough detaching Claude from my ankle.” “That’s because we both know Rêver is only as strong as its brilliant head chef. Besides, can you blame Claude for panicking? This is probably the first time you’ve spent more than six hours away from the restaurant since you’ve opened.” “True. But there comes a time when you say, enough is enough. It’s time I started being a little more selfish.” He sipped his water, wetting his dry throat. He hadn’t anticipated being quite this nervous. “And what better way to start than with you.” Simon smiled good-naturedly. “I suppose you could have started with you. Well, all is not lost. It’s early enough to put a bottle on ice, and I purchased a nice cut of venison this morning. We can go down to the market and get some fresh vegetables.” He poured another glass of water, but merely sipped at the liquid instead of gulping it down. “How long did you plan to stay?” “Would through the weekend be asking too much?” That gave him five days. A lot could happen in five days. “Of course not. You can stay as long as you like, as long as you don’t mind working out in the garden. Those rosebushes won’t trim themselves.” Alain laughed. “I have the best set of knives in Paris. A few thorns won’t bother me in the slightest.” “Good. I’ll make you work for your supper. But not too hard, I suppose. I don’t want to scare you away from another surprise visit. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you.” Setting the glass down on the polished wood counter, Alain hooked a thumb to the door behind him. “Let me get my stuff from the car, while you do the wine. I’ll drive us down to the market then.” Simon c****d a thick brow. “We could always walk, you know.” “In this heat? Humor this city boy as long as you can, all right? You can subject me to your rustic ways after you’ve broken me down some.” Simon’s shared laughter drifted after him as he went back to the car, a rich, rumbling sound that served better to warm him than any liqueur ever could. While his nerves danced, the rest of Alain felt more at home than he had since the last time he’d seen Simon. He wondered what Simon would think of that, if he knew Alain had been unable to garner an interest in even the prettiest young thing for the past year, for thoughts of Simon plaguing him instead. He’d laugh, probably. Mock him for merely getting old. But maybe, just maybe, he might see just what it truly meant. Simon was nowhere to be seen when he came back inside, but a door leading into darkness stood open at the rear of the kitchen. “Where do you want me to put these?” Alain called out. “The first door on the right is the guestroom.” His reply floated up the stairs, arriving several seconds before he emerged from the dark cellar. He had two bottles in hand. “It’s not properly made up, but we can take care of that tonight after dinner.” He took only a moment to drop his bag. He had no desire to be separated from Simon any longer than he had to be. “You’re going to let me cook for you while I’m here, aren’t you?” Alain leaned against the wall, watching Simon rinse out the glasses before setting them on the drying rack. “It’s the least I can do after dropping in unannounced.” Simon grinned. “You just don’t think a retired stockbroker could possibly know how to properly cook venison.” “I’m sure you think it tastes just fine.” “Are you questioning my palate?” “Of course not. After all, you like my cooking.” Simon inclined his head. “No, I adore your cooking. I guess that raises the question of whether it takes a true connoisseur to recognize obvious brilliance when he meets it.” “Which only proves my point. But I’ll let you do the venison tonight. I have to rest up after keeping pace with all those sheep getting here anyway.” “You can’t tell me the sheep are worse than all the traffic and pedestrians in Paris. The sheep even smell better.” Alain winked and wagged a now-I’ve-got-you finger in Simon’s direction. “Ah, but at least in Paris, you get through it all much, much faster. And if you don’t care for the roads, you take the metro.” “The metro smells worse than a thousand sheep. Trust me, I know. I was stuck in the middle of a herd that large once. But I know there’s no point in trying to talk sense to you Parisians. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere in the past decade.” “And yet, you still try.” He knew he was smiling like a fool, but that was what Simon did to him. Nobody else set Alain at ease like he did. Nobody else even came close. “Well, you’ve got five days to prove this Parisian wrong. Show me what it is you love about being stuck in the middle of nowhere.” He bowed his head. “I am your humble guest.” “Guest, maybe. Humble? I’ve never seen it. Not that you have reason to be.” Simon looked down and grimaced. “Speaking of smelling like a sheep. I’ll just go change real quick, and then we can head to the market.” It was on the tip of Alain’s tongue to tell him he didn’t have to bother, but Simon was gone before the sentiment had the chance to damn him. He watched Simon’s broad shoulders for as long as he could, and when the bedroom door closed quietly behind the man, he sagged against the wall. Only a few meters away, Simon was stripping down to the skin, exposing sweaty muscles gleaming from exertion. Alain wasn’t erect, but the threads of desire were still there, leaving his c**k semi-aroused, his flesh too aware of just how closely Simon had passed by. Simon might have spent most of his adulthood as a suit, but he was also a man unafraid of labor. More than once, he’d stripped to his shirtsleeves to help tote things into the restaurant. Power oozed from every pore. It was enough to drive a man to distraction, if he let it. Alain did. As often as he could afford. It didn’t take long for Simon to return, though fortunately, Alain had enough time to make sure his arousal wasn’t evident. He wore blue jeans and a plain, white polo shirt, which only drew Alain’s eye to the bronze shade of his skin and his muscled torso. In some ways, this was worse than the damp shirt he had changed out of earlier. “Since you’re letting me cook tonight, and you’re my guest, you can choose the vegetables at the market.” Alain smiled as he settled his sunglasses in place. They didn’t work to soften the sharpness of his awareness, but at least they masked his naked appreciation from Simon’s gaze a little bit longer. “I knew you’d raid my expertise sooner or later.” “I think you might be pleasantly surprised by my own expertise. I have a great deal of time on my hands to experiment. Or you might be appalled by what I consider my culinary masterpiece.” Simon didn’t speak again until they were both settled in Alain’s car, and he was checking his rearview mirror for yet more sheep. “So is this newfound freedom merely temporary, or are you going to escape the four walls of your restaurant and see more of the world?” “This is a…test.” And it was. Alain knew what he wanted, but if he couldn’t have it, he didn’t want to be left floating free. Rêver would always welcome him back should Simon choose to let him go. “Maybe all your talk of retiring has finally started to get through my thick skull.” “You’re not testing the possibility of retiring to the country, are you? Because, Alain, my friend, I suspect it would take less than five days to make you crazy.” He shrugged. “Perhaps. If I only had sheep for company.” “Hmm. Let me see if I can imagine an average day for you in the country.” Simon tilted his head, as if giving it serious thought. “Actually, I imagine you waking up at four to bake bread, out of habit, but I’m not sure what you would do after that. Drink your morning coffee and yell at the sheep in your garden, I suspect.” “I have other interests than food, you know.” “Oh? I hadn’t noticed. What are those?” It was Alain’s turn to give the question serious thought. He ended with a slow, exaggerated shake of his head. “No, you’re right. It’s only food.” “We’ll just have to help you cultivate some new interests.” Though he knew it probably meant nothing, Simon’s use of the word we sent a warm flush through Alain’s body. “We’ll just have to do that,” he agreed. Five days. A lot could happen in just five, short days.