Jimmy clinked, said nothing, and drank. It was dry, fruity, with dark notes.
Small talk suddenly ensued, the weather and whether there was snow in the forecast, while Steven busied himself in the kitchen. The steaks were in the oven, the appealing smell taking over. Potatoes were on the stove, asparagus in a pan doused with herbs and butter. Jimmy sipped at his wine and tried to remember the last time a man had cooked for him.
Dates weren’t his usual thing, even when he and his ex-boyfriend, Remy, were together. They went out a lot: restaurants, walks, shopping, theatre, and then nights of exploring each other, knowing each other intimately.
Frisano crept into his thoughts as he realized it was he who had last cooked for Jimmy, an Italian dinner made with his mother’s sauce, simple but
