Dinner for One (12 page)

He just needs to fix some stuff first.

The man in question comes back with two beers, a huge basket of nachos, and a hotdog that looks like Christmas threw up on it. “How can your delicate palate even deal with that?” he asks in horror.

Bastien holds out his nachos. “Says the man about to eat fried chips covered in pounds of melted cheese. I don’t think you can really talk.”

“Oh-ho, are you too good for nachos? I’ll have you know they’re a delicacy in some places.”

The laugh that gets him is a small rolling chuckle that has Bastien’s face scrunching up and his eyes sparkling. He sits down beside him and offers the end of his hotdog to James. “Just one bite?”

“I’m good,” says James. He can eat a lot of things. Hotdogs are not one of them. He pulls a chip from the hot pile of cheese, shaking it so the cheese doesn’t end up on his clothes, and dangles it into his mouth. He makes sure to moan obnoxiously around it. “Mmmmm.” He licks stray cheese from his lip and smirks at the dumbstruck look on Bastien’s face. “Sure you don’t want some?”

Bastien turns his flushed face away and takes a bite of his hotdog. James watches his jaw work as he chews, and leans in for a quick nibble. “And here I thought you were going to try and sexily eat the wiener.” He whispers it in Bastien’s ear, lips brushing the shell. He barely pulls away in time to avoid being whacked by Bastien’s head as he coughs.

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” says Bastien, out of breath, finally done with his coughing fit. He puts his palm to James’s face and shoves him lightly, playfully away. “Let me eat in peace.”

People are starting to give them looks, so James complies. He wants to eat his nachos before they cool anyway, and he wants to avoid ending up on the kiss cam. He’s not that big a fan of PDA despite what it may look like. They’re quiet as they munch on their snacks, shoulders pressed tight together, feet propped on the back of the still empty seats in front of them. They have to scrunch in whenever someone passes by, and James watches as one guy comes very close to making Bastien wear his hotdog.

The food is consumed before the game starts, so they settle into people watching. Baseball brings out a large variety of people. There are the men with the beer bellies that hang out the bottom of their shirts, and the ones with a carpet growing out of their V-necks. Over half of the men present have beards. James absently strokes his own clean-shaven face. He’ll go as far as a two-day stubble, and that’s it.

The women are a mix of jeans and jerseys and looking like they’re about to go to the club. He watches one go up the stairs on heels that could be stilts like it’s effortless. He laughs as several male heads turn to follow her path.

Bastien leans around him to look. “I don’t get how they walk in those,” he says. “Fleur does it all the time, and I’m pretty sure I’d just fall over.”

“It’s not easy,” agrees James, and Bastien gives him an intrigued look, blue eyes popping wide. James smiles. “My brothers and I dressed up as the Spice Girls for Halloween a couple years back. We lost a bet with my brother’s wife.” He hadn’t fallen or tripped once, but he’d been walking glacially slow, so he’s not sure how much credit he’s really owed.

Bastien looks delighted. “Are there pictures of this?”

“None that you’ll ever see,” promises James. He ignores the resulting pout. By the time the game starts, he’s feeling good about things, dreading it less. They lean into each other and situate themselves in their seats, falling quiet as the anthem is sung and the game gets underway.

The ease of the pregame period trickles into awkwardness. Bastien makes a couple game-related comments, half sounding like he’s asking a question each time. James nods along, not really sure of what he can say. He’s painfully aware of the silence building between them as the rest of the stadium gets progressively louder.

He can admit the force of the pitches and the swings is impressive, but as for entertaining, it’s doing nothing for him. Forever has seemingly passed before a break occurs and people pour out to use the bathrooms and get more food. James tries to recover the earlier vibe. “Do you like hockey?” he asks.

Bastien looks confused for a moment. “I don’t know? I’ve never seen a game.”

James is going to go about this in a more logical way. “When the season starts, you’ll have to come over and watch a game. If you like it, you can come with me to one. I’m a season ticket holder for the Rangers.”

MORE SPORTS,
thinks Bastien. Why did he have to date a guy who likes so many sports? And he was so into the game he was barely talking! He forces a smile and hopes like hell hockey is better than this. If they watched it at home, then he at least could make things entertaining if they weren’t. “Sounds like a plan.”

Dragging up all the things he’d read, he tries to ask James questions about what he thought of the game. James thinks hard about all of his answers, and Bastien doesn’t know whether to be relieved that this means he doesn’t have to talk too much or not. Mostly he feels off balance. Out of all the time they’ve spent together, this is the first occasion on which he hasn’t felt entirely comfortable. It’s definitely relief he feels when the game starts back up, and James doesn’t ask him any questions. Bastien doesn’t think he’d be able to make his answers as thoughtful as James’s.

Ultimately the Yankees win, and the stadium goes nuts, fans standing and cheering, so much yelling and foam-finger waving going on. He gets bumped in the head by a large blue finger, and the man who did it just smiles and woops. James is cheering, so Bastien tries to cheer just as enthusiastically.

Maybe this is something he needs to do multiple times before he can really get into it. The prospect of having to sit through more of these games is a daunting one, but he thinks he can do it. His parents are always drilling it into his head that a relationship is compromise, and they’re still together after forty years, so they must know something.

Then again they also spend half of their time screaming at each other, so he’s not sure how much compromising is
willingly
going on.

Walking out of the stadium, crushed together by the crowd and holding hands so they don’t get separated, Bastien wonders if married couples actually know anything or if they’re making it all up.

He looks at James, considering, and their eyes meet. He doesn’t know why, really can’t explain it at all, but he starts to laugh, and James does too. James squeezes his hand. “I don’t like baseball,” he says, once their laughter has subsided, and they’re on the sidewalk away from the crush of people. “I’m sorry. I tried, because you do, but it’s just not my thing.”

“Oh thank God,” says James. He kisses Bastien, dropping his hand to frame his face. “I don’t like baseball either.” Their noses bump as they grin at each other.

“I thought… all those sports magazines at your place. Everyone told me it would be a good idea.”

James pulls away, reclaiming his hand and giving a quick squeeze. “I like hockey. That’s about it.” He nudges Bastien’s shoulder. “But it’s adorable that you asked people for advice.”

Bastien groans, the tips of his ears heating. He’s still wearing the team hat. “It occurred to me,” he says, hesitant, “that we hadn’t really gone out.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to make sure we were both aware this was dating and not, you know.” He shrugs.

“I see,” says James, and he looks amused. “You could have asked me.”

“That would have been too easy,” says Bastien ruefully.

He laughs, startled, when James pushes him into a doorway, crowding close. “Want to go back to your place and make it up to me?”

His sister’s words echo through his head, and she does have a point. But he thinks it’s a point that can wait. This is like the honeymoon phase of a new relationship. They’re supposed to have sex all the time. His body certainly doesn’t want him to tell James no if the interested rousing of his cock has anything to say.

Melting into the pressure of James’s body against his, he tilts his face into the soft brush of his lips, curving them into a smile.

“What do you have in mind?”

Chapter Eight

JAMES’S EDITOR
looks up at him, heavy dark brows furrowed on his large forehead. “This is a retraction,” he says, sounding shocked.

“I told you I was bringing one.”

The paper gets set down on the desk, and Freddy stares at him, shoving his glasses back up his nose. “I thought you were joking.”

James rocks back on his heels, hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “Nope,” he says. “Completely serious.”

His paper rustles with Freddy’s sigh. “I’m going to print this, but I want you to add that this is a one-off. Every restaurant you review is going to be sending in appeals for a second chance now.” He stabs his finger into the paper. “If this wasn’t a completely rare occurrence for you, I’d tell you to shove it.”

“Duly noted,” he says, smiling dryly.

“What possessed you to go back?” he asks, head bent back to the paper.

James picks at a piece of lint in his pocket. “It felt like the right thing to do,” he says after a moment. And that is true. It’s just not the whole truth.

“DID YOU
see the paper?” demands Jean, flinging the office door open so hard it collides with the wall and makes all the frames rattle.

Bastien glances up in surprise, pen poised to write the next item on his order. “What?” he asks, confused. Jean is flushed, and he’s waving a newspaper around madly in the air. “Are you okay?”

“Oui,” says Jean, lunging forward to drop the newspaper on top of Bastien’s work. He smacks his hand down on it. “Did you read this?”

Bastien looks down. “Did I read an article about how the city is making efforts to reduce trash? I’m going to say no.”

Jean looks puzzled for a moment and glances down. He huffs in disgust and flips the page over. And that,
that
gets his attention.

New York Times
food critic’s review:

In all my years as a critic I’ve never felt that I was wrong, but recently I’ve discovered I can indeed feel that way. And I do. I gave a somewhat harsh review to a fancy French place called L’Amour Dans La Ville not that long ago, and for the first time in my career, I’d like to retract it. My judgment was harsh, and I jumped the gun you could say.

I gave the restaurant another chance, what possessed me to do so I will not reveal, and I was impressed. Thoroughly so. My meal was delicious, rich in flavor, and very filling. The chicken was cooked to perfection, delightfully tender and mouthwatering, seasoned just right. I’ll not lie and say I don’t find the French atmosphere a little heavy, but it grows on you. Sometimes cooks have off days, and I can only presume that this was the case upon my first visit.

I asked a friend of mine to visit the restaurant as well and give the food a try. Just to make sure I hadn’t lost my mind, wanting to retract something. He raved about the food. He thought the bread was delicious, the wine sweet perfection, and his fish cooked to his exact specification. He’s already made another reservation.

Sometimes things deserve a second chance. But don’t expect me to be writing more retractions in the future. There’s something special about L’Amour Dans La Ville.

This is a review by renowned food critic Harper Carlisle.

“What the fuck did I just read?” He has to reread it three more times before he can believe he isn’t hallucinating. “Oh my God.” He looks up at Jean. “This isn’t a joke, is it? We’re not being pranked?”

“No,” says Jean, grin stretching across the entire lower half of his face. “We got a retraction from the man himself.” He laughs, doing a little jig around the room, coming back to the desk to grab Bastien’s face and smack a kiss on each of his cheeks. “All that upset for nothing.”

“We have to celebrate,” says Bastien, holding the paper up. “We need to get this framed.”

“We should go out tonight.”

Bastien starts to agree, and then he remembers he has plans with James. “I’ve got a date. But later this week? If we arrange it, we can all go out, the staff can come and everything.” He strokes his fingers over the paper, ignoring the black streaks it leaves on his fingertips. A retraction from Harper Carlisle. He giggles. “I can’t believe it.”

He’s back to a good-review streak, and he’s had a critic publicly apologize and retract his bad review. That’s unheard of in their circles. He’s going to be riding high on this for the rest of the day.

Unlike the last paper he’d tossed in the trash, he carefully sets this one to the side of his desk and rests his hand on it. He’s going to buy a copy for his house as well.

“We’re way blowing this out of proportion,” says Bastien, not even caring.

Jean laughs. “You blew it out of proportion when you got the not-good one. That’s just the way we roll.” He sighs happily. “And this? It’s sweet. It’s really, really sweet.”

They gather the staff to tell them the good news, and the atmosphere in the kitchen for the rest of the day is pleasant and buoyant, everyone working at their absolute best.

“Someone’s smiley,” says James when he picks Bastien up that night. He’s wearing his normal dark, fitted jeans and a cashmere beige cardigan. His golden hair is free of gel, and a few strands curl over his forehead. Bastien beams in response.

“It was a good day.” He ducks in, pressing a kiss to James’s lips. He pulls away, decides he’s not done, and dips in for a deeper one. James makes a pleased noise into his mouth, his hands grasping Bastien’s hips firmly.

“We’ve got plans,” James says eventually, right against Bastien’s lips. His fingers flex on Bastien’s skin where they’ve worked their way under his flannel.

“Skip them.” He wraps his arms around James’s neck, plays with the hair at his nape.

“They were your plans.” James pulls away, and Bastien groans in dismay. He laughs. “You’re the one who wanted to get out of the house.”