The Boy Who Came in From the Cold (16 page)

“Todd Burton.”

 

“I’m sorry, Peter. I should have introduced you. I was just so surprised to see you.”

“Not disappointed, I hope?”
“Of course not. We were just… ah… sitting down to eat.” “Ye gods! And I’ve already told my driver to go to see that movie

he’s been wanting to see….”

Todd cleared his throat. “There’s plenty, Mr. Wagner,” he said, biting back reluctance. He had so wanted to impress Gabe. Now this odd, spiderlike man had invaded their time together. “There are two thighs, or I’ll give you my breast if….”

“No! No! I will go for a walk and come back in an hour when you are both done with your repast.”
Todd glanced through the balcony doors. Snow was falling thickly again. He thought of how just this time yesterday, he’d been in that himself and how Gabe had let him in from the cold. Suddenly, he felt like a selfish jerk. “No, Mr. Wagner. Please sit down.”

“Well….” Peter looked him in the eyes and Todd felt like the man was looking inside his brain.
“I mean it, Mr. Wagner. Please.” And he did mean it. After all, it wasn’t like he’d been on a date with Gabe.

“Well then,
if
you insist.” The old man did a sort of twirl and like a magician, he was—presto change-o—out of his long dark winter coat and scarf. Suddenly a bottle of wine seemed to appear out of nowhere. Where had it come from? Under his arm? A pocket of that coat? “I hope this will serve. It’s a grenache by Chateau Rayas Chateauneuf du Pape. It goes well with chicken.”

Todd had no idea what the man had just said. He didn’t know wines as well as he wished; there just wasn’t a market for them in Buckman, and he was too young to buy any wines in the first place. All he could do was say, “Thank you.”

Before he could take it, Gabe swept in. “I’ll open this right away,” he said.

 

Todd turned and got another place setting, and Peter folded himself into one of the other dining room chairs. “And the dark meat will do, young Todd. I prefer it actually. I love a thigh.” He winked and smiled wickedly. Then; “My God, it smells like heaven. Is that a fruit stuffing you’ve made?”

Todd smiled and nodded.
“You’re a cook then?”
“I’d liketo be.”

“My dear young man, you either
are
, or you are not. What does your
soul
say?”

 

Todd plopped down in his chair. Who the hell was this guy? He swallowed hard. What did his soul say? What did that mean?

“Todd, is it something fun? Like watching a cartoon or playing cards? Or is it more? When you cook, does it come from your heart? Do you feel connected to something beyond and within? When you are done and you take that first bite, does a thrill race through you? Do you say, ‘My God! I made that?’”

Todd’s mouth fell open. Yes. That was exactly what it felt like. From pancakes with white chocolate chips made on a Mother’s Day a lifetime ago to chickens haphazardly stuffed with fruit and nuts this very afternoon. It
was
like some inner part of him knew just what to do. “Yes, Mr. Wagner,” he whispered. “Yes.” That really was just exactly what it felt like.

“There shall be none of that Mr. Wagner stuff. At least not here in this humble abode. I shall be Peter to you or nothing at all. Am I clear?”

Todd let out a laugh. “Okay… Pe-Peter.”

“Single P, my boy. Although two pee-pees have their place.” He turned toward Gabe. “Wouldn’t you agree, Gabriel?”
Todd watched Gabe’s eyes go wide and a blush color his cheeks. It was all Todd could do not to burst into laughter.

God. Did Peter think the same thing as Harry and Cody, the couple he’d met in the laundry room, thought? That he and Gabe were together? Todd looked around him, looked at the clothes he was wearing. He looked at the meal before them. Hell, all the table was missing was candles. Of course Peter thought something romantic was going on.

Gabe brought the wine and an extra glass. He filled them, and when Todd looked at him, he saw Gabe’s face had an unreadable expression. Gabe was looking at neither him nor Peter Wagner. He sat down, sighed, and then smiled broadly, the emotions coming back. Now what was that about?

“Shall we toast?” Gabe asked, as if everything were normal. Peter snatched up his glass. “We shall. I say we drink to new friends and warm hearths.”

Todd smiled. He couldn’t help it. This man was crazy. But so was everything else that had happened in the last day or two. Why not just ride it out and enjoy? Who knew how soon he might be hearthless again? He raised his glass. So did Gabe. They clinked glasses and then drank.

Todd was sure to sip this time. And take in the scent of it, of course.

 

He was glad he did.

 

It was aromatic, and as the wine settled over his taste buds, he thought of rose petals and raspberries.

“Yes! Exactly,” Peter cried and Todd blushed. He didn’t know he’d spoken aloud again. “And kirsch and violets. Can you taste the white pepper?”

White pepper? In wine? Todd sipped, closed his eyes the way Gabe had done the night before, and waited. Then, to his surprise: “Wow,” he said with a quiet gasp. “I do.”

“It’s sexy, is it not? Don’t you agree, Gabriel?” Peter asked. Gabe coughed, his eyes widened slightly, and then he smiled, wiped his mouth. “Maybe….”

“Yes,” Peter decreed. “Sexily aromatic, like linen sheets after making love on an island in Greece.” Peter took another sip. “It is superb. And now if I might?” Peter lifted a fork as if it were a conductor’s baton, then a knife, cut into the thigh Todd had placed on his plate and sliced it quickly and masterfully. He brought the morsel to his mouth, stopped, inhaled. Then popped it into his mouth.

Todd held his breath.

 

A corner of Peter’s mouth slowly tipped upward. He opened his eyes. “Heaven,” he whispered.

Todd felt a rush. He had no idea why. He had no idea who this strange man was with his flourishes and declarations, his nimble swagger, and the graceful way he moved his hands and arms and lanky body. Yet, the compliment Peter had given him might have been the best in his entire life.

Peter sat up, took a forkful of the fruit stuffing, ate. His smile broadened. “It is Florida. It is Washington. It is Asia and the last days of fall. Delightful.”

Todd blushed again. The man had to be pulling his leg. Or he was crazy. Or both. Silly for sure. He was downright silly.

 

Last Peter tasted the potatoes, and this was where Todd really did hold his breath. Would they be horrible? His idea really had been crazy.

“I’ll be damned,” said the man. “The perfect touch. The absolutely
perfect
touch. My Lord, Gabriel. Taste this. You’re sitting there like a bump on a log, and you have been served a meal by a chef!”

Todd laughed. He couldn’t help it. A chef? He looked at Gabe, whose face was suddenly glowing. He looked beautiful. Gabe turned and looked at Todd, and he felt gravity cease. Those eyes. Looking at him. So blue—but light. Unreal.

Todd felt the shiver of gooseflesh run down his back and arms. How was it he was here? How was he here with this man? With this man and his insane boss?

Gabe took his fork and reached for the chicken but Peter let out a cry. “Wait. Try the potatoes. See what he’s done.”

 

Gabe nodded and did as he was told. He paused, then smiled sweetly. “Is that orange, Todd?”

“Yes,” he answered. “It’s not too weird? I squeezed just a little orange into them while I was mashing them. I thought it might complement the fruit in the chicken.”

“But there is more,” sang Peter. “Walnut. You’ve added tiny, infinitesimal bits of walnut, haven’t you?”

 

Todd nodded. “I was afraid I might have made the potatoes too sweet.”

 

“You did not. Todd, this is wondrous, I tell you. You are right. You—are a cook!”

G
ABEthought the look on Todd’s face was beatific. This was the same boy who just last night looked so miserable? And a simple compliment on his meal from a stranger could make him smile so beautifully?

For some reason, Gabe beamed with pride. He knew he had nothing to do with the meal, nothing to do with any of it, really. It was all Todd’s doing. But he felt proud all the same. He looked at Todd and wanted to jump up from the table and hug him.

That would probably not be the thing to do, though, would it?

The meal went well. For a while, there were few words. Compliments on the meal—Gabe had to tell Todd how good it all was. And he had wanted Todd to stick the chicken in a Crock-Pot.

“Todd came to town with dreams of learning from Izar Goya, but she doesn’t take students.”

“Izar Goya?” Peter asked. “She owns the Basque restaurant, Izar’s Jatetxea. Fascinating food. Fascinating that you want to learn from her. There are chefs with far more approachable and common specialties, Toddy.”

“If I wanted common, I’d learn from Burger King,” Todd snapped, then covered his mouth. His outburst only made Peter laugh.
There were compliments on the wine, of course. Then there was a discussion on the weather. Would the damned snow last? Peter hoped so. It was an excuse to light a fire and read a book, or be with one’s loved ones.

“And why don’t you light a fire, Gabriel?”
A fire? Why not?
“Is that all right with you, Todd?”
Todd gave a nod. “Sure, Gabe,” he said.
“The light won’t bother you later? When you try to go to sleep?” Todd shook his head. “No. Not at all.”
“Why would the light bother his sleep?” Peter asked.

“Because, Peter. He’s sleeping on the couch.” Gabe rose to get some logs from the caddy and arranged them in the fireplace.

Peter raised a great silver brow and gazed at Todd.
Oh, Peter. Stop it! You’re going to send him running out of here.
Which was the last thing Gabe wanted.

Peter was a lot to handle on first meeting. Or could be. Their first meeting had been pretty wild. Of course, it had turned out to be a meeting that had changed his whole life. But then he hadn’t been quite as naïve as Todd. St. Louis had been a whole different way to grow up than Buckman, surely.

Peter gave a slight shrug and tossed back the last of his wine. He picked up the bottle, held it up to the light. “There might be one last swallow,” he decreed.

“Go for it,” said Todd.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Todd said and stood to gather the dishes.

Peter poured just the amount of wine he’d predicted into his glass. Swirled it around. Breathed it in one last time. Swallowed. “A miracle, don’t you think? That God’s grapes can be squished and bottled and finally turned to such an elixir?”

Todd gave a shrug. “I haven’t had much wine. I sure like this, though.”

 

“Of course you do!”

Gabe just shook his head. How was Todd taking all this? He hoped Peter wasn’t scaring him. He lit the paper he’d twisted under the kindling and logs and watched it take.

At least Peter had asked Todd his last name. He felt a little less lascivious lusting after the kid now that he knew his last name.

“Ah, yes,” Peter said with a sigh. “There is no place more delightful than one’s own fireplace. So says a great Roman statesman and so say I.” He stood and joined Gabe. “I shall have to call ahead and have a fire waiting for me at home. This would be a perfect time for the Lagavulin, but you’ve left the bloody stuff at your office.”

“Laga… viewland?” Todd asked, coming from the kitchen. “Lagavulin,” Peter corrected.
“It’s a Scotch whisky,” Gabe explained.