Essence of Time (21 page)

The door swung open and Rob stood, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the delicious odors following him, spatula in one hand. Blake took a breath, “Hi.” He barely managed even that. The vision before him was one of tall, male, blond perfection and Blake had to bite his tongue to avoid begging him for a kiss. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, accepted a glass of rich red wine and leaned against the counter. Alt rock flowed around them from unseen speakers. The sounds of a busy Chicago street filled in around the edges. Blake had a split second of sheer joy, imagining the amazing vision of this man in the kitchen, wine, music and shared happiness on a regular basis.

Oh hell, get a grip. He invited you over to fuck you, remember?

At that thought, his body responded in kind and he moved closer to Rob’s tall frame hunched over a couple of large cast iron skillets. Sounds faded as he leaned in to sniff the incredible mix of fresh vegetable and what looked like scallops. “Hmm.” He reached across and stuck his finger in the mix, putting it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Rob’s. The moment spun out between them. “Needs more garlic.”

Rob frowned, stuck his own finger into the perfect blend of ingredients and tasted it. Blake stepped back, then was surprised when Rob smiled, grabbed what looked to be another four or five cloves already minutely chopped beside the stove and tossed them into the pan. Blake sipped his wine and shrugged.

“It really is the simplest meals, made with the fewest, freshest ingredients that are the best.” Rob’s words interrupted his mental fantasy loop of mutual nudity.

“Yeah, I agree. Same with beer, frankly. All this faddish ginger root, saffron-infused, chamomile tea, Muscat-grape bullshit makes me want to hit somebody. If you can’t do something interesting with water, malt, hops and yeast, you need to find something else to do.”

Rob glanced over his shoulder, making Blake shiver. He forced himself forward, plucked a plump, buttery scallop from the pan and popped it into his mouth. It coated his tongue with richness, slid down his throat with garlic infused perfection. “Needs something…” He couldn’t help himself. Ignoring Rob’s frown he opened the giant fridge and pretended to poke around seeking the perfect addition while his body cooled from the whoosh of air. Rob’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“What about this,” Rob’s arm stretched in front of his face, reaching for something, Blake no longer cared what, as long as his amazing skin was close to his lips. He pulled back, holding a bottle of capers. “I mean,” he opened the jar, dipped in and plucked out a few of the salty tidbits and threw them into the skillet. A delicate vinegary essence underscored the symphony of odors already suffusing the air. “I think you’re right. It needed…something.” He smiled, setting the jar on the granite counter. Blake nodded sagely, as if he would have chosen that very thing.

“Since you are such an expert, tell me what you think of that.” Rob pointed to a bowl of perfect-looking guacamole alongside what had to be homemade pita chips.

“Where did you get it?” He teased knowing damn good and well the labor intensity behind a decent guac. “Whole Foods?”

Rob scowled at him turning back to flip the scallops once more, throwing another splash of what had to be fifty dollar olive oil on the mix of rich shellfish, zucchini, sweet onion, red pepper and sun dried tomato. Blake looked around and took in the pasta press, the floured surface of a stainless steel section of countertop. “You don’t fuck around with this do you?” He dredged a crisp pita chip in the mix of avocado, and tomato, loving the explosion of flavor on his tongue.

Rob poured him more wine before turning back to pull the pasta from the stove. “Check that will you? See if it’s properly
al dente
?”

Blake nodded, rising to the challenge. He tasted, found it perfect. “You know, it probably could have used another minute or two.” He sipped and watched the blood rise in Rob’s fair cheeks.  He had no idea why he felt a need to provoke but loved it. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned away, lest he yank the tall handsome god-like man to him and do something foolish. The table was set, with no-fuss white ceramic dishes, simple flatware and one candle.

They shared a few anecdotes about random drunk idiots that peopled every decent beer festival as Blake sat on the couch and tried to summon self-control. He had no business here. The odd connection he felt with Rob was surely born of nothing but simple lust. But while his body continued to thrum with erotic anticipation of what would no doubt be an amazing lay, his heart had relaxed its tight, anxiety-ridden contraction for the first time in nearly a month. This man might be exactly what he needed, on a physical level at least, but the promise of more gave him some pause.

By the time Rob emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of the pasta tossed with the amazingly prepared simple fish, vegetables, garlic and cheese in one hand and a basket of no-doubt fresh-baked bread in the other hand, Blake had to grip his knees to keep from launching across the room at him. He stood, slowly, stretching, trying to stay non-committal and uninterested.

They sat in uncomfortable silence, clinked wine glasses and sipped. Blake was relieved that Rob seemed as flustered as he was, at least for now. Once they started eating and the true supremacy of the man’s kitchens skills became apparent, Rob seemed to visibly relax. He speared a fat scallop, held it to Blake’s lips. Blake took it, bit down and let the oily, sweet, rich concoction fill all his senses once more. He shut his eyes, chewed, swallowed, then opened them.

“Pretty good. But a bit over salted, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned and kept eating, breaking bread into small bits and dragging them through the garlic oil at the edges of his plate.

Rob frowned, then lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart ass, you know it?”

“Yeah. So I’m told.” Blake ate two entire plates of the amazing stuff, and they relaxed into conversation about beer, wine, food, the restaurant business, segued into Blake’s gastro pub dream for a moment. Finally, they pushed their plates away, appetites for food sated. 

“So, after years of training, practice and food science I stand by the mantra: the simpler the better,” Rob declared, holding his wine glass up to the light, letting it catch the thick legginess that slid down the inside of the bowl. Blake nodded, allowed himself a small second of contact between their legs at the small table before leaning back so he could better observe the man with whom he was prepared to … “Except of course,” Rob interrupted his reverie. “When it comes to dessert.” Rob stood, put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Because real desserts are truly a perfection of complexity.” 

“Of course, there is the simple perfection of a strawberry dipped in chocolate.” Blake insisted, the contrarian in him rising to the bait. Rob chuckled, and emerged with two ramekins of crème Brule and a blowtorch. Blake grinned.

“What a showoff,” he mumbled, standing and cupping a hand behind Rob’s neck. “Now kiss me before I’m intimidated by your kitchen prowess and run screaming into the night.”

Rob’s entire body felt hot, enervated, oddly at peace and at once revved beyond belief. As his lips met Blake’s the sense of transcendence, of actual fulfillment overwhelmed him. This, the man in his arms, was what he wanted, what he required. That thought cut through all his usual avoidance bullshit like a god damned Ginsu knife. He gripped Blake’s shoulders, slid his hands down his back, pulled him close and swept into his mouth, loving the way the man met him halfway. No, not loving it, needing it like he had never needed anything before.

“God,” Blake gasped as they broke the kiss and Rob licked his way down the extreme beauty of Blake’s neck. “Seriously. I’m…ah…” Rob ran his hands down Blake’s torso, gripped his ass, and then moved back up, unable to settle on any one expanse of flesh. All of him was so amazing. So fucking perfect. Blake struggled out of his arms then.

Blake stepped back, stared at Rob, chest heaving. “I…don’t think I’m ready.” He muttered, running a hand down his face.

Rob took a breath, grabbed the blowtorch and crystallized the top of the custardy desserts for them. He sat, dipped out a spoonful and held it to Blake’s lips. If the man wanted to go slow, then go slow he would. Because the sudden piercing light of actual attainment was making him dizzy. Blake was his, or would be very soon, of that Rob was certain. He smiled as the young man took the bite of creamy dessert, watched as he swallowed it, then dipped out yet more, feeding him the entire bowl reveling in his youthful appetite.

Slow down Frietag. This guy is just that. A guy. A piece of ass. A fine one, to be certain, but nothing more.

They polished off a second bottle of expensive Italian wine, the other dessert and nearly dissolved in a boozy pool of lust. But just as Blake was reaching for his zipper, Rob put a hand over his, kissed him once more and moved away. “No, Blake. Not yet. I’m sorry. You aren’t the only one not ready.”

His heart convulsed at the look in the young man’s eyes. The grateful, nearly teary gaze made Rob catch his breath; he put a hand along Blake’s rough cheek. He had no words, or if he did, they didn’t need saying. Not yet. Dear god, but he wanted to say them. Blake shifted further away from him and stood.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. Before we do something neither of us is ready for and both of us will regret.”

Rob shot to his feet. Putting his hands on either side of Blake’s face he kissed him, hard, loving the way the other man’s body molded into his. Then he stopped. “Okay. Good plan.” In spite of every living piece of him screaming to toss Blake over his shoulder and throw him into his bed, he moved back, walked to the door. Going slow was something new, and if he were honest with himself, it worked. On a level separate from his aching balls, of course. Blake smiled, stuck his hands in his pockets. Rob had to bite the inside of his cheek nearly raw to keep from going with his primal instincts as they exchanged one last lingering kiss, and he watched the man head to the elevator. “When will I see you again?” He called at the last minute.

“Soon,” Blake leaned against the elevator wall, winked and disappeared behind the closing doors

Chapter Two

The next few days had little impact on Blake. He resigned and got his recommendation. Evan made a few calls and he had a new gig in Grand Rapids in a matter of hours. Suzanne was gone for the first few days, down in Ohio meeting new distributors. The familiar smells and sights of the Big House brewery made him a tired sort of sad. As if all the trauma of the months he’d spent here with her, not to mention all the back-breaking work he did to drag them into more organized and profitable production schemes, were some kind of weird dream.

He wanted to see her, get some kind of closure but at the same time, felt their moment at her place should probably suffice. He packed all his books and stuff into a box, said his good byes and was about to make a clean getaway.

“Blake?” Her voice made his scalp prickle. He turned, one hand on his truck handle and tried to quell the tremor in his soul at the sight of her. She’d regained some weight and the dark circles under her eyes were gone. Part of him got a little upset at the thought she was actually recovering without him. A bigger, more mature part, smiled, truly glad to see her looking well again.

“Hey,” He tossed the box in the passenger’s seat and shut the door.

Her smile still had some sort of power over him but he forced himself to think about Rob and his brain calmed enough to let him hug her, quickly, then step away. “I’m sorry to see you go.”

He shrugged. “It’s best. I think for all of us.”

She nodded, but stared at him a tad longer than was comfortable. “I’m really sorry. You are an amazing man. I hope you find happiness.”

He realized that she meant it. And, if he had been in a different place in his head at her condo that night, he could have rekindled the whole thing. A quiet calm settled over them then, as thoughts of Rob’s deep brown eyes, and strong shoulders clouded Blake’s vision.

“You too.” He swallowed, wishing she would leave, let him go.

She smiled, as if sensing his tension. “I mean it, Blake.” She touched his face, then turned and opened the brewery door, already hollering at poor Cal about some fucked up order from earlier in the week. He smiled, acknowledged that the ache in the Suzanne corner of his heart would likely always exist, climbed into his truck and headed home to pack.

The drive to Chicago was slow, traffic clogged and hot. But Blake didn’t care. He was on his way, entering a new phase, moving on and had an amazing guy to maybe add to the mix. He smiled to himself, picturing the next two weeks.

Sitting in the truck with the windows rolled down and his favorite rock on the radio, the early fall breeze lifting the hair off his forehead, he felt, if not good, then not utterly shitty for the first time in months.

He’d shot a text late the previous night as he finished packing and sucked back a few beers before bed.
“So, you want some company?”

Rob had responded nearly instantly.
“Maybe. Who are you bringing?”

“Nice. Why? You need more than me?”

“Oh, sorry, thought you were someone else.”

Blake had smiled, shifting as his cock got painfully hard at the thought of the man on the other end of the line.

“Ok, I deserved that. No. It’s just me.”

“In that case, the answer is a resounding yes.”

Blake had waited a while, drank another beer and pondered his next move.
“Thought I’d hang out in the Windy City ten days or so before hitting the new job. Want to show me the sights?”

“Depends on the sights you want to see.”

“I want to see the big ones, you know. The highlights.”

“Ah, well then, I have those.”

Blake had smiled, unzipped his jeans and fisted himself thinking about the tall blond man.