King of the Kitchen (20 page)

“First of all, that’s not true. Our first civil conversation occurred over breakfast at my house, remember? And secondly, it’s what you ordered when you came into the diner the first time we met.”

Beck’s eyes widened. “You remember my egg order? Are you some sort of line-cook savant?”

Duncan snorted. “No, but if I ever have to have business cards printed, I’m totally using that as my title. I like it.” He grinned at Beck. “I remember your egg order because it was so out of whack with your fancy suit.”

He hadn’t been in the kitchen at the cafe in a few months, but nothing had changed. John had always talked big about all the changes he was going to make when he inherited the place, but if he’d implemented any of them yet, they weren’t obvious to Duncan.

He stuck his head through the pass-through and saw John leaning up against the counter, chatting with a waitress Duncan didn’t recognize. There weren’t any customers, which wasn’t surprising. This was kind of a dead time for the diner.

They’d been meeting Vincent for a late dinner, and it had taken awhile to get over to the cafe after they’d decided that’s where they wanted to go afterward. It was well past the dinner rush, but in an hour or so, the diner would get another influx of customers when the shift workers were off for the day and anyone who’d been out at the bars would be looking for something greasy to soak up the alcohol.

“You going to make me cook for my dinner?” Duncan called out, grinning when John flinched before he whirled around.

“Of course I am, you bastard! No free rides here.” John reached through the pass-through and grabbed Duncan by his bicep, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. “Sandra, this is Duncan. He used to cook for us before he got too big for his britches.”

Duncan laughed. “As if. I’ve been too busy lately with places that, you know, pay me in things that aren’t hash browns.”

John pointed at him. “Lies.”

“Maybe I could balance the books at Brix if I paid the staff in potatoes. Tell me more,” Beck said. He held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Beck.”

John looked irritated at the greeting, but Duncan was pretty sure he’d seen Sandra swoon. Beck was a charming motherfucker, when he wanted to be.

“We’ve met,” John said, giving him the briefest handshake possible. “You hold the world record for the best tipper this cafe has ever had. Feel free to come back and be an ass anytime, as long as you always tip like that.”

Duncan scowled at John, but Beck laughed it off.

“To be fair, it wasn’t totally my fault,” Beck said.

“I claim most of the blame, actually,” Duncan said wryly. “I was being a dick that day.”

“Oh, was it a day that ended in
y
?” Beck asked, his tone bright and cheerful.

Duncan squirmed out of his grip and elbowed him lightly in the stomach. John was laughing out loud, and Sandra looked torn between laughing and fleeing. They were a lot to take in for a stranger.

“I changed my mind. You’re welcome anytime,” John said, and this time he actually did sound welcoming. “Especially if you’re cooking. You up for a shift? I was down a guy tonight anyway because Ernie called in sick, and Stephen’s anniversary is today, so I took pity on him and sent him packing when Duncan texted you two were on your way over.”

Beck looked down at his apron and shrugged. “Sure.”

It had been a long day, and the emotional scene with Vincent hadn’t helped much. They were going to need some sustenance before cooking for a rush. Duncan moved over to the walk-in, pulling out eggs, cheese, chorizo, onions, garlic, peppers, a container of ranchero sauce, and a fat stack of corn tortillas.

They didn’t offer chilaquiles on the menu, but it was easy enough to slap together with the ingredients they kept on hand for huevos rancheros. Duncan squirted some oil on the cooktop and dumped a generous portion of the chorizo onto it. He grabbed a spatula and started a pile of veggies cooking next to it. The perfume of garlic and onions wafted up from the sizzling cooktop, and Duncan breathed it in, his shoulders dropping a bit more at the familiar scent. He was almost back to normal. A good hard shift slinging eggs and bacon would fix him right up.

And as a bonus, he got to watch Beck struggle along through it right beside him. While a lot of the basic skills were the same, diner cooking and haute cuisine cooking were totally different animals. He was looking forward to seeing how Beck did.

“So we won’t get busy for another hour or so,” Duncan said as he used the spatula to break up the cooking chorizo and move it around the cooktop. The onions and peppers got another squirt of oil and a similar treatment. “You want to poke around and familiarize yourself with the kitchen? John keeps a binder of recipes somewhere in the office if you want, or we can double-team things and you can be in charge of eggs and protein, while I put everything together since I know the menu.”

“Here I thought we were taking things slow, but on our first official fake date you’re asking me to double-team. Nice.”

Duncan poured a healthy dollop of the ranchero sauce on the chorizo, noting that he’d have to start a fresh batch before the rush hit because they wouldn’t have enough to get through the breakfast shift tomorrow with what was in the fridge.

“I have a feeling you’d keep things interesting enough I won’t really want to bring in anyone else,” Duncan teased.

“Have you?” Beck asked, his voice a little strange.

Duncan turned around, wondering if the thought of a threesome was really that disturbing for Beck, but the slight glaze of sweat over his brow made Duncan reevaluate. Clearly Beck was not disgusted by the thought. Interesting.

“Double-teamed someone? No,” he said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “But have I been double-teamed?”

Beck outright choked at that, and Duncan grinned in triumph.

“Actually, the answer to that is also no. But it’s a fun thought.”

He laughed at Beck’s indignant huff at being teased and turned back to the cooktop. The veggies were nicely softened and starting to caramelize, so he folded them into the chorizo mixture. He pushed it off to the outer edge of the cooking surface to keep warm while he fiddled with the salamander to make sure it was at the temperature he wanted to broil.

“Make yourself useful,” Duncan said, tossing the tortillas to Beck. “Quarter those and fry ’em up.”

He half expected Beck to balk at the order, but Beck washed up at the sink and set about following the instructions. Neither of them had their own knives with them, and Beck made a face before selecting one and slicing through the tortillas.

He couldn’t even make fun of him for being a snob, because Duncan totally agreed. The kitchen was clean and serviceable, but the knives made Duncan want to cry every time he saw them. They weren’t up to his standard, though to be fair, his standard was far above what a kitchen like Sunrise Cafe needed.

Beck didn’t need any instruction to work the fryer, which was also impressive. Not that it was rocket science, because it wasn’t. But it was an older model and probably different from the state-of-the-art fryers Beck was used to, so to see him handling it like the expert he was sent a thrill up Duncan’s spine.

It was ridiculous to find competency attractive, but there it was.

Beck had been quick to come to his defense when Vincent had jumped to the wrong conclusion, and Duncan hadn’t missed the careful way he’d worded his responses. He hadn’t said they were dating, but he had made it clear it wasn’t an offensive suggestion. It was something to think on. Maybe everything would blow over and nothing about the fight would come out tomorrow, but Duncan wasn’t going to count on that. When it came to the press, he’d learned that lucky breaks rarely came around. They’d have to talk to Lindsay about their strategy, but he was wondering if maybe Beck might be someone he’d like to actually date instead of just pretend with.

Would that be something Beck wanted? Duncan would venture to guess the answer was yes. Would it be shitty to ask him out? Was that overstepping? Beck’s silent treatment after their romp in the shower had sent the crystal clear message that he wasn’t interested in casual, so Duncan had backed off because casual was all he did. But Beck hadn’t totally pushed him away, and he’d stuck up for Duncan tonight in a way that no one ever had before. Did that mean Beck would be up for dating, if Duncan could get there himself? Ugh, he couldn’t deal with this tonight. One existential crisis at a time.

By the time Duncan had the salamander roaring and an ovenproof dish ready to go, Beck had finished and had a crispy pile of tortilla chips ready for him. They worked together, layering the chips with more of the ranchero sauce and topping it with crumbles of feta. It should have been queso fresco, but John was a Neanderthal who refused to order it even though the kitchen staff probably made chilaquiles for themselves at least a few times a week.

Duncan popped the dish in the salamander to broil and grabbed the eggs. “Scrambled or fried?”

Beck squinted his eyes as he thought. “Fried, but over easy. I like a runny yolk because it makes the chilaquiles creamier.”

The more Duncan learned about him, the more he was becoming convinced Beck might actually be the perfect man.

Duncan cracked a few eggs on the cooktop and pulled the dish out of the salamander. The cheese was browned and the chips were slightly burnt on the edges, exactly the way he liked it. He added in the chorizo and veggies and smothered it all with even more of the ranchero sauce, topping it off with the eggs. The dish was screaming hot, so he laid down a towel on the tiny table in the back before settling the chilaquiles on it.

“Dig in,” he said, rustling up two forks and handing one to Beck.

“We’re eating in the kitchen? Isn’t that a health code violation?”

Duncan winked at him and reached up, pulling the curtain he’d helped John install years ago. It separated the kitchen from the table area, which was just outside the office.

“I don’t think that’s up to code,” Beck teased.

“Never had an inspector complain,” he said. “And besides, you wouldn’t want to do this in full view of the restaurant.” Duncan leaned in and gave him a kiss, lingering a bit. It was sweet and lazy, not the hurried, lust-filled kisses Beck was used to. It was nice, though.

“What was that for?” Beck asked thickly, when Duncan let the kiss end and sat back down.

“To thank you for what you did with Vincent,” Duncan said with a shrug. “For not running the other way. For sticking around and agreeing to help me cook in a greasy spoon all night just to make sure I’m okay.”

It was hard to tell in the fluorescent-tinged room, but it looked like Beck was blushing. He dug into his food with more concentration than was strictly necessary. It was kind of adorable, which was an odd thought because Duncan didn’t think he’d ever classed anything other than baby pandas and kittens as adorable before.

“You don’t need to thank me for that. Surely there are tons of people in your throng of admirers who would have done the same.”

“I don’t know where you are getting this idea I’m some kind of culinary rock star with a different groupie in my bed every night,” Duncan said with a snort. He took a bite of the chilaquiles, burning his tongue a bit. “I’m not, P.S.,” he said after he swallowed the too-hot bite.

Beck took a bite and chewed, his expression thoughtful. “The feta isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Right? Though it would be so much better with queso fresco. I’ll have to make this some time for you and do it up right.”

Beck shot him a sappy grin. “I’d like that.”

Duncan laughed. “Careful or I’ll think you’re one of those groupies you seem convinced I have. Besides, you have your own groupies, Beck. When tonight’s fake-dating story hits the blogs, middle-aged women’s hearts across the country will break.”

Beck pointed his fork at him. “You’re an ass.”

“But you’re not contradicting me! I’m right!” Duncan crowed.

“
King of the Kitchen
’s demographic does skew to the middle-aged range, but it’s pretty equally distributed among men and women. And I’m pretty sure the viewers all know I’m gay, anyway. That photo spread I did last year for
Out Magazine
ended up everywhere.”

It had. Duncan had a copy on his phone. The photographer’s playful use of the chef’s hat was particularly inspired. Duncan had been sure at the time there had been ample Photoshopping, but now he’d seen Beck naked himself, he could attest there hadn’t been. Beck’s body really was that cut.

While thinking about Beck naked was entertaining, they had more important things to talk about. Duncan had put off explaining Vincent’s tantrum for long enough. He wanted to get everything out in the open before the late-night rush started so it wasn’t hanging over his head while he was cooking.

Having the food between them helped. Most of the important conversations in Duncan’s life happened over a plate of food. It gave him something to focus on and a reason not to make eye contact, which he knew was classic avoidance, but he didn’t care. He’d never had an easy time expressing his emotions, so Duncan figured whatever crutch helped him through it was valid. Plus the chilaquiles were good, and he was starving.

“I figure I owe you the story behind Vincent’s meltdown. You could probably find some account of it somewhere online, since the Internet never forgets anything, but I’d rather you hear it from me,” Duncan said finally.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Beck said, his voice earnest. “Seriously. And I won’t go looking up old articles about you. I respect your privacy, Duncan. I understand what it’s like to have a bunch of people watching you and waiting for you to mess up.”

Huh. Duncan had never thought about it, but he supposed Beck was right. If anyone could understand what it felt like growing up sharing the limelight with a celebrity chef, he supposed Beck would be it. He’d dealt with a lot of the same things himself over the years.

Except the homophobia and bigotry. Christian was a hardass, but he’d always made a point of getting involved with LGBT causes and showing support for Beck whenever someone small-minded tried to make an issue of his sexuality.