Recipe for Two Page 5

  Wyatt looked down at his béchamel sauce.

  “I’ve got it,” Dad said.

  Jimmy was sitting in the living room when Wyatt met him, staring uneasily at the Lettie’s dog pack, all of whom were staring right back at him.

  “Lettie!” Wyatt yelled. “Call the dogs!”

  “Here!” echoed from the depths of the house, and the dogs streamed obediently away.

  “Hi, Jimmy,” Wyatt said. He didn’t know Jimmy very well, and couldn’t think of a reason why Jimmy would want to see him, but he’d had always been friendly to Wyatt. “What’s up?”

  Jimmy was a big white guy in his thirties. He rubbed the fingers of his right hand over the knuckles of his left. His knuckles were scarred, and so was his neck and face. There were faint shadows where his tattoos used to be, and Wyatt wondered how bad they must have been—and what terrible things they meant—if Jimmy chose the scars over keeping them.

  “Hi,” Jimmy said, and cleared his throat. He dragged a hand through his hair and ducked his head like he was embarrassed. “Um, so my girlfriend and I are having a baby, and she’s doing one of those shower things, and I don’t have a lot of spare cash saved up, but I was wonderin’ if I could hire you to bake some cakes or somethin’ like that.”

  “Oh,” Wyatt said. He took a seat on the couch beside Jimmy and pulled his phone out. “What sort of thing are you after?”

  “I dunno,” Jimmy said. “This isn’t my wheelhouse, you know?”

  Wyatt brought up a Pinterest page on his phone. It was full of cakes with fondant babies on top: glistening fat little sugar creations wearing toothless grins and diapers. “Something like this?”

  Jimmy looked at them and made a face. “I dunno. I took home some of those cupcakes you made that time, with like the cream stuff in the middle? And Jenna really loved those. Half these look a bit…”

  A bit over the top, Wyatt thought, with prices to match. “Okay, well, I can do the cupcakes if you want. How many do you need? And when do you need them by?”

  Jimmy relaxed, his wide shoulders dropping in relief. “The party’s next weekend. Is that too soon?”

  “No,” Wyatt assured him. “That’s plenty of time. How many guests have you got?”

  “I think about thirty,” Jimmy said, but he sounded uncertain.

  “Okay,” Wyatt said. “I can give you my number and Jenna can text me. She probably knows all that stuff.”

  Jimmy looked like he’d dodged a bullet for a second, before his expression tightened again. “And how much do you think it will cost?”

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Wyatt said. “Like, if you guys do want something a little fancier than regular cupcakes—”

  “No, Jenna really liked those cupcakes,” Jimmy said firmly.

  Wyatt warmed at that. “I can do you forty cupcakes for forty dollars. How does that sound?”

  Jimmy’s face did something complicated. “That sounds a fu—a hell of a lot cheaper than I was expecting.”

  “Well,” Wyatt said awkwardly, “I just basically have to cover the cost of the ingredients.”

  It’s not like he had any overhead, and it’s not like he wouldn’t be in the kitchen anyway. He loved baking. He didn’t want Jimmy to think he saw him as a charity case, but he also didn’t want to charge him any more than he had to. Not for something as simple as cupcakes.

  “Do you want a particular color?” he asked.

  Jimmy screwed up his face.

  “Like, blue for a boy and pink for a girl,” Wyatt explained. “I mean, if you know, and if you’re going to tell people already.”

  “Oh.” Jimmy looked out of his depth again, and then he smiled slightly. It was a faint, shy smile that was at odds with a man his size. “It’s a little girl, but we’re not telling people until she’s here, safe and sound.”

  “Congratulations,” Wyatt said, warmth flooding through him.

  “Jenna says all that boy and girl stuff is bullshit,” Jimmy said suddenly, and Wyatt’s stomach clenched. “Like making a big deal out of it and stuff, right?”

  “Right,” Wyatt agreed. And he knew that Jimmy was probably only talking about gender reveals, but he felt a little breathless suddenly anyway.

  “Okay, I’ll get Jenna to text you,” Jimmy said, letting out a long breath. When he smiled again, it was broad and relaxed. “Thanks for this, Wyatt. Really, thanks.”

  “It’s no problem,” Wyatt said.

  He saw Jimmy out and headed back to the kitchen to find Dad standing in front of the oven shaking his head.

  “Three lasagnas?” Dad asked, and he looked so annoyed at himself that Wyatt laughed. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “I’ll get the containers,” Wyatt said.

  Dad sighed and nodded. “Good thinking, kiddo. Good thinking.”

  * * * *

  The stall was closed for the day and most of the employee cars had cleared out of the small dirt lot when Wyatt walked over to the greenhouses. Wyatt headed for the break room, hoping to catch someone who lived on site before they all left for the day. The lasagnas, individually packed into a bunch of recyclable takeout containers in his backpack, were warm against his back.

  He pushed open the door of the break room, the blast of cool air-conditioning hitting him in the face. He could hear someone in the locker room. He set the backpack down on one of the tables, and plucked his slightly sweat-damp shirt away from his back.

  “Hello?” he called.

  “Hey.”

  Wyatt almost knocked the backpack onto the floor in surprise. Izzy was standing in the doorway between the break room and the locker room. His hair was damp from the shower. He was wearing his skinny jeans, but no shirt. He had a towel slung over his shoulders, and was holding each end in his hands, his biceps defined and his forearms corded. As Wyatt watched, a drop of water slipped from a curl of hair near his ear and slid down his throat.

  “You don’t work here,” Izzy said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was as though he was putting the pieces together. “You’re one of the boss’s kids.”

  “I’m his brother,” Wyatt said. “Wyatt.”

  “Wyatt,” Izzy repeated and his gaze slid down Wyatt and then back up again. “You don’t look like a Wyatt.”

  Wyatt felt his face burn. “What does a Wyatt look like?”

  Izzy shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under his gleaming skin. He smiled; a flash of teeth. “Whiter.”

  Wyatt didn’t know how he was supposed to react to that, or if it was an insult or not. He watched Izzy warily and tried not to let on how uneasy he was.

  “Something smells good.” Izzy moved closer. “You’re the one that cooks, right?”

  Wyatt managed a nod. He fumbled with his backpack, opening it and pulling out one of the containers. He thrust it toward Izzy, and he wasn’t even sure why. He couldn’t tell if he was afraid and trying to placate him, or if some part of him was still trying to impress the new guy. “It’s lasagna. You can take one.”

  Izzy looked surprised as he took the container. “Really, dude?”

  Dude. Wyatt didn’t like the word, but it settled something in him all the same. Dude was a word that regular guys used, right? Guys who weren’t going to laugh at him—or worse—for being too brown, too queer, too in-between, too Wyatt.

  “Sure,” he said. “My dad made too much.”

  Izzy lifted a corner of the container, hissing at the steam burn. He raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t make this?”

  Wyatt shook his head. Izzy was close enough to touch.

  Izzy set the container down on the table and stuck his finger in his mouth. He sucked and said, around it, “You made the cookies from Saturday, right?”

  Wyatt tore his gaze away from Izzy’s mouth. “What?”

  Izzy took his finger out of his mouth with an audible pop, and inspected it briefly. “The cookies. You made them?”

  Wyatt’s dick stirred in his pants. “Um, yeah.”


  Izzy flashed his brilliant smile again—that one that made him go from serial killer to heartthrob in a second. “They were really nice.”

  “Thanks.” Wyatt hated how breathy he sounded.

  Izzy didn’t seem to notice, or—most likely—he just thought Wyatt was a freaking weirdo.

  The door to the breakroom squeaked on its hinges, and Wyatt took a step away from Izzy even as he looked to see who was interrupting this—whatever the hell this was.

  It was Justin, tugging off his cap as he entered the break room and shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, Wy,” he said. “What’s all this?”

  “Dad went a bit crazy,” Wyatt said, his throat dry. He was aware Izzy was still looking at him. “It’s lasagna. He sent me over with it.”

  Justin leaned out the door again. “Ignacio!” he yelled. “Del overcooked again!”

  Ignacio was one of the workers who lived on site. “Oh, man,” he said when he turned up to collect the lasagna. “This is great. You know what I was gonna make for dinner tonight? Beans and rice, man, beans and rice.”

  “Nothing wrong with beans and rice,” Justin told him with a grin.

  “No, there is not,” Ignacio agreed. “But I’m no chef either. Everyone’s gonna love this.”

  Justin clapped him on the back.

  “It’s okay to freeze too,” Wyatt said. “You can reheat it in a microwave. It’s not as good as fresh, but it’s still okay.”

  “You guys tell Mr. Abbot he can cook too much any time!” Ignacio said.

  “We’ll let him know,” Justin assured him. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

  “See you!” Ignacio left, loaded up with containers of lasagna.

  “Still here, Izzy?” Justin asked.

  “Yeah, I was just taking a shower,” Izzy said. “I don’t mind driving home stinking of dirt, but I draw the line at sh—at manure. I just gotta grab my stuff and then I’ll let you guys lock up or whatever.”

  He vanished back into the locker room, and reappeared moments later without his towel, and tugging a shirt over his head. There was a ratty old backpack hanging over his shoulder.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, boss,” he said, picking up his lasagna. His gaze slid over Wyatt as he pushed his way out the door, and Wyatt felt his heart skip a beat.

  “Del’s really stressing out, huh?” Justin asked.

  “He took a lot of calls today,” Wyatt offered.

  “I’m just gonna wash up,” Justin said. “You want to hang here for a few minutes and we can walk back together?”

  “Sure,” Wyatt said.

  Justin disappeared into the locker room.

  Wyatt zipped up his now-empty backpack and crossed over to the notice board under the television. There were a few postcards pinned to it, sent from workers on holiday or those who’d moved on, and a couple of notices about community events around Yucaipa. There was also a letter from the local kindergarten kids—their names scrawled all over it in colorful marker—thanking Abbot’s Organic Produce for donating to their food drive last month. Eventually, Wyatt knew, that one would be taken off the notice board and put in the folder Justin kept in his study at home.

  Justin was back within a few minutes, flicking the locker room light off behind him, and then crossing to turn the air-conditioner off. Wyatt grabbed his backpack and stepped outside, and Justin locked the door behind them.

  As they approached the parking lot, Wyatt saw that Izzy was still there. He had the hood of his car up and was peering at the engine underneath.

  “Izzy,” Justin called. “Problem?”

  Izzy straightened up, glowering. “Fucking thing’s crapped out on me!” And then he winced. “Uh, sorry. You know anything about cars, boss?”

  “Not much,” Justin said, walking over to him while Wyatt hung back a little. “But even I know the belt shouldn’t be hanging off the engine block like that.”

  “Shit!” Izzy spat the word. “Guess I’m not driving it home tonight, huh?”

  “I guess not,” Justin said. “Have you got someone you can call?”

  Izzy seemed to consider that for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a friend who might come get me, but he works until late.”

  “Come over to the house then,” Justin said. “We’ll put your dinner in the refrigerator, and you can eat with us and hang out there until your friend can get up here.”

  Izzy looked uncertain for a moment, his jaw clenched like Justin was asking him for his firstborn child instead of extending an invitation to dinner, and then he nodded at last. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

  Izzy looked over to where Wyatt was standing, and some expression crossed his face that Wyatt couldn’t read. Then he slammed the hood down and wiped his hands on his jeans, the corner of his mouth quirking up, and Wyatt didn’t know how to read that hint of a smile any more than he knew how to read anything else about Izzy.

  “It’s not gonna be a problem?” Izzy asked. “Having an extra for dinner?”

  “Trust me, you’re doing us a favor at this point,” Justin said.

  Izzy nodded and fell into step with Justin and Wyatt as they walked home.

  Chapter 6

  “You don’t work here.”

  Izzy wasn’t sure if it should’ve been obvious to him that the kid was one of Justin’s siblings, but it…wasn’t. Sure he’d heard the name Wyatt several times now, but with Justin and Lettie being white, he hadn’t expected their brother not to be.

  It was also weird, that now, as he looked at Wyatt, he could tell there was still some sort of family resemblance there. Same mom, maybe? Wyatt’s coloring was completely different from his blonde, blue-eyed siblings, but there was something about him that was definitely from the same genes.

  The lasagna was a nice surprise. He wasn’t sure if Wyatt had intended to give one container to him or if it was a reflex, but there he was now, having put the food safely on the passenger’s seat where it smelled amazing and thinking that this whole day had gone so much better than he’d expected and things really were looking up after all and—

  And then his fucking car didn’t start.

  Izzy let his forehead drop to the steering wheel and sighed. Great.

  He popped the hood and got out of the car to try and figure out what was wrong with the damned thing. Of course he couldn’t, because he knew next to nothing about cars. They’d just never interested him in any other way than whether they ran or not, and now there he was.

  When Justin and Wyatt appeared and everything led into a dinner invitation, Izzy felt a little conflicted. He got that fraternizing with the boss and his family wasn’t frowned upon here at all. It still felt weird. Especially with those big dark eyes tracking his every move when Wyatt thought he wasn’t looking. It didn’t matter if he looked or not, when you spent a few years in prison, you learn quickly to feel when someone is staring at you.

  As they walked toward the house, Izzy dug out his phone and called Vinny.

  “Hey, Vincent, the car’s not startin’. Anyone there who could pick me up, maybe look at the car?”

  Vinny grunted. “I’ll call one of the guys to come and check it out. I’ll text you with details.”

  “The belt is definitely at least part of the problem.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell Morales that. He might be able to fix it there, but at least he can bring you back to town.”

  “I’ll find my way back to work tomorrow if he can’t fix it. Thanks, man.”

  “Yeah.” Vinny hung up. It was obvious Izzy would owe him even more if this, which sucked and made him a bit more nervous than he’d wanted. The main reason for that unease was Morales, though. That guy was trouble and somehow it felt wrong to even have him on the Abbot’s property.

  “Someone coming to get you?” Justin asked, glancing at him as they walked on.

  “Yeah, my housemate will send a mechanic friend. He’ll text when he has details.”

  “That’s good.”

  Excited barks sou
nded from somewhere nearby, and like before, Lettie and her pack of dogs appeared almost as if out of nowhere onto the footpath they were on.

  “Just let them come to us,” Justin called to her, and she didn’t bother telling the dogs to slow down.

  The rampaged down an incline and unable to help himself, Izzy went to his knees in the dirt to welcome them.

  “Oh my God, doggies!” he cooed at them, and this time the German shepherd and the tiny Chihuahua came to him for attention. He pet the dogs and let them sniff him, even lick his face, because he could use some loving right then.

  Once he’d had enough, he realized that Justin was walking up the little hill at almost meandering pace, and Wyatt was talking to his sister nearby.

  Izzy got to his feet and dusted his jeans, then started after Justin. The teenagers—at least he thought Wyatt, too, was in his late teens—followed suit with the dogs bouncing and sniffing all around them.

  “Do you get the dogs from shelters?” Izzy asked Lettie when she caught up with him, walking adjacent but a bit away from him.

  “Yeah, I have a few that know what kind of dogs I’m looking for. Mostly those that don’t understand humans very well,” Lettie said in a quiet but still strong voice. “Ones that might not have been socialized for whatever reason, mostly.”

  Izzy nodded and glanced at Wyatt who was walking on Lettie’s other side, seemingly in his thoughts.

  “I’ve always wanted a dog. Growing up my mom was allergic so I couldn’t have pets. Then when I got older, I didn’t have a steady place to live for a while and then eventually I went to prison. At that point I thought it was best that I didn’t have a dog, you know.”

  “Oh yeah, I actually worked with and rehomed this dog last year whose owner went to prison. The guy had taken this puppy way too young and kept it in a kennel most of the time.” Lettie’s distaste was clear in her tone.

  Izzy frowned. He couldn’t understand why people would do that sort of stuff to helpless animals.

  “Hey, there you are,” a new voice said, and Izzy saw a tall man embrace Justin and then kiss him with the kind of familiarity that only came from a long relationship. Not that Izzy knew anything about that personally, but…still.