On a Roll by Beth Bolden (best historical biographies TXT) 📕

The flavors he expected exploded on his tongue. The ripeness of the tomato, the rich unctuousness of the meatball, the sharp bite of the provolone and the mild creaminess of the mozzarella.

It was delicious. But even though it tasted great, Gabriel knew that construction issues notwithstanding, they couldn’t sell this. It was basically a worse copy of his most popular menu item.

He watched as Sean juggled his own half, narrowly maneuvering it to his mouth before it fell apart on his fingers, leaving them smeared with red sauce and melted cheese.

“Well,” Sean said after he’d chewed and swallowed, “that was an epic fail.”

Gabriel nodded, and Sean actually had the nerve to look surprised. Like he’d thought Gabe was going to try to argue that this was still a good idea.

Half of the wrap was currently dripping down his previously pristine stainless steel cabinet and the other half was on his chin. He was hardly in a position to argue.

Grabbing a handful of paper towels by the small sink, he wiped down, and then handed a fresh one to Sean, who shot him a grateful smile.

It was nothing. It should have meant nothing. But it meant everything.

Gabe cursed the day Sean had showed up in Los Angeles and had, without even trying, tied him up into so many knots he wasn’t sure he could ever untangle himself.

Chapter Nine

“So,” Sean asked, hesitating because Gabe could be so . . . well, Gabe-ish and difficult about things that shouldn’t be so difficult, “what are we going to try now?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “That was my one and only idea, and let’s face it, it sucked.”

“It . . .” Sean hesitated again. “It kind of did.”

But to his surprise, Gabe chuckled. “Don’t hold back or anything.”

“It was really good, if it makes you feel any better, but I think sticking to rolls as a delivery mechanism is a smart choice.”

“Best idea I ever came up with,” Gabriel said with a nod. “Though, I do think serving them in the cup, for those who don’t eat gluten or carbs . . . that was also a pretty genius invention.”

Sean did not know what he’d expected when Tony had announced that he and Gabe were going to be working together—and not in bed. In the kitchen. The one place they’d never agreed on a single fucking thing. It had been easy enough to let all that crap that lay between them go, when they were at his townhouse, and in his bed. It felt like a different part of his life, and he’d been working hard at compartmentalizing.

But this? This gentle teasing—this flirting without any acrimony at all—was new, and it was different, and it was kind of freaking him out.

Could they have had this before? Or had they needed to get all that shit out of their system first? Sean didn’t know.

The one thing he did not let himself consider was what would have happened between them if they’d never shared the same name.

“Confession,” Sean said, before he could stop himself, “I’ve ordered plenty of meatball cups over the years. They’re great.”

Gabriel’s face screwed up, his nose crinkling adorably. “What?”

“Just . . .” Sean swallowed hard. “Just not usually from you.”

“You’re ordering them from Ren?” Gabe said with what sure sounded like mock outrage. “Waiting til I leave and then coming over here? That’s a low blow.”

“You make a great meatball, Moretti,” Sean said, which was really something he probably should have told him ages ago, but their relationship had been so sour at points, he hadn’t wanted Gabriel to know how he felt.

He hadn’t felt particularly guilty about that before, but he felt guilty about it now.

“Thanks,” Gabe said, and he smiled, bright and surprised.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, Sean had an idea.

“What if we . . . what if we take one of my ideas that I’ve been working on,” Sean said, “and we use meatballs as the protein.”

“What do you mean, one of your ideas?” Gabriel asked.

Sean told himself that the vaguely suspicious edge to his tone was to be expected. Hadn’t he been unsure of Gabriel’s idea? Of course, he’d been sure it would fail for exactly the reasons why it had failed. Sean told himself it was different, but had it been, really? Or was that just an excuse he was telling himself?

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He kept a running list of possible wrap ideas and recipe notes in an app and he pulled it up now, browsing through the list.

“I collect ideas all the time,” Sean said by way of explanation. “And there’s plenty I haven’t implemented yet, that we could use your meatballs in. What about this Thai crunch wrap idea? We could do like a ginger sesame meatball, with like some kind of sticky glaze.”

“Thai?” Gabriel sounded dubious. Sean supposed that was to be expected.

“Thai,” Sean said. “Like really, it’s just a bunch of fresh veggies, with some crunch from some sweet and spicy candied peanuts.” This was one of his best unused ideas that he’d been thinking about and making notes on for months now. There was part of him that thought it might be a mistake to waste the idea on this temporary project, but maybe if it was a runaway success—the way that it could be, if the chips fell right—then Tony would let them keep it on their menus.

“Vegetables,” Gabriel stated, shaking his head. “I . . . I can’t believe you’re going to talk me into this.”

Sean had barely gotten started. But he knew, more than anything else, that the flavors he thought they could create together would be more than evidence enough. Gabriel might be the most stubborn asshole on the planet, but he knew his food, and if it turned out even remotely as good as Sean envisioned, he’d never be able to say no. “Do you have some meatballs that aren’t in any sauce?” he asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel said, pointing to one of the