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

“Four, yeah?” Gabriel asked.

“I think so,” Sean said, frowning. He’d grabbed another tortilla—spinach, again, because he liked the bright green color of it so much—and stuck it in the press, warming it up enough that it’d be pliable enough to fold.

When it was done, he pulled it out, and let it cool just for a second, so his veggies wouldn’t wilt. Then, he pulled off the plastic covers of the fresh veggie bins that he’d stocked early this morning, before Gabriel had even arrived.

Matchstick length carrots and cucumbers and pickled red onions, and shredded cabbage and lettuce went on, followed by a dusting of fresh cilantro and mint, and then the peanuts.

“These,” Sean explained as he sprinkled them on, “aren’t candied the way I want them to be, but I thought I’d experiment some after hours, maybe at home, with getting them just the way I want them. But it’ll give you some idea of the crunch aspect.”

“Alright,” Gabriel said. He was staring intently at the wrap as Sean built the base, and then began to layer on the meatballs, sticky and sweet. “That’s a lot of vegetables.”

“Yeah, well, it’s supposed to be,” Sean said. “That’s kind of my signature.”

“It’s not mine,” Gabriel retorted, that stubborn glint returning to his eye.

“And?” Sean said. “This is supposed to be about compromise. We’re compromising. Do you need a definition of what that means?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “But . . . cabbage. On my meatballs.”

“Technically,” Sean said with a grin, “the cabbage is under your meatballs.”

“Oh, is that supposed to make it better?”

Sean shrugged. “Maybe? But I think this is gonna be good.” He finished wrapping it up, and without all the extra red sauce, and with the added stickiness of the glaze, it was much easier. He sliced it in half with a knife, and then picked up the side closest to him. “Cheers,” he said, tilting his head.

Gabriel rolled his eyes but picked up the other half.

Sean had been working on various kinds of wraps for years now. Long before he’d ever dreamed of owning his own food truck. But there was always something special about the first bite of something he knew could be extraordinary. And this definitely had that possibility.

He could see from the look on Gabriel’s face as he took one bite and chewed, and then another, his expression carefully blank. But it was never blank, almost ever, and that alone was enough to tell Sean everything he needed to know.

Gabriel liked it, and didn’t want to like it.

“Well, I think this is a solid first pass,” Sean said. “This is our dish.”

“You think so?”

Sean shot him a look. Only Gabriel would try to claim something wasn’t delicious when it so clearly was. “I do. I guess the only question is . . . do you?”

It was almost fun to watch him try to hedge. “It’s fine,” he said. “You know, the cabbage notwithstanding.”

“I almost think,” Sean said, after chewing a third bite and swallowing, “that the veg could use like a really light dressing. Like lime, some really neutral oil maybe.”

“Is that going to change the cabbage to be not cabbage?” Gabriel wondered.

Sean elbowed him in the side. “What is with you and the cabbage?” he asked.

“I guess I should be grateful you didn’t put kale on it,” he said.

“So I suppose the kale chip idea is out, then,” Sean teased him back.

“Kale chips?” Gabriel sounded aghast at the idea. “Chips are potatoes, thank you very much, and I wouldn’t want to put them with so many vegetables. Might get the wrong idea.”

“That what? They’re both vegetables?”

“No,” Gabriel said, “that they’re healthy.”

“Ugh,” Sean said. “It’s amazing you’re healthy.”

“It’s these good Italian genes. And the olive oil.” Gabriel finished the wrap in another two bites. “I guess,” he finally conceded, “that you were right.”

“And you were wrong?” It was a bit like playing with fire to antagonize Gabe this way. But Sean had been dipping his toes in it for two years now, and it could be quite fun. The way Gabe’s eyes darkened today, that was definitely fun.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gabriel said.

“Of course not,” Sean said, rolling his eyes. “Because that might dent your belief in your complete superiority.”

“Hey,” Gabe said, leaning down, and suddenly, he was so close. Close enough that all Sean would have to do to lick that tiny speck of glaze off his upper lip was flick his tongue out. And he wanted to. The craving was practically staggering him. “You weren’t exactly complaining last time about my complete superiority.”

He hadn’t been. He’d been so overwhelmed by the pleasure of it that for a split second, he’d forgotten about everything.

And that, Sean discovered, was kind of a nice thing.

He wanted Gabriel to do it again.

“And maybe I won’t this time, either,” he teased, and before he could help himself, reached up and licked that speck right off Gabriel’s lip.

His stunned expression was going to be worth the blue balls he’d be forced to endure all freaking day.

———

It was a struggle to pretend that he wasn’t right on the edge of desperation.

It was hard to force his stride to match Gabriel’s casual, clearly not in any big hurry pace as they walked back to his townhouse after a day in which Sean thought, more than once, that he was just going to give up and admit defeat and walk right over to Gabriel’s food truck and demand that he come with him right now.

It was even harder when they reached the house, and Sean felt like he was nearly going out of his skin, but Gabriel was apparently unconcerned, relaying a seemingly endless story about Ren and one of their customers.

“And then he said that . . .” was all Gabriel got out before the door closed and Sean could think of no other way to put it, but he pounced.

The first night they’d spent together, Gabriel had taken over, had pressed him to the door,