And that’s when Tristan freaked, shoving Henry’s hand away, and darting out of the room.
After that, he’d avoided Henry the rest of the night. For what? Fucking nothing. Daring to try to be nice, that’s all Henry had done. It hadn’t been as if Tristan had suddenly had to run home or something He’d reappeared ten minutes later. But he’d patently avoided Henry at every turn.
Triple the slight whenTristanhad won the Culinary Society Award for Best New Pastry Chef.
Henry forced himself to leave everything behind when he walked through door 4208. Leave the competition and ego and strife out there for when they would be useful instead of bringing them into his one place of respite.
The room was okay enough. Nothing worth posting about—not that he could post a damn thing until the competitors were announced, anyway. Media silence or he’d be tossed out. He’d had to tell everyone but Carrie he was taking an extended vacation down in California. Only she and Athena knew what was really going on, out of pure necessity. Athena because she had to run the shop, and Carrie because she was his roommate and best friend in the entire world. He hadn’t even told his parents why he was going down.
His phone buzzed, apparently prompted by the universe. He slipped it from his pocket to see a message from Carrie.You make it in one piece?
Henry tapped back a quick response.Of course. Don’t you think I’d be haunting your ass if I’d died in a fiery crash?
He could be playful with her, act like himself.Somethingthat felt normal. She was trustworthy, too. She wouldn’t spill. Henry sighed and unloaded his bags on the foot of the bed, then pulled the blinds aside. A somehow better view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the silver, sparkling water crashing against the pylons. He could have done with tighter quarters, though. The room felt massive, like it would swallow him. Massive... and lonely. Henry didn’t live alone. He’d tried it once and had barely made it through his lease. Alone, he could only distract himself so long, then he had to face his thoughts.
And chances were high that those thoughts would be drifting toward Tristan a lot, whether he left that all outside or not.
It figured things would turn out this way, didn’t it? He’d assumed the worst part of the competition would be the unknowns: his opponents’ pasts, their training, their raw talent.
But now he was faced with Tristan, who was definitely not an unknown. Who was a damn good pastry chef. And that drove home the reality of the whole contest: he was going to need to work his ass off to prove himself.
The hopeful bubbles in Henry’s stomach slowly popped.
“Henry’s here. Henry fucking Isaacson.” Just when Tristan had left Seattle behind for the moment, here he was, presented with a constant reminder of the city and all the stresses it brought with it. He unpacked his bags, sliding his clothes into the drawers beneath the flat screen. He’d tossed the Bible into the closet to make room for more important things. He’d try to remember to put it back before checkout so the cleaning staff didn’t have to locate it.
“HenryfuckingIsaacson!” As though saying it louder could make the universe understand his indignation better. Henry owned a perfect little pâtisserie, right in the U District.Heran it,hecontrolled it. And damn it all if it wasn’t successful... and if the baking he put out of that shop wasn’t completely fucking delicious. Delicious baking thatHenrygot to decide on himself, day in, day out.
On the other hand, Tristan worked for a curt, semi-militaristic woman, making wedding cakes and petit fours and everything else with sugar in it for the bride’s special day. He knew he was good enough to run a shop, but with his bills stacking up faster than his paychecks lately, there was no way he could even take a swing at owning his own business. And with his sister now living with him indefinitely, those bills would be stacking even faster and higher.
Which is why I can’t let Henry get into my head.He needed the money—both the winnings and the money Eatery would pay for his appearance on each episode... and the bonus Carlita had offered him for going on the show. Since the publicity from this show was likely to be strong, she’d promised him five hundred bucks for every episode he appeared on. With his student debt, it was hard to say no to any of that.
Most importantly, he didn’t want to leave any excuse for Lucia to go back to Robert, and if she thought she was a burden on his finances...
Tristan packed away the last of his clothing, then sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He slid his phone out of his pocket and dialed home.
One ring. Two rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I made it in.” Tristan pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and twiddled it between his fingers. “You doing okay?”
“You’ve only been gone for four hours,” Lucia’s voice creaked out. “I think I can make it four hours without my big brother.”
“I know you can. It’s your big brother’s job to worry anyway.”
“I’m okay. Karen’s coming to stay with me for a while.”
Thank God we held on to her after high school.Most of their friends had peeled off, as tended to happen, but not Karen. Which was a blessing for both of them. She had a reasonable head on her shoulders. She’d been right there alongside Tristan, telling Lucia to leave that bastard husband of hers for the last couple of years. Plus she was a cop’s daughter. “And you know what to do if he tries to contact you.”
“Come on, Tristan.”
He pressed the issue. “Don’t pick up. You promised me you wouldn’t talk to him while I was gone. That was the deal.”
“Iremember. I don’t need you to keep bringing it up.” A bit of her old fire still peeked through. Robert hadn’ttotallybeaten that out of her. “Stop thinking about me. You keep your head in this thing, not back home. You promised me you’d try if I stayed.”
“I haven’t even seen the kitchen yet. I only got to the hotel ten, fifteen minutes ago.”
“Still: you promised.”
