“My treat.”
“I can pay for myself.”
He narrows his gaze at me, and my stomach flips. It’s that scowl I’ve seen in his TikTok videos but a bit softer. And god, is it hot. “Nope. We’re celebrating your success, and the proper way to do that is with a glass of champagne. On me.”
I swallow back the drool that’s suddenly pooled in my mouth. “Okay.”
The bartender comes over, and Gage orders garlic bread and two glasses of champagne.
“So is this where your passion for food started?” I ask, taking in the old school décor.
It looks like a classic family-run Italian restaurant. The color scheme is all deep browns and blacks and reds with white tablecloths. The wall at the far end boasts a dozen framed photos of rolling hills and vineyards, along with black-and-white photos of smiling folks. Members of the family who own this place, I bet.
“Kind of. It was my first job as a high schooler and first job in the restaurant business,” Gage says. “But I’ve been cooking since I was a kid. My mom is an amazing cook. Everyone on her side of the family is, actually. I grew up in the kitchen.”
I picture baby Gage helping in the kitchen and hold back an “aww.”
“So that’s where all of your gourmet inspiration started?”
Gage chuckles. “The food my family cooked and taught me how to cook growing up was the exact opposite of gourmet. And I mean that in the best way possible. They’re all about satisfying, home-cooked, simple, from-the-heart recipes. Not at all pretentious. My mom’s family emigrated from the Philippines to the US when she was little, and cooking their family recipes was how they stayed connected with their roots. Whenever we cook those recipes, it always feels like so much more than just food. It feels like love.”
I take in the warm look on his face as he talks about his family and how passionate they are about food.
He shakes his head, his smile turning shy. “I’m just now realizing how weird that sounds.”
I rest my hand on his arm. “It doesn’t. At all. What you said was beautiful, Gage. It’s so cool how food holds such meaning for you and your family. I wish it did for my family.”
His gaze turns worried as he looks at me. “Did you and your family struggle with food or something?”
“Oh gosh, no. We were totally fine, thankfully. But my parents were terrible cooks. So am I. We mostly ordered food or made simple stuff, like sandwiches or salads.”
“That’s cool though. Sandwiches rock.”
“Not as much as home-cooked food. Or ice cream.”
“Obviously.”
“Ice cream is the love language of my family. That was always how we showed our love and celebrated. If I got straight As or my parents got good news at work, we’d go out for ice cream. When I was little, they’d have my birthday parties at an ice cream shop. When I graduated high school, instead of a standard sheet cake, my parents got an ice cream cake to celebrate. They both travel a ton for work, but whenever they’re home here in Denver, the first thing I do is run over their favorite flavors from Sweet Cheeks.”
Gage grins. My stomach flips. I’ll never, ever get tired of seeing him smile.
“Maybe it’s silly, but that’s why opening Sweet Cheeks was so important to me—and why keeping it in business is too. It’s more than just ice cream. It reminds me of all the happy times I had with my parents growing up. For us, ice cream is love and joy.”
Gage rests his hand against his heart. “Damn, that’s beautiful.”
I playfully shove his shoulder.
“I’m serious,” he says. “Home-cooked Filipino food is the heart and soul of my family. Ice cream is the heart and soul of yours. They’re both equally beautiful.”
I beam at how perfect his words are.
The bartender returns with two glasses of champagne and garlic bread. “Sorry about the wait on these.” He huffs out a breath. “We’re short-staffed tonight.”
I glance around at how crowded the bar has gotten. I didn’t even notice. I was so engrossed in talking to Gage.
“No worries, man,” he says.
The bartender flashes a grateful smile at us both before darting off to help more patrons. Gage and I grab our glasses. He raises his. “To Sweet Cheeks being a massive success.”
