Chapter 9

“Fuc—fudge, that’s good,” Ben had said. “This sauce is really peanut butter?”

Colton had grinned at him, sneaked glimpses of him eating the concoction, eager to snag some time alone with him later. When he’d dropped by in the middle of the night, Ben had still been pleased with his lunch.

“You inspired it, you know,” Colton had said.

“You’re joking.”

“‘Course not. I made that for you.”

“Nobody’s made an entire recipe for me before.” Ben’s eyes had been so alive. “How can I repay you?”

“I didn’t do it so you’d repay me.” Colton had kissed him. “But if it makes you feel better, I have a suggestion…”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Colton had stopped crafting food not long after that. He would have dedicated every dish to Ben if he’d been able to, but that wasn’t the way things had gone. If he thought about it, he was bitter, resentful, he’d lost his food truck. He’d been a good chef. He hoped he still was, or at least good enough to impress Ben, even if it was for one last time.