Operation sunshine, p.21
Operation Sunshine, page 21
When he felt eyes boring into the back of his head, he turned to find Raj staring at him, his sharp eyes focused on Franco.
“You’ve been stirring that sauce for six minutes too long,” Raj said, deadpan.
Franco blinked down at the pot. “Shit.”
Raj snickered. “Lucky for you, it’ll still taste fine. But your head’s clearly somewhere else.” He tilted his head to one side. “Florence, hmm?”
Franco rolled his eyes. “Can you not, please?”
Raj’s expression softened. “I’ll miss your chaos. The place won’t be the same without you.”
It was the closest Raj came to saying something sentimental, and Franco’s chest tightened with both affection and dread.
He managed a smile. “Someone will come along to replace me.”
Raj sighed. “And they might fill the spot, but they won’t come close to filling your shoes.”
Franco’s throat seized.
Any more of this, and I’m going to be a wreck by the time we close.
“Now go grab a coffee. You’ve earned it.” Raj’s eyes glittered. “Besides, you’ve tortured that sauce long enough.”
He laughed, put the spoon down, and headed for the coffee machine. He’d gotten as far as filling a cup when Willow cornered him, her bright smile slightly forced.
“So… you excited?”
“Terrified,” Franco admitted. “Excited too, but mostly terrified.”
Her gaze grew fond. “That’s how you know it’s worth it.” She hesitated, lowering her voice. “Don’t forget us when you’re rich and famous, okay?”
“Pfft.” He snorted into his coffee. “As if you’d let me.”
“Anyone seen Lexie?” Raj called out from the kitchen.
Franco recalled seeing her going toward the pantry. “I’ll find her.” He pushed the door open and found her reorganising shelves with uncharacteristic focus. Franco arched his eyebrows. “You hiding from Raj, or from me?”
“Both.” She didn’t look at him, but her voice cracked a little. “It’s weird, you know. You drive me mad half the time, but…” She finally turned, her eyes shining. “It won’t be the same without you.”
Franco swallowed, his throat tight. “You’re making it sound as though I’m never coming back.”
Lexie gave a brusque shrug. “Three months is a long time. People change. Just… don’t forget us, okay?”
That iron band around his chest constricted again. He wanted to blurt out he’d be back because of Ben, because this place had somehow become home, but the words stuck.
“Raj needs you,” he croaked.
Lexie sighed. “No rest for the wicked.” She patted his arm as she walked past him.
Franco took a minute to collect himself before emerging from the pantry.
“Franco, here are the specials for tonight.” Mina thrust a sheaf of papers into his hand. “Hot off the printer.” Before he could get a word out, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Franco smiled when he saw her handiwork. Typical Mina, she’d accompanied the courses with little drawings of the dishes. Then he spotted a pink corner sticking up out of the sheaf. He pulled it free, and his chest tightened another notch when he read her note.
Good luck, Chef Franco. Make sure Florence knows how lucky it is to have you.
Franco tried not to choke up.
By late evening, he was drained. They’d had a steady stream of diners, and someone had obviously talked because more than a few of the regulars wished him success for the stage. Franco found it hard to retreat behind his usual wall of banter and bravado, and when he got a second, he dove out in search of a glass of water.
To his surprise, Ben was waiting for him by the office door, a glass already in his hand.
“You holding up?” Ben asked in a quiet voice.
Franco gave a crooked smile. “Barely. Feels as if everyone’s already saying goodbye.”
Ben’s gaze was steady and warm. “That’s because they care. And they’ll be here when you come back.”
Franco wanted to say And you? Will you still be here? but the words snagged in his throat. Instead, he brushed his hand against Ben’s, a fleeting touch that still made his chest ache.
When Ben finally locked the front door, Franco was ready to collapse—until Raj called from upstairs in the function room.
“Get your arse up here,” Raj groused. “You are in trouble.”
From the office doorway, Ben blinked. “Okay, what have you done now?”
“Nothing,” Franco protested. “I’m completely innocent of…whatever it is.”
Ben smirked. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. Let’s go see what’s gotten Raj all riled up.”
Franco climbed the stairs, Ben behind him, and when he pushed the door open, voices rang out.
“Surprise!”
The room was strung with fairy lights, a banner stretched across the far wall: YOU’RE GONNA DAZZLE THEM, FRANCO. Arun waved from the corner. Chloe raised a glass. Mina and Ollie popped confetti cannons, showering the room in glitter. Lexie smiled at him from behind the banquet table filled with plates of nibbles.
Willow grinned. “You didn’t think we were going to let you leave without a party, did you?”
He smiled, his face hot, lost for words.
Raj appeared with a cake iced in messy swirls, bearing the words Good Luck, Franco.
Franco brought his hand to his chest in feigned shock. “You baked?”
Raj snorted. “I cheated. Box mix,” he said dryly.
“Liar,” Franco said, grinning despite the lump in his throat.
“Fine.” Raj smirked. “Box mix and a prayer.”
A loud pop behind him revealed Ben opening a bottle of champagne, and then everyone let out whoops and cheers.
“If ever there was a reason to celebrate,” Ben said, his voice carrying across the room, “this is it.” He passed the bottle to Lexie, who proceeded to fill the glasses while he opened another.
Glasses clinked, laughter filled the air, and Franco let himself sink into the warmth of it. He looked around at the people who had long since become more than colleagues or friends.
They were his family.
But when the noise swelled, his gaze found Ben’s across the room. Ben raised his glass, his smile warm and true. That was when Franco knew that whatever Florence brought, wherever this path led, he’d come back.
As long as Ben was here, he’d always come back.
The party had dwindled to its last embers, until all that remained were half-empty glasses, crumbs of boxed cake, and the quiet shuffle of chairs being pushed under the table. Franco helped Mina gather confetti into a dustpan, although most of it clung stubbornly to the floor. Willow pressed a box of leftover cake into his hands, insisting he’d want it at midnight.
Lexie hugged him quickly, muttering “Don’t make me cry” into his shoulder before retreating downstairs in a hurry.
Franco’s heart ached. They believed in him.
What struck him hardest, however, wasn’t the cheers or the champagne or the smiles. It was the way Ben had stood, a glass in his hand, his gaze never straying too far from Franco, as though taking his eyes off him would somehow make him vanish.
Franco went downstairs, carrying the cake box. The kitchen was already empty.
It was just him and Ben.
Franco deposited the box on the prep table. “We can eat this tomorrow.”
“You want to walk back with me?” Ben asked.
Franco froze for a second, his breath catching. Then he managed to stammer out “Of course.”
He wanted nothing more than to end this night—this day, this bittersweet countdown—with Ben, in Ben’s space, in Ben’s arms.
The night air was cold, sharp with the faint tang of salt carried up from the coast. Ben kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets as they walked side by side. Franco’s shoulder brushed his now and then, a casual connection, but every time it did, Ben’s chest tightened.
He knew what he wanted to say.
Don’t go.
I’m in love with you, and I don’t know what I’ll do without you here.
The words lodged in his throat. Saying them now, on the eve of Franco’s departure, felt cruel.
Instead, he went with practicalities. “This apartment they’ve provided. Where did you say it is? Close to the restaurant?”
Franco shoved his hands into his coat. “It’s in Santa Croce, a couple of blocks from Gallo’s restaurant. It’s on the second floor. I’ve seen pictures. It looks amazing: high ceilings, a balcony, a view of the church…” He grinned. “The one from that movie, A Room With A View.” He fanned himself. “Julian Sands was so hot.”
Ben laughed. “I see.” He fought to keep his tone level. “That sounds perfect. You’ll love being able to walk everywhere.”
“Yeah.” Franco’s smile faltered. “It all feels a bit unreal.”
Ben hummed in quiet agreement, his throat too tight. He kept going, because silence meant danger. Words might escape. “What do you want to see, while you’ve got the chance? Besides kitchens, I mean.”
Franco chuckled, the sound warm enough to chase some of the chill from the air. “The Uffizi. The Duomo. Maybe take a train to Bologna, so I can eat my body weight in ragù.” His eyes glinted sideways at Ben. “You’d like it there, I think.”
Ben’s lips curved into the smallest smile.
If I went, it’d be to see you, not the ragù.
“Take it all in. Enjoy every minute.”
They fell into silence after that, their footsteps echoing against the pavement. Ben knew he was memorising every word, every glance, every sound of Franco walking beside him, because soon it would be gone. He couldn’t bring himself to ask the only question that mattered.
Will you promise you’ll come back to me?
His flat came into view, and he forced a lighter tone. “You’ll dazzle them, Franco.”
But not so much that they don’t want to let you leave when the stage is finished.
Ben prayed such a message would never arrive.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The air in Ben’s flat was thick with anticipation, charged with something Franco didn’t want to name for fear of breaking it.
They didn’t speak at first. Franco shrugged off his jacket, dropped it carelessly on the back of the chair, and turned. Ben was already there, only a step away, watching him with that intent, steady gaze Franco had come to know so well.
God, those eyes. Franco could drown in them.
“Ben,” he murmured, his voice rough, the sound from someplace deep.
Ben raised his hand and brushed his fingertips along Franco’s jaw, the touch reverent, as though he was touching something sacred. Franco leaned into it without thinking, his eyes closing, a soft sigh escaping him. Then Ben’s mouth was on his, a press of lips, a whisper of promise. He slid his fingers higher, running them through Franco’s hair, tugging him closer, and Franco parted his lips with a low moan, hungry for him, for this. Their tongues met in a sexy duel, and the kiss grew, feeding Franco’s desire until he felt it in every nerve, every breath.
When they broke apart, Franco’s chest heaved. “Take me to bed,” he whispered, his forehead resting against Ben’s. “Make love to me. Let me… let me give you everything.”
Ben’s eyes were on fire as he took Franco’s hand, guiding him to the bedroom. The room was dim, the streetlight spilling in through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the bed. Ben turned, standing at the edge of it, and for a moment they simply looked at each other. Franco swallowed hard. He wanted to remember this, every detail, every shift of light across Ben’s features, the way his hair caught the glow, the shape of his mouth when he wasn’t guarding his expression.
Franco reached for him first, tugging at the hem of Ben’s shirt. “Off,” he murmured. His voice trembled, not with uncertainty but urgency.
Ben lifted his arms without a word, letting Franco strip the shirt away. Franco drank in the sight of him, the broad chest, the curve of muscle, the mat of soft hair covering his pecs, the trail that pointed south. He traced the contours of Ben’s torso, keeping the motion leisurely and sensual.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Ben smiled. “You’ve said that before.”
“Then it must be true.”
“I could say the same, you know.”
Franco laughed softly. “Yeah, but you don’t get to see the mess underneath.” He pulled his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Ben’s gaze raked over him, and Franco felt it, as tangible like a physical touch, the heat of being seen, wholly and without judgment.
“Not a mess,” Ben said quietly. He brushed his fingers across Franco’s chest. “Never a mess. You’re…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They’d have to invent a new word to describe you, because I don’t think there is one that fully describes you.”
Franco caught his hand and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Then don’t tell me—show me.”
Ben kissed him again, deeper this time, walking them backward until Franco’s knees hit the mattress and he sank down onto it, pulling Ben with him. They sprawled together, their mouths locked, their bodies aligning. Franco arched into the weight of Ben above him, his hands roaming across his back, down his sides, burning the feel of him into his memory.
They undressed each other, unhurried despite the thrum of desire between them. It wasn’t the frantic hunger of stolen moments in kitchens or offices. This was peeling away barriers as much as clothing. By the time they were bare, Franco’s chest ached with the sheer intimacy of it. Nakedness wasn’t new to him, but this?
This took it to a whole new level.
Ben kissed down his throat, across his collarbone, eliciting shivers when his lips lingered. “You drive me crazy,” Ben murmured against his skin. “Every second. And still… I want more.”
“You have me,” Franco whispered, tangling his fingers in Ben’s hair, pulling him up so their mouths met again. “All of me. Tonight, I’m yours.”
He meant it with a clarity that startled him. Every wall he’d ever built, every joke, every deflection—it all fell away here, in this bed, in Ben’s arms. He let himself feel everything, then let it show in the way he arched his body, the way he moaned into Ben’s kisses, whispering his name as though it were a prayer.
Ben responded in kind, giving back everything Franco offered and more. His touch was sure but tender, his kisses fierce and lingering.
He knows me. Ben knew the spots that made him gasp, the rhythm that drove him higher, the gentleness that undid him completely.
The world narrowed to sensation: hands, mouths, skin sliding against skin, the pulse of heat building between them. They moved together with a familiarity that still astonished Franco, like two halves learning they’d always belonged together. His breath came in gasps, his body taut, every nerve alight.
“Ben,” he groaned, gripping his shoulders tight. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” Ben promised, his voice raw, desperate. “Not ever.” He reached for the lube. “Spread your legs. Show it to me.”
Holy fuck. Ben had just taken him to heaven with seven words.
With a shudder, Franco pulled his knees up, exposing his pucker, holding his breath to await the gentle pressure that always felt so fucking good. Ben’s lips locked on his as he stroked his fingers deep into Franco’s body, and Franco let go with one hand to cup Ben’s nape, deepening the kiss, feeding him moans of spiralling pleasure.
The first slow press of Ben’s cock inside him stilled his breath and made his pulse race, the way it did every single time. His ankles rested on Ben’s shoulders, and Ben locked his arms, gliding into him in a steady rhythm that didn’t stay that way for long. The smack of flesh against flesh, punctuated by their mingled cries, filled the air, breaking now and then when they kissed.
Franco couldn’t get enough of him.
And when Ben came inside him, Franco didn’t hold back, unable to stifle the sounds, hide the trembling, or mask the sheer rapture of being undone in Ben’s arms. He let Ben see him completely, messy, vulnerable, radiant. And Ben, with his own ragged cries and shuddering release, met him there, equal and unguarded.
“Now come for me,” Ben demanded, his slick hand on Franco’s shaft.
Franco groaned as he pulsed warmth, coating Ben’s fingers, his heart soaring when Ben’s mouth claimed his, connecting them.
“Mine,” Ben murmured breathlessly against Franco’s lips, and Franco let out a low moan.
Seven words had taken him to new levels of rapture.
One word broke him.
They lay together, Franco’s limbs heavy, his skin damp, his heart pounding. Franco rested his cheek against Ben’s chest, listening to the steady beat beneath. He closed his eyes, letting the sound anchor him.
“I meant it,” Franco whispered into the darkness. “Tonight, I gave you everything. No walls. No pretending. One hundred percent me.”
Ben kissed the top of his head, holding him tighter. “And I’ll treasure it. Always.”
They stayed like that until sleep claimed him, wrapped around each other as though neither could bear to let go.
The morning light was merciless. It streamed through the blinds in thin, golden spikes, painting Ben’s skin in soft relief. Franco blinked awake to find himself still curled into him, his head on Ben’s chest, Ben’s heart beating under his cheek. For a moment, he let himself drift, his eyes closed, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.
If I stay here long enough, maybe it will all stop—time, decisions, departures. Just me and Ben, forever in this cocoon.
Ben stirred, his arm tightening around Franco’s waist, as if his body didn’t want to let go even as his mind woke. When he opened his eyes, they found Franco’s immediately, sleepy but steady.
“Morning,” Ben murmured.
Franco tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Morning.”
The quiet was broken only by the faint hum of traffic outside and the cry of gulls drifting in from the river. Franco was used to their comfortable silences.
