I nod. Yeah. Me too. Instead, I ask, “Want a tour?”
He kills the engine, and we cross the gravel lot. There used to be a restaurant here years ago. A place with a large parking lot and a drive-through, but it’s long since been abandoned. Permits are taped to the dark front windows, but Benny is right. Otherthan that, there’s no sign that a new business is well on its way to being born. It’s a sad symbol of my life in a way—so much potential, so much hope. And now it’s stuck, not quite what it was and nothing like what it could be.
I push all the conflicting thoughts away.
“Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s go inside.”
He follows me to the front door, and I use the access code to unlock the lockbox, then I take the keys from it and unlock the front door.
Inside, the electricity is off, but we still have power running to the building, so I lead him back into the big kitchen and flip on all the lights.
Benny sucks in a deep breath. The place smells a little funky, like ammonia, mildew, and mice droppings. But the kitchen is huge, easily three times the size of Benito’s. He runs his hand along the stainless-steel counters. They are in disrepair—banged-up from boxes and other items being put on the counters over the years when the place was not functional. Before Culinary Capital bought it at auction, in part because of its distressed condition.
“You know,” he says, “this place has been closed as long as I can remember.”
“It was open until a few years ago as a private event space,” I tell him, explaining what I know. “It used to be a…”
“A Papa Gino’s Pizza.” He snaps his fingers. “No freaking way. I remember now. Back when I was really little, I came to a few pizza parties here.”
I nod. “The sisters who own the company I work for are the Ginetti sisters. When the franchise opened, their father envisioned a few locations that could have games and play areas like some of the big chains. This place started out as that.” I smile. “Theresa still has one of the original arcade games in theoffice in Chicago. It doesn’t work, but it’s a symbol. A symbol of so many things. Dreams. Fun. Family.”
Benny watches me as I talk, his eyes dark with something that I can’t interpret. He is so, so pretty. His chin is lifted, that dimple winking at me as he listens. I’ve never felt bonded to a man this way before. It’s as though he was made to be mine, and the invisible threads that connect us throb as I talk.
I know he wants to come closer to me. To touch me. To hold me tight while we share these memories, these very real parts of our lives. And yet, he just stands there, the electric tension between us sparking with lust and maybe so much more.
“So, then,” I say, brightening my voice to try to shatter the stillness, “in its second life, Papa Gino’s here was a drive-through hot dog and burger joint. That didn’t last long, but the owners decided to hold on to it and keep it as private event space until about nine years ago. The place has been mostly abandoned since then.”
Benny looks confused. “It’s a wild coincidence that a Papa Gino’s used to be here. Did the fact that their dad once owned this place factor into the decision to build here?”
I nod. “I think so. Maybe there was a little nostalgia behind the final decision, sure. Papa Gino, the real Papa Gino, was from Chicago, and he liked to bring his family to Michigan, Indiana, and Ohio for vacations. The owners of my company have been to Star Falls many times over the years. It’s a special place, and when Pancake Circus came to us, we primarily looked for locations just like this in the Midwest.”
“Locations like this,” he says quietly, his voice simmering with heat. “Small towns with untapped potential?”
“Exactly,” I say. I suck my lower lip into my mouth. Untapped potential. Like him, like me. Like us together. I don’t say it, but it’s like Benny feels it.
He finally crosses the kitchen and stands in front of me. He smooths a loose hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my cheek. “Lucky me. You ended up here.” The words hang heavy between us, like he wants to say more and is weighing exactly how to word it. But the raw emotion is clouded over, and his lips twist into a smirk. “Just think. You could be making out with some sandwich-maker in South Bend instead.”
The laugh hits me hard. “Well, then I think I’m the lucky one.” I lace my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest. Then I sigh and close my eyes.
He holds me close to him, rocking slightly to the hum of the electric lights overhead.
“So, why’s it so quiet here?” he asks, his voice echoing in the silence.
I lift my chin and look up at him. “There have been some delays,” I say cryptically.
My heart is pounding hard in my chest. I don’t want to admit that everything is falling apart. That the project is about to get canceled. That I’m probably just days away from being pulled out of Star Falls.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I understand delays, all right.” He rests his chin on the top of my head and holds me tighter. “Shit that doesn’t get done but needs to—bills, repairs, and HR issues. Sometimes I feel like the longer I’m in business, the worse it gets. Things don’t get easier over time, unless I’m just a major fucking moron who can’t learn.”
He pulls away from me and walks slowly through the kitchen, running his hands along the abandoned surfaces. I wonder if he, like me, can almost hear the ghosts of chefs who worked here, meals made and served. The smells and tastes of what this place could be are so real to me, I almost can’t stand the silence.
Benny fills the space with his honesty. “I wish I’d known before I opened the restaurant what kind of shit I’d face.” Hisbrown eyes look sad, the dimple in his chin really pronounced as he frowns. “I just wanted to cook, you know? Make great meals. There’s nothing better than the feeling of feeding people something they love. But even more than that, I love food. I love the weight and texture of pasta dough in my hands. I love the precision of dicing a shallot for a glaze and seasoning something until it’s just right.”
He laughs, sounding bitter but not angry. More like, resigned.
“I’m so good at what I love, and everything else…” He groans and then leans his butt back against the counter and runs a hand through his hair. He’s wearing a lightweight forest-green puffer coat, and the sleeves make a swishing sound as he moves his arm. “Can I be brutally fucking honest?” he asks. “Real talk?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I want him to be. I’m hoping he’ll say something that will make it easier for me to open up to him. Because I have to, and the sooner I do, the better.
