Page 61 of Operation Sunshine
They sat side by side at Ben’s kitchen table, brushing shoulders, a comfortable silence lying easy between them as they ate. And between bites, Franco didn’t feel the urge to fill that silence.
Instead, he let his imagination run away with him, envisaging more mornings with Ben, more breakfasts, more quiet touches. A life made up not of frantic highs and inevitable retreats, but of moments like this.
And while it scared the hell out of him, it also made him ache with want.
He glanced at Ben, who was watching him with that steady, unreadable gaze.
If I were braver, I’d tell you I’ve already fallen for you so hard.
But he wasn’t brave, at least not yet.
Instead, he bumped his shoulder lightly against Ben’s. “Not bad, boss. You might make something of yourself after all.”
Ben’s resultant smile was small, but it was enough to keep Franco breathing.
Enough to keep him hoping.
Franco was still warm from both his shared breakfast and too many stolen kisses over coffee, when horror crept over him, leaving an icy trail.
“Oh, shit.”
Ben’s brow furrowed. “What?”
Franco gave him a wide-eyed stare. “The cake. Our… uh, enthusiastic redecorating of Raj’s prep table last night? Not to mention the table upstairs. We just left it all. If Raj gets there first—”
Ben closed his eyes and swore softly. “Fuck.” Then he opened them. “I blame you.”
“Me?” The word came out as an undignified squeak.
He grinned. “You beguiled me. You fogged my brain.”
“Well, now the fog has cleared, we can’t sit here. We have to beat him to the restaurant.” Franco grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the door. “Come on, soldier, no man left behind.”
“Forget walking. We’ll take the first taxi we see.”
They left Ben’s place at breakneck speed, and it seemed luck was on their side when they encountered an empty taxi within a minute of reaching the street.
They burst into the kitchen like two kids sneaking home past curfew. No sign of Raj yet, thank God, or anyone else for that matter, but the evidence was everywhere: smeared icing on the counter edge, a fine dusting of flour still clinging to the tiles, Franco’s jacket draped over a chair like a flag of surrender.
“Oh my God.” Franco clapped a hand over his mouth, laughter bubbling out before he could stop it. “I think Hansel and Gretel exploded in here.”
Ben shot him a look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Stop laughing and move. You deal with down here, I’ll go upstairs and assess the damage.” And with that he was gone, pounding up the stairs, grousing to himself.
The next ten minutes were frantic chaos: Franco wielded a sponge like a sword, while Ben got down on hands and knees to scrub the floor, both of them muttering curses and dissolving into snorts of laughter when Franco found a rogue button under the prep sink.
“Souvenir!” Franco held it aloft. “Proof of our crimes.”
“Franco,” Ben growled, although his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Focus. Finding one is good—now where are the others? We’re not out of the woods yet.”
The back door handle rattled.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Not only were they notoutof the woods, but the big bad wolf had just arrived.
Franco dove for the last smear of icing on the counter, wiping it away as Raj stepped inside. He scanned the kitchen, his heart hammering.
Good enough.
Raj paused in the doorway, surveying them both. Franco leaned against the counter, flushed and out of breath. Ben stood stiffly beside him, a towel dangling from his hand.
