Page 75 of Operation Sunshine
Ben smiled. “And you love it.” He brushed his lips against Franco’s. “See you in the morning. Sweet dreams.” His eyes twinkled. “I know mine will be.” And with that, he left Franco in his bedroom, theclickof the front door following a moment later.
Franco flopped onto his back, his arm thrown across his eyes. The sex had been phenomenal as always, but what was even better were the intimate moments when they’d lain wrapped up in each other, sharing laughter and kisses. Sex made him ache in the best way.
What followed fed his soul.
Thepingfrom his phone next to the bed jolted through the quiet like a firecracker, and he grabbed it, smiling.
He’s only just left.
He peered at the screen, its blue-white glow casting shadows across his ceiling. It wasn’t a text, but an email.
Who is emailing at this hour?
Then he saw the subject line, and Franco forgot to breathe.
Subject: Invitation to Stage – Chef Gallo
His heartbeat raced, and he hesitated for a fraction of a second before tapping it open.
Franco,
We loved your video and hearing about your approach to hospitality. We’d like to invite you to join us for a three-month stage in Florence, beginning the first week in September. It was a tough process choosing the right people, and my apologies that we didn’t get back to you sooner.
Let me know if you’re interested. I know this is short notice, but I hope that doesn’t prove too much of an obstacle. As indicated in the application, there is accommodation provided, and your weekends will be yours to do with as you wish.
I look forward to hearing from you.
– Chef Gallo
He read it once. Twice. A third time, until the words blurred and all that remained was the thrum in his chest, faster and faster, a snare drum rattling against his ribs.
Oh my God.
This had been his dream, the thing he’d once scrawled on the back of his notebooks in school, doodles of the Duomo mixed with pasta shapes. To cook in Italy, underGalloof all people. To stand in those kitchens and belong there.
Franco sat up, then flopped back down again, pressing the phone to his sternum. The ceiling swam above him.
He should’ve been ecstatic. He felt as if he was fourteen again, barefoot in Nonna’s kitchen, dusted in flour and daring to imagine he’d make it out there, in the big wide world where food was art and life and home.
But now…
His eyes slid to the other side of the bed, the empty cold side where Ben had been not half an hour ago. His scent lingered in the sheets, cedar and something deeper that clung to Franco’s skin.
Ben, with his steady gaze that saw through every deflection.
Ben, who made Franco’s chaotic heart feel safe.
The phone slipped to the blanket and Franco pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he’d applied for the stage months ago, he hadn’t thought twice about putting oceans between himself and anyone else. He never expected to hear back.
Now everything was complicated.
The dream was in Florence, but the things his heart kept tripping over, the warm arms, that quiet steadiness, the look that made Franco feel known, were here.
For the first time, Franco wasn’t sure which terrified him more: the idea of leaving… or the idea of staying.
The next morning, he walked into the restaurant, jittery from too little sleep and way too much thinking. When he saw Lexie at the stove, he frowned.
“Where’s Raj?”
