One more deep breath, and he left the bedroom and joined the others downstairs.
He could tell before he stepped into the kitchen that Geoff and Mike had arrived. That kind of uproarious laughter only echoed through this house when those two goofballs were present, and Frank finally managed to smile right before he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs.
“All right, who let these stooges into my house?”
Emily pointed a wooden spoon at Brandon. “He opened the door. Blame him.”
“I’ll take it out of his hide later.”
Brandon shot him a curious glance, and Frank felt that instant chemistry again. All the unspoken things that were said with glances and implications. One of the things he liked best about being in a relationship: It always felt like a conspiracy of two.
“I got the wine.” Mike pointed at a couple bags standing on the counter. “Kick me out and lose the wine.”
Frank nodded. “In that case, you can stay. And your friend too.” He glanced over Emily’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“One of my Italian staples for starters. Set the table. You’ll need a couple sets of cutlery.”
“Got it, boss.” Frank busied himself laying the table, and Brandon watched him for a few moments, then replicated what he was doing on the other side of the table. Napkins, red and white wineglasses, a whole line of cutlery, plates and trivets to put the hot food on, salad bowls—the full works. His kitchen was stocked much like Mike’s, thanks largely to Andrew, who had to be carried out of speciality cooking and housewares shops. It did help if Geoff was around to carry Mike out, too, because those two had usually teamed up to buy more kitchen stuff than anybody needed.
“There. Done.” Emily sounded just the cute side of smug. “Sit down.”
Everybody scrambled to their seats, and Brandon sat right next to Frank, Geoff and Mike opposite.
Mike unfolded his napkin in his lap. “So has anybody been following The Great British Bake Off?”
Geoff rolled his eyes. “He’s getting into bread baking now. We drove like two hours to get the proper sourdough starter or whatever’s called.”
“Everything depends on the levain.” Mike slapped Geoff’s shoulder. “And if you don’t like it, you don’t get any.”
Frank bit back a laugh.
Beside him, Brandon cleared his throat. “I don’t know how y’all handle things in this country,” he said with an exaggerated drawl, “but in mine, we say grace before meals.”
Everyone at the table froze. Eyes wide, staring at Brandon like he’d lost his mind. Frank included.
“You say what?” Mike waved a hand. “Honey, I say whatever grace I need to say when I find my ingredients at the shops.”
“That’s not grace.” Geoff cast him a sardonic glance. “And it’s not you, either. It’s me saying ‘Oh thank fuck, now we can go home.’”
Brandon laughed. “Relax, I’m fucking with you. The extent of my grace-saying since I left home has been ‘Yay, God! Boo, Devil! Let’s eat.’”
Geoff choked on a gulp of wine.
“See?” Mike elbowed him. “That’s why you sip wine. In case you’re sitting at a table with a smart-arse.”
“Oh, is that why?” Geoff dabbed his lip with his napkin. “And here I thought it was for some sort of snobby connoisseur tasting bullshit.”
“Nope. Smart-arses.” Mike grabbed the bottle from the centre of table and pointed at the label. “See? Says it right there.”
Geoff rolled his eyes and took another drink. A sip this time, naturally.
Emily pointed a finely manicured nail at Brandon. “You, sir, are encouraging them.”
“Me?” Brandon showed his palms. “I was merely suggesting we pay homage to God and thank Him for all the food and wine and company. And stuff.”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head once. “I paid for this stuff and turned it into something presentable and edible. You say grace to anyone, it’s Saint Emily O’Malley of the Sisters of Infinite Patience with Obnoxious Men.”
“That’s a bit of a mouthful, darling.” Mike straightened his napkin.
“That’s what she said,” Brandon muttered, and Mike burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, Frank.” Mike waved his wineglass at Brandon. “I love him. Can we keep him? Please?”
“Um, technically under the rules of warfare, don’t I get to keep you?” Brandon lifted an eyebrow.
Mike’s cheeks turned bright red. Geoff sniggered behind his hand.
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. “Boys. Focus. Food.”
Brandon sat up straighter. “You have my attention.”
“Me too.” Mike cracked his knuckles over his plate. “Tell us what all this is, love. Where do we start?”
“We’re moving parts of the menu to the summer one.” Emily stood and pointed. “So there’s olives Ascolana-style, large mild green olives stuffed with a really complex mix of pork sausage meat and veal, and yes, I can use the word ‘sausage’ without having sniggering five-year-olds at the table. I finally managed to secure a supplier for the right kind of— Geoff! Get your fingers out of there. I’m not done yet.”