Chapter Ten

With an eyebrow quirked and his head tilted, Casey looked like one of Ty's inquisitive rescue pups. "Two questions. Why does it need saving, and why is it all on you to do it?"

Dev scrubbed his hands over his hair. "I shouldn't gripe or make it seem like nobody else steps up. There's a three-person Selectboard. A town clerk."

"Then why not let them carry some of the weight?"

"They do. Kenny's the clerk. Kat and Pete are on the Selectboard, and they wrangle business and maintenance issues, respectively."

"What about the third person? Don't they do anything?"

"He… ah…" Dev cleared his throat. "Well, there are issues. We're all family, really, and everyone does their best. But when Persistence founded this town, he promised that he and his would always take care of it."

"Yeah, but it's not a law, right? What's the population?"

"Including the outlying properties that are still part of the town, about five hundred, give or take. It's been quadruple that in the past, before we started bleeding residents in the last couple of decades."

"Regardless of what it used to be, that's still five hundred people who could step up to the plate rather than let you carry the can for them."

Casey sounded so indignant on Dev's behalf that Dev couldn't suppress a smile. "Tell me something. If someone you were fond of, someone you'd known all your life, was in trouble and needed help, would you tell them to suck it up and deal?"

Casey's gaze slid away, pink flagging those high cheekbones. "No. Of course not."

Dev winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean that as a dig at you."

"I know. But me helping my uncle with his dream isn't quite the same scope as five hundred people expecting you to… to…"

"Be a good town manager?"

"Fix everything for them." He gestured to Tomato. "Although I probably shouldn't talk. You swooped in and fixed things for me, after all." Casey sighed as he stared mournfully at the blackened saucepan in the drainer. "I doubt even you could save that pan, though."

"If it can't be saved, Sylvia can replace it. Just like she could replace anything in the summer kitchen, because they're just things. It's the people who are irreplaceable. The people who are important."

"Dev." Casey laid a gentle hand on Dev's arm. "You're a person too. You're important too. Who takes care of you?"

Dev was about to spout his usual denial, the one he'd become so practiced at in the last year and a half, but the look in Casey's hazel eyes, the concern in his expression, stopped him. God, I want to kiss him.

Casey was such a sweet guy, loyal to his family legacy, to the point of learning to cook even though he had zero aptitude, just to make his uncle happy. If anybody could understand Dev's drive and determination to keep Home afloat, it was Casey.

Ireally want to kiss him.

His gaze riveted to Casey's, Dev leaned forward. Casey's eyes widened, lips parting as he sucked in a sharp breath. Yes! It was going to happen. Dev's chest felt twice its usual size but light, buoyant, as though he could drift up to the ceiling and float there with Casey, leaving all their problems below them. When Casey swayed toward him, Dev reached out and—

Beep beep beep beep

Both of them jerked back at the timer's shrill alarm. Casey licked his lips. "That'll be the tarts. I guess we should check on them. I mean, two kitchen fires in one day are a little much, even for me."

The sudden return to reality made Dev almost dizzy. Yeah, kissing Casey would be a bad idea. They both had responsibilities, and it wasn't as though Dev would ever leave Home or Casey leave Manhattan, especially once he was planted in Chez Donatien's kitchen.

"Right." Dev flinched at his own over-hearty tone. "Well then. Take a look through the window. How do they look to you?"

Casey bent over—gah! That ass!—and peered through the glass. "They look kind of like the plaster of paris hand print I made when I was in kindergarten." He glanced up with a crooked smile. "I don't mean in goopy clumsiness. But they're kind of uneven and hand-shaped."

"They looked like that when we put them in."

"Oh. Heh. Yeah, I guess they did."

"How does the crust look?"

Casey squinted at the tarts. "I can't… The gray glass makes it hard to tell the actual color."

Dev handed Casey a potholder. "Then open the door and take a look."

When Casey twisted to glance up at Dev, a frown pleating his brow, his T-shirt rode up, exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of his skinny jeans, and oh, hello, he was wearing purple underwear. Dev's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"You can do that?" Casey asked.

"W-why not?"

"Won't all the heat rush out? I thought once you shut the oven door, you couldn't open it or"—he flapped his hands—"death and untold destruction would ensue."

Dev's chuckle was a little strained as he attempted to keep his gaze from straying to the curve of Casey's ass and that tantalizing strip of skin. He has freckles there too. "There aren't a lot of dishes that will be totally ruined if you open the oven to check on them. Popovers, maybe. Some souffles. Sure, the temperature in the oven will drop a bit, but these are rustic tarts, remember? There's no leavening in them, nothing to fall. And if the browning is a little uneven, who cares?"

"This is so weird," Casey muttered. When he stood, the hem of his T-shirt caught on his waistband as though to tease Dev with what it revealed—Casey's ass—and what it concealed—that freckled skin. "It's like going against everything my father ever told me."

"From what you've said, it's not like he told you much. Go ahead. Just be careful not to burn your hand."

Casey shot him a look. "Despite all evidence to the contrary, I'm not a total klutz. Trust me. I learned all about oven mitts and potholders at a very early age." He brandished the potholder and opened the oven door, releasing the aroma of browned pastry, then pulled out the rack and peered at the tarts.

Their rims were nicely golden, winking with flecks of raw sugar, and the peaches glistened with released juices. "Here." Dev grabbed a spatula and lifted the edge of one tart. "Nice and browned on the bottom, too. I think they're good to go."

With a look of near awe on his face, Casey lifted the pan and set it on a cooling rack. "Wow. I can't believe it. They're so… so approachable."

Dev lifted an eyebrow. "Approachable?"

"Yeah. Friendly food. So much of what my dad created was about impressing the diners, wowing them, implying that the dish was classier than they would ever be." He grinned up at Dev. "These tarts are definitely non-judgmental."

Dev laughed. "I don't think I'd ever want to face judgmental food."

"Then it's a good thing you never ate at one of my dad's restaurants. God knows I wish I never had." Casey's grin turned mischievous. "Can we taste one?"

"Usually we'd wait until they cooled a little more. They'll probably burn your mouth."

"So I'll blow on them." Casey's gaze darted away and he blushed. "But I don't want to wait."

Dev shrugged. "Okay. But let's transfer them off the pan first. Then at least the others can be cooling while we singe our tongues."

Casey pointed to the spatula. "You do it. I'm afraid I'll drop it and then it'll all be for nothing."

"I thought you said you weren't a total klutz?"

"No fair tossing my words back at me." Casey fairly danced in place. "I don't want to take any chances, that's all."

So Dev moved three of the tarts onto the cooling rack and the fourth onto the cutting board. With a chef's knife, he cut it in quarters and nudged one of them toward Casey.

"After you. Don't burn your fingers."

Casey ignored him, picking up his piece and shifting it quickly from hand to hand as he blew on it.

Fuck.Casey's puckered mouth was more delectable than any tart could be. Dev snatched up his piece, counting on the heat on his palm to derail the heat in his dick.

Casey took a bite, then rounded his lips and sucked in air, cheeks hollowing, which made Dev shove his piece in his mouth too because that's what Casey would look like with his mouth around Dev's dick. The burn on his tongue didn't ease the tightness in his groin, though, and the look of bliss on Casey's face just made things worse. Or better, depending on whether Dev could ever do anything about it.

"Oh," Casey breathed, his eyes closed. "This is the best thing I've ever had in my mouth." He opened his eyes, so bright and full of wonder. "And I made it. We made it." He popped the last morsel into his mouth, eyes closed again. "Mmmm." Then he met Dev's gaze, blurted, "Thank you," and threw himself into Dev's arms.

Casey's mouth on his, lips soft and a little sticky with peach juice, was sweeter than anything Dev had imagined. But before he could wrap his arms around Casey and soothe both their tongues with a little mutual massage, Casey leaped back, clapping his hands over his mouth.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to— You probably don't want— And anyway, I should have asked."

"Come back here," Dev growled, and planted his hands on Casey's waist, drawing him close. "I've been wanting to kiss you for days now."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." Dev carded his fingers through Casey's curls, which were just as soft as they looked, even dusted with flour. With Casey's head cradled between his palms, he bent his head, but Casey met him halfway. When Casey's tongue teased Dev's lower lip, Dev opened and yes! Casey's tongue met his at the same time the bulge in Casey's jeans pressed against Dev's dick.

He didn't take the kiss up a notch, not yet. He wanted time to explore, to taste, to savor, to delve beyond the taste of peaches to the Casey taste underneath.

And as enticing as Casey's erection felt against his, Dev had no intention of taking things any farther here. This was the summer kitchen, for fuck's sake. It was Sylvia's place of business. Besides, he'd never been the kind of guy who wanted to lay his partner out over a hard surface, because that had to be painful for the guy on the bottom. He wanted his first time with Casey to be comfortable as well as exciting. In the kitchen, there were too many sharp and hot things to get in the way, to threaten. Casey deserved better care than that.

But then Casey groaned into Dev's mouth, his hands roaming down Dev's spine to cup his ass, and made a pleased sound low in his throat as he pressed closer.

Hell, yeah. Despite his intention to keep things soft and sweet this time, Dev wanted more, wanted deeper, wanted hotter, and ate at Casey as though his mouth were the chef's special of the day. Casey didn't protest. In fact, he met Dev's assault with equal fervor as Dev backed him up against the peach fridge.

Got to feel him. Dev's fingers fumbled with Casey's zipper, with Casey humming in encouragement as he nibbled on Dev's lips. I'll clean everything up. I'll clean him with my tongue. He can lean there, no stress involved, not if I'm on my knees.

"Dev," Casey murmured. "Please." Then he dove for Dev's mouth again.

Dev eased the zipper down, tongue warring with Casey's—no, not warring. Not sparring. Mating. He slid his hand into Casey's briefs and as his fist closed around Casey's hot, perfect dick, he moaned.

Decisions, decisions. Casey's mouth or Casey's cock? Maybe both? He could keep kissing while he stroked for a bit, and then he could kneel and—

"What the hell are you doing with my fiancé?"