Return of the Chauffeur’s Son by Tara Lain

Author:Tara Lain [Lain, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 9781635334784
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-06-01T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“DYLAN, I can’t pay $2,500 for an apartment.” Luca stomped down the walkway from the pretty Victorian home that had been converted into rentals. He crossed his arms. “You’re just going to make me nauseated showing me pretty things I can’t have.” Shit, story of his life. At least his love life. “I don’t make that much money, and I want to save as much as I can.”

Dylan opened the car door for Luca, and he flopped into the passenger seat of the convertible. Dylan walked around the car, climbed in the driver’s seat, and started the engine. “No worries. I just wanted you to see something historic and charming.”

“I can’t afford historic or charming.” A bit of a wail.

“That’s the highest-priced place I picked.”

“I’m sorry to seem ungrateful.”

“You don’t. I just didn’t realize a sous chef’s salary was so low.”

Luca breathed deeply. “Actually, I’m paid fairly well, considering, but I’m trying to save money.”

“For retirement?” Dylan chuckled. “You might want to live before you die.”

“No. To buy my own place.” Shit. Why did I say that? “I mean, in case I ever get a chance.”

“To open your own restaurant? From what I tasted this morning, I’d say you’d make a go of it.”

“Thank you, but—” Just don’t go there.

“Why don’t you live with your dad? No rent or expenses at all except for your car.”

“I love my dad so much, but if I ever plan to have sex again, I need my own place.” Well, damn. “Sorry. TMI.”

“Yeah, I guess your bedroom is right next to Francis. Especially bad if you moan or scream a lot.” He pulled out onto Highway 29 while Luca tried to get his heart beating again. He did not just say that. Dylan stopped at the light. “Okay, I know the perfect apartment.”

Luca tried not to frown. Just how palatial did something have to be for Dylan to call it perfect?

They rode quietly and tensely for about ten minutes. Luca glanced around. “Where are we going?”

“Saint Helena.”

“Dylan, I can’t live in Saint Helena!”

“Why? You have something against farm towns?”

“Damn. The median rental has to be over $4,000. It’s a chic farm town with gourmet restaurants.”

“Don’t panic yet.”

Calm down. Just enjoy the ride and find an apartment some other time. He fixed his eyes on the passing trees.

They rode down Main Street, just a short distance from Culinary Arts, and Luca peered at the beautiful home stores and wine tasting venues—like San Francisco had married a small town in Connecticut and they had a baby. He did love it here.

Dylan turned right onto a narrow street and wound back into the trees and vineyards until he pulled in front of a low, sprawling—should he call it a house? More like a mansion. He turned off the car.

“Where are we?” Luca frowned.

“A friend’s house. Come on.” He climbed out of the car and, after another round of frowning, Luca followed.

A long stone walkway led up to the front door. He bit his tongue and kept quiet as Dylan rang the doorbell.

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