“Vallois!” he called, his loud voice echoing through the large, open room. His eyes skimmed over the familiar furniture, but now there was the occasional brown box stacked against the wall with something scrawled along the side in Andrei’s familiar handwriting. The great move-in was progressing. About fucking time.
“Upstairs,” a voice immediately answered. Both men turned toward the young, slender man with brown hair and a warm smile. “He’ll be down in a minute. Something about Andrei and work.”
Rowe inwardly cringed at those words. He was hoping that it was a matter of Lucas being busy with work and Andrei not happy about it, rather than the other way around. With Noah showing up for the first time in thirteen years, Rowe had taken a personal day, leaving Andrei to handle things back in the office. But the worry was shoved from his mind as he watched Ian pull a serving platter out of Lucas’s cabinets.
“Are you cooking?” Rowe asked on a moan. He drew in a deep breath, scenting the air while wandering into the kitchen. “I thought we were ordering in, giving you a night off?”
“And lose an opportunity to use you guys as guinea pigs? Not a chance.”
“Smells fantastic,” he said as he walked into the heat coming from the oven.
“Damn, Ward!” Noah laughed behind him. “You just ate. I don’t remember you being such a bottomless pit.”
Rowe wrapped one arm around Ian’s shoulders, drawing him close while at the same time reaching for the oven door to peek inside. “There’s always room for Ian’s cooking.”
Ian rolled his eyes as he looked up at Noah over Rowe’s shoulder for a second before smacking Rowe’s hand and carefully shutting the oven again. Rowe let Ian pull away from him and approach Noah, who was smiling at Ian.
Unease twisted deep in his gut and he struggled to wipe the confusion from his face. Something felt…wrong. Like he suddenly needed to stand between Ian and Noah.
“Hi. Ian Pierce.”
Noah stepped forward and took his hand with a smile that made Ian’s cheeks grow redder and Rowe knew it had nothing to do with the heat from the oven and everything to do with those damn dimples. “Noah Keegan. I’m assuming that you’re the chef that Rowe said is amazing.”
“I don’t know,” he hedged. “Rowe just likes to eat and hates to cook.”
“Whatever,” Rowe grumbled, turning his attention back to the oven. Pulling the door down just enough to peek inside, he glanced over what looked like flaky golden rolls of bread that smelled sweet and heavenly. “You’re amazing and you know it. You’ve got the most popular restaurant in the entire city.”
Ian grabbed an oven mitt off the counter and smacked Rowe on the back of the head. Rowe yelped and jerked back from the oven, rubbing the back of head.
“Get out of there!” Ian snapped, waving at the oven mitt at him like a sword as if to beat him back farther. “I don’t want you screwing this up. It’s the first time I’ve made them. Andrei’s mom finally gave me some new recipes. You don’t even want to know what I had to promise that woman.”
“That’s not dinner, right?” Rowe took another step back, holding his hands up in surrender. You didn’t fuck with Ian when he was cooking.
“No, it’s a dessert.”
A low moan slipped from Noah, drawing Rowe’s eyes back to his friend. He pointed to the fresh blueberries sitting beside the sink. “Oh god, you’re making papana?i cu brânza de vaci ?i affine. I never thought I’d have that again.”
“Oh, you’ve been to Romania?” Ian asked.
“Some.” Noah gave a shrug, his eyes locking on Ian again. “I’ve spent most of my time stationed in Europe and the Middle East.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up too high. Like I said, it’s the first time I’ve made it,” Ian said. “I also made this fried dough using the same sweet cheese—”
“You made placinte cu brânza dulce?” Noah moaned again. Stepping forward, he leaned both his forearms on the counter in the middle of the kitchen and pinned Ian with a hooded look that had Rowe grinding his teeth. “For papana?i, I’ll get on my knees for you. If you can make sarmale, I’ll propose marriage right now.”
“Keegan!” Rowe snarled in warning, but Ian just laughed, the light sound filling the penthouse.
“What?” Noah blinked wide innocent eyes at him. He turned his gaze on Ian and smiled. “I’m sorry. Are you married already? If so, he or she is a lucky son of a bitch.”
“No, not married,” Ian quickly said, taking a step closer to Noah, “but I don’t know if there are too many men in Cincinnati with an appreciation for cabbage rolls.”
“Someone who can make good sarmale and placinte cu brânza dulce is worth marrying in a heartbeat,” Noah said in a low, velvety voice and it looked like Ian was just going to melt into a puddle before Rowe’s eyes.