“I would have loved to go to catering college.” The longing in his own voice was apparent even to Luke’s ears and he gave Michel a wry smile. “I really wanted to learn to cook professionally, expand my repertoire, and maybe get a job in a swanky restaurant like the one in the hotel complex up the Hill. But no hotel or restaurant will give me a chance as a chef if all I’ve ever done is work here. Not that Pop sees that as a problem. He wants the restaurant staying in the family’s hands and since Conner and Ryan are not cooks, it falls to me. He thinks I should be happy that I’m doing what I want, and the restaurant will eventually be mine. I just had other dreams.”

“It isn’t fair that he’s taking them from you.” Michel scowled, his voice sombre. “I know what that’s like. Had I simply fallen in with my father’s plans, I would never have gone to Europe and broadened my horizons. Sometimes you must do what’s best for you and wait to get what you heart truly desires. I’m regarded as something of a black sheep in my family. You sound similar.”

“Maybe. I dunno.” Luke began to gather the utensils for eating and Michel accompanied him. The spike of arousal as Michel came close surprised Luke. As much as he was attracted to men not women, no one had affected him as much or as quickly as Michel did.

“That might work for you, but I have no tangible qualifications for my passion.” Luke pouted before another sigh slipped free. “I’d probably have to start as a pot boy and work my way up. I have some savings, but they wouldn’t last long in the city. As much as my brothers love me, I doubt they would want to incur Pop’s wrath by letting me stay with them. Conner’s almost engaged anyway, so that wouldn’t really be an option.”

“Have you applied for anything at the resort’s restaurant?” Michel asked. “Here, let me help you set the table.”

To Luke’s surprise, Michel deftly set the table with glasses, silverware, and napkins and even lit the candle sitting in a wine bottle. Michel ginned. “Ta-da. I can even use a knife and fork.”

Snorting with laughter, Luke poured the last of a bottle of Valpolicella into the glasses Michel set out.

“In answer to your question, no, I haven’t I never thought I’d really stand a chance up there. Some old rivalries die hard.” Luke shrugged. “You know, the old us and them. Pop still bangs on about it.”

“I hate to tell you this. My father owns the resort.” Michel laughed softly. “He knows Tony, your pop, and can be just as bad. What does your pop call us?”

“Manipulative, deceitful, and leeches.” Luke replied hesitantly, stunned at Michel’s revelation, but his new friend simply grinned showing perfect, white teeth. Luke also caught a glimpse of what looked like a tattoo under Michel’s left ear. Looks like a small crescent moon.

“Father used to say you’re a pack of ill-mannered mongrels. So between us we prove them both wrong.” Michel picked up his glass. “To new friendships.”