It was a near seven-hour drive from New York City to Montreal. Alfred Williams-Jones trekked up north quite often throughout the year to see his brother. Usually in one-month stints, though sometimes he made the trip in one weekend– driving out of the city after nightfall Friday night and heading back early Monday morning in order to get to work. But that was the blessedly fortunate thing about his job– he could work from just about anywhere. It was why he was able to go to Quebec so often. Border patrol practically knew him by this point.
Sure, he could fly up to Montreal in under two hours, but Alfred liked the drive. It was the one aspect of his life he preferred a lackadaisical approach to, his little ritual. His music was hooked up through Bluetooth in his car and he sang his way into Canada.
That is, that was normally how his trips went.
"Hey, who sings this?" the man in Alfred's passenger seat asked through a sleep-heavy voice. The question caused him to make an abrupt halt in his singing and he flicked a mildly annoyed look his friend's way.
"The Rolling Stones," he answered.
"Yeah, let's keep it that way," the man replied and readjusted his arms folded behind his head.
Alfred made a short, sharp swerve on the highway and the man next to him shot violently upright, German expletives slicing the air.
"What was that for?" he exploded.
Alfred smirked. "Now we're even."
"A heart attack is not equal payback!"
Alfred shrugged.
Gilbert Beilschmidt was Alfred's best friend. They worked together at the same graphic design firm, Gilbert a web designer and Alfred a concept artist-slash-typographer, but they'd known each other since college, having taken many of the same courses.
Gilbert didn't usually accompany him on these trips, in fact this was the first, and Alfred may have overlooked the cons of being in car with him for six hours. Gilbert stretched and yawned, raising the seatback from its reclined position.
"Are we there yet?"
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yes, almost."
Gilbert was quiet for a minute, watching the roadside whip past. "What's your brother's restaurant called again?"
"L'Érable de Kuma. Kuma's his dog," he supplied as a reminder.
"He named his restaurant after his dog?"
"You haven't seen his dog."
"What? Is his dog the queen?"
Alfred snorted. "He acts like it."
Gilbert mused. "I haven't seen Matt since last summer. How is he?"
Alfred cocked his head, wondering if it really had been that long since Gilbert had seen his twin. "Good, I guess. Sugaring season has started so he's been holed up in his cabin."
Gilbert laughed. "So we're rescuing him from solitary confinement."
"He's got a lot of guys that work for him this time of year, I wouldn't say he's alone," Alfred said, without taking Gilbert's mind into account.
He snickered. "Then I'm sure he's not lonely up there."
Alfred smacked his shoulder and ignored Gilbert's "Stop it!"
"Gil, I swear to God I'll kick your ass out of this car without even slowing down," he threatened, but the seed of slight paranoia had already been planted. It was no secret–to Gilbert at least–that Alfred was perhaps a bit defensive of his "little" brother.
"He's letting you stay with us the entire month. Don't be an ass."
Surprisingly, Gilbert didn't have a comeback. He simply folded his arms over his chest and sat back in his seat, lazily staring ahead out the windshield.
It was close to noon when they passed through Montreal, crossing the rivières to the forested land to the west. Not long after leaving the city limits, urban infrastructure thinned out until they were driving through the woods, pure white snow glittering around them.
"Are we going to his cabin?" Gilbert asked.
Alfred shook his head. "He'd be at the shack right now. We'll meet him there."
And if Alfred knew his brother, Mattie would already be knee-deep in syrup, possibly testing new creations. His mouth watered in anticipation.
.
Matthew Williams-Jones was not knee-deep in syrup, but he was knuckle-deep.
His rustic wood and stainless steel kitchen was empty of cooks or workers except for himself. He'd declared it a – rare – morning off for them. It wasn't time to open the restaurant yet, and Matthew liked to experiment as much as possible before opening for the season.
The sound of the technician tinkering with the machinery in the other room was a white-noise soundtrack to his intense focus on cooking. His hands were covered in sticky maple syrup, from the reserve barrels they'd filled last year. His hair had been tied back into a stubby ponytail and his glasses slid down his nose once in a while, which he pushed up with the back of his hand. His dog was snoozing in the shaft of sunlight shining onto the floor through the window.
This was Matthew's fifth year in his cabane à sucre – his sugar shack. For him, maple syrup was a way of life. He'd gone from simple syrup addict to full-fledged sap farmer. He went to culinary school and took some courses in business in order to establish his restaurant. He bought a cabin not far from the shack and that was where he and his faithful dog, Kuma, resided. He was living a life he could only have dreamed of as a kid, and his reputation was spreading throughout the culinary world.
Matthew didn't hear the car crunching the snow and gravel out in front of his shack, but he did turn his head at Kuma's barks. He saw his brother's car and began licking his fingers clean.
Alfred opened the door, his shoulders scrunched up to shield from the cold. He was wearing an insulated parka, a scarf, and a beanie. Matthew hadn't been running the heater, but the heat from the stove and the boilers were enough to keep the room warm. He himself wore only a flannel button-up, sleeves rolled while he worked. Alfred was always a baby about the cold.
"Mattie!" he greeted, lightning grin stretching his lips. He quickly shut the door and began shedding his warm accessories.
"Hey, Al. How was the drive?"
"Same 'ole. I about kicked Gil out of car three times, but otherwise it was fine."
The name made Matthew freeze. "Gilbert's here? Now?"
Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah."
"You said he was flying in after finishing some work."
"He finished early, so we came up together." Alfred was giving him a questioning look now. "I texted you about it."
God, maple syrup was all over his hands, his shirt. He was a mess. "I didn't get a text."
Alfred pulled his phone out. "I swear I told you…" he trailed as he checked his messages. "Shit. You're right. The message failed to send. How did I not notice that?"
The front door opened with a bang! and Matthew was left gaping in panic, his sticky hands held helplessly in front of him.
Gilbert. Alfred's best friend. His face was all flat planes and sharp edges, his eyes so molten they were almost red, his hair so pale it was almost white. His body was lean and rangy, and he walked with a loose-jointed confidence – or was it arrogance? – that made Matthew's pulse race.
Matthew has had a crush on him for years. He would even admit that it was quite massive.
Gilbert locked eyes with him and he flashed his signature quicksilver grin. "Matt! Long time no see!"
Matthew laughed, nervously. He wanted to slap himself. "Hi, Gil."
"It smells awesome in here, what are you making?" he asked, venturing over to sniff the syrup simmering in saucepans.
"Just… trying some recipes," Matt said, wetting his lips.
Gilbert was standing next to him. He glanced up and his gaze moved quickly around Matthew's face. "You're hair's longer," he observed.
Instinctively, Matthew pushed a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was back in a tail and that his hand was sticky with syrup. He mumbled curses and Gilbert laughed.
"Are you by yourself here?" his brother asked.
Matthew nodded. "Here in the shack. The guys are out in the bush."
"Who are these 'guys'?" Gilbert asked.
"My foremen. They're my right and left hands around here."
Gilbert pushed his bottom lip out, considering it. "Hmm. I thought you did everything yourself."
Matthew chuckled. "I like to think I could, but that's impossible."
Gilbert's gaze warmed his insides. "From what I hear though, you're pretty awesome with this stuff."
Matthew's lips were twitching, wanting to spread into a wide, thrilled grin. Matthew ducked his heated face away to wash his hands at the sink. "Thanks, but there's too much involved for one person to do," he said, trailing off at the end.
"Mattie?" Alfred's voice broke through Gilbert's praise replaying over in his head.
Alfred was looking at him only slightly oddly. One thing Matthew was glad for was his brother's tendency to be dense enough to keep from embarrassing him.
"When will you be finished here?" Alfred asked.
"Oh, I'll start cleaning up. It'll only take a few minutes," he replied. "Will Kuma and I fit in your car?"
Gilbert piped up. "You didn't drive yourself here?"
Matthew shook his head. "It's not that far of a walk, and Kuma likes it."
"You're insane."
Matthew was smiling again, unable to help it.
.
Matthew told himself that the only reason Gilbert had flustered him so was because he hadn't been expecting him at that moment. Now that he had showered the maple out of his hair, his nerves had calmed and Matthew was able to face Gilbert in the carefully controlled way he always had through the years.
In a red sweatshirt Matthew entered the kitchen where Alfred was seated at the counter, scrolling through his phone, a beer from Matthew's fridge in his hand. He glanced up when Matthew entered.
Matthew noted the look on his face. "What is it?"
"Do you have a crush on Gil?"
When his brother wasn't dense, he was startlingly quick and blunt.
He scoffed, his heart jack-knifing. "Why would you ask that?"
"You didn't say no."
Matthew belatedly swung his gaze around.
"He's outside," Alfred supplied. "Throwing the ball for Kuma."
Alfred was so serious. It was… not like him.
"How long have you had a crush on him?"
Matthew crossed his arms, gripping his sleeves in his hands. "I don't believe I even said I did."
Alfred leveled him a blank look. "You were a fluttering mess when we walked in. Laughing and giggling at his every word."
"I was not giggling."
"Sure sounded like it."
"Alfred," he warned.
Alfred whined and laid himself over the countertop, hands gripping his hair. "Mattie!" Now that was more like his brother. "Why him of all people?"
Matthew gave him a twisted look of confusion. "He's your best friend."
"Exactly! That means I know him better than most people. Gil's not who you want to have a crush on."
"And why not?" Matthew asked, thinking of Gilbert. He was imagining him in his mind; laughing, smirking, winking… telling Matthew that he was awesome.
"No! Stop it!" Alfred interrupted his thoughts. "Stop smiling!"
"Al, what is it? Are you going to tell me he's got a criminal record?"
"Who knows what he was doing in Germany? But my point is that one, he's my friend so it's a little weird, and two, he's crazy. He's a horrible ladies' man, Mattie."
Matthew's face fell into a small frown. "So he's straight?"
"What? No, he's bi, he– what I mean to say is that he's a huge player."
Matthew stared at him.
Alfred huffed, exasperated. "If he knows you've got a crush on him he's going to play you up and then drop you once he's bored."
Matthew shrugged. "So?"
Alfred gaped. "So?" he repeated. "Did you hear everything I just told you?"
"I never said I was trying to marry the guy. Al, why are you so concerned with him now?"
"I'm concerned for you."
The tension that was building in his shoulders fell away. Matthew sighed and rounded the counter. He slung an arm around Alfred's shoulders and said, "I can handle myself. If it even comes to that."
"I'm the one that's going to have to punch him if he does anything wrong. I won't hesitate, I've done it before."
Matthew laughed. "I am perfectly capable of punching people, Al. Thanks anyway."
"How long?" Alfred morosely repeated his earlier question.
Matthew picked at his thumbnail, suddenly getting butterflies again. "Since I first met him."
He watched the wheels in Alfred's brain turn, calculating just how long that was. Then he groaned and dropped his forehead to the countertop.
.
Gilbert was throwing the ball for Matthew's outrageously huge, white dog across the snowy lawn, back and forth, before he glanced through the sliding glass doors and saw the brothers across from each other, talking.
Alfred's back was to him, but he could see Matthew.
He must have just gotten out of the shower, as the ends of his hair were still wet. Hair that flirted with his slim jawline, curled at the back of his neck. Hair the color of the sun that glinted off the surface of the snow.
Gilbert threw the ball again.
Now Matt was smiling. He ignored Kuma's snuffling nose. Matt's smile was… calm. Almost angelic – Gilbert would stab himself if he ever said that aloud.
Alfred was waving his hands around now and Matthew glared at him. Gilbert snickered behind the back of his hand. Despite looking amazingly alike, he was always intrigued by the difference in personality between the two of them. He supposed it was natural, if Matt had to deal with Alfred his whole life.
Matthew sighed and came around the counter to stand next to Alfred, his arm draped over his shoulder. Gilbert quirked a brow. Had Matt always had a fantastic ass? Those jeans were a blessing. He had long legs and Gilbert's mind wandered…
Until Kuma barked at him and Gilbert reluctantly stopped ogling Alfred's brother.
He himself was the only soul and would remain the only soul who knew that he harbored a long time crush on the guy. For one thing, it wasn't like he feared the wrath of Alfred, but he didn't even want to open that can up.
"Come on," he told Kuma and the dog followed him into the house. He slid the door open and the two turned their heads at the same time. Matthew was smiling. Alfred was pouting. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Matt said before Alfred could open his mouth.
Gilbert raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I'm making poutine," Matthew announced, pulling potatoes out of a cupboard. "Al, make yourself useful." He handed Alfred a knife and Alfred stepped around the island. He was facing Gilbert now, a weird look in his eye.
"What?" Gilbert asked.
"Nothing," he mumbled.
"Hey, Matt, need any help?" he asked.
Matthew gave him a dazzlingly bright smile, his golden hair swishing with the movement of his head. Gilbert swallowed. "No, that's okay, Gil. Make yourself right at home, but thank you for offering."
He didn't miss the little smirk sent Alfred's way.
For the rest of the evening Gilbert got to sit back and watch Alfred and Matthew go at it over the hockey game on TV. He learned many things in that one night, of the most evident being that Alfred should not start monetary bets with Matthew.
Matt's cabin had one guest room outfitted with a bed large enough for Alfred to spread himself out on, as he was prone to doing, while leaving enough space to keep from smacking Gilbert in his sleep. Alfred had tried to cajole Matthew into letting him sleep in his room – tried being the operative word – but one unamused look and a firm, flat, "No," from Matthew killed and buried that plan. Gilbert didn't care either way. As long as he wasn't kicked in his sleep, otherwise Al was going to have a bad time.
And wouldn't he know it, Gil slept unperturbed and well. It was probably the road trip combined with trekking through snow and getting all those smiles from Matthew…
Needless to say, he dreamed well, too.
Gilbert woke in the morning only slightly groggy. The light of morning was soft and the air crisp.
He glanced over at Alfred, sprawled on his stomach, face half buried in the pillow.
Gil was normally an early riser, despite the late hour he always fell asleep. Party late, wake early was how he usually functioned. He had always been able to work on fewer hours of sleep. His phone read 7:45.
He changed clothes, brushed his teeth in the en suite bathroom, and shuffled out into the kitchen.
The sight out the glass doors made him pause. The terrain around Matthew's cabin was relatively flat, and the night's snowfall had produced the most wondrous sight. He could describe it no other way than a sprawling, white blanket, flawless and undisturbed. Gilbert stood in front of the glass doors, his puffs of breath fogging the glass. He'd never seen snow this immaculate, in neither Germany nor New York. Gilbert liked snow, he liked cold, unlike Alfred, and he thought this would be a nice way to live.
"Good morning."
Gilbert looked over his shoulder to find Matthew entering the kitchen. He was wearing jeans like the previous day, a sweater with long sleeves that Matt's fingers curled in, and socked feet.
"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" he continued, nodding toward the snow outside.
"Yeah, it is."
Kuma lumbered in from the hallway and Matthew led him to the door, opened it, and Gilbert frowned when Kuma stepped through the snow to relieve himself. The pristine blanket was disturbed.
Matthew snickered. "You get used to the novelty." He rounded the center island again. "Coffee?" he asked, setting up the machine.
"Please," Gilbert replied, seating himself at the counter, where Alfred had been the day before.
Matthew leaned his forearms on the counter. "You've never been up to the shack before?"
"Nope."
His lips puckered in thought, and it was cute. Then he flashed a cunning smile.
"Why don't you head over with me? I'll show you around."
Gil raised an eyebrow. "Al's still sleeping."
Matthew flapped a hand in the direction of the guest room. "He'll be sleeping for three hours more at least."
Spend some time alone with Matt? With Al out of the picture? Hell yeah.
Gil shrugged nonchalantly. "Sounds good to me."
Matt grinned and while he turned to pour coffee in travel mugs Gil took a moment to once more appreciate a fine ass.
They stepped into their boots and Gilbert followed Matt out the door. Matt whistled for Kuma and the dog trotted along beside them happily in the snow.
"How's your brother doing?" Matt asked him.
Gilbert turned his head, a little surprised to hear his brother mentioned. Not many people knew he even had one.
He smiled. "I told you he was in the army, right?"
Matt nodded, attentive. "How long?"
"Four years now. He's going to Dresden soon, to the officer training school."
"Gil, that's amazing."
Matt's sparkling eyes and high praise for his brother made him puff himself up a little. "Ludwig's crazy, but it's all he's wanted to do."
"You never went into the military?"
Gilbert flashed a grin. "I could have, but I was too reckless."
Matt's laughter made his chest warm. "Was?"
He retaliated by bumping his shoulder into Matt. "Opa wanted me to," he said. "He was a military man himself. And a hard-ass."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I was taking care of Lud. Raising him." Matt's silence had him glancing over. He had a thoughtful expression on his face. "I promised our mother and father that I would."
Finally, Matt smiled again. "And look where he is now."
Gil watched him. That makes you the amazing one, was what he heard.
"Have you gone back to Germany at all?" Matt asked next.
"I usually go around this time, actually," Gilbert told him. "But…"
"But what?"
Gilbert sighed. "I don't get to see Lud much when I do go, and ever since he enlisted Opa and I don't really have anything to talk about. I was even debating going or not this time before Al invited me up here. Thought it'd be a nice change."
Matt was quiet for a moment before he said, "Well, I'm glad you're here." Gilbert's lips twitched into a smile, eyebrow raised. Matt hastily added, "It's just been a while. Since I've seen you." Gilbert started snickering at the way Matt's eyes darted everywhere but at him. "Ah, I mean we always seem to miss each other when I come down to visit Al."
Gilbert wrapped an arm around Matt's shoulders, giving him a brief squeeze. "I know. Your brother's an asshole like that."
"How are you even friends?"
"He's fun to drink with. Did you know he's quite the affectionate drunk?"
He could hear the eye-roll in Matt's voice. "Unfortunately, I know too well."
Gilbert laughed. He wanted to keep his arm around Matt's shoulder. It felt nice. Gilbert would grudgingly admit that he stood an inch shorter than Matt – barely an inch, really. Was he really that surprised, when Al and Matt were physically the same? Well, he was always with Al, and he didn't really count. What mattered was that Matt hadn't attempted to move away yet, and Gilbert relished in it.
"There's the shack," Matthew said, pointing to a snow-covered log cabin between the trees.
Gilbert dropped his arm, and shoved his hands in his coat pockets.
"It just looks like a shack," he said.
Matthew grinned knowingly. "Everything's inside, and the real work happens in the back." They reached the property and Matthew spread his arms. "Bienvenue à la Cabane!"
.
Matthew was more than a little excited to show Gilbert his turf. If the restaurant was his joy, the machinery in the back was his pride. His sugar maple bush, extending 100 acres, was his heart. Each precious sapling was a little part of his DNA.
His foremen would have been there by now, ready to survey the network of tubes connecting tree to tree to pump station. It was grueling work sometimes, as they had to continuously scout the land, clearing debris and checking to make sure the pressure in the tubes was consistent.
In fact, Matthew and Gilbert met them behind the shack as they walked around.
Matthew called out to them in French, and his two tall foremen looked over.
"Gilbert, these are the guys I was telling you about," he said. "Ivan, my mechanical engineer. He manages the tubes and pump stations, as well as some of the machinery in the shack." Ivan wore his signature white scarf, tucked into a light jacket. "And this is Berwald, my master boiler. He cooks the maple water down to syrup." Berwald had also donned a light jacket and a knit beanie. Both men watched them silently, with impassive gazes. They greeted Gilbert and Matthew with little more than nods of acknowledgement.
"You mean you don't cook the syrup?" Gilbert asked.
Matthew laughed. "No. See, the actual cooking of the syrup involves a god-like level of patience that, sadly, I don't have. Berwald though, he's like magic with the maple water. It's all about precision."
He watched Gilbert look them up and down, his hands shoved into his pockets.
He grinned. "Here, come on," he said, directing Gilbert to a two-seater ATV. "I'll give you the grand tour."
Matthew was pulling away from the shack and onto the snowy, track-ridden path to the interior of the maple bush.
"Are those guys crazy, or what?" Gilbert asked once they were a distance away. "They're going to freeze."
Matthew glanced at Gilbert in his thick, quilted parka, scarf, gloves, and hat and laughed. "Ivan's from Russia. Berwald's from Sweden. This is nothing to them. That's why I picked them," he said.
Gilbert scowled at Matthew's own light coat and made a tch sound. Matt laughed again.
"Do you do this all year round?" Gilbert asked.
"No, no. You'd make the trees run dry, and when they're dry they're useless," Matthew explained. He loved talking about his trees, especially to those that seemed interested, unlike Alfred who had heard the whole spiel backwards and forwards. "The sugar season only lasts about two months. In fact, we'll be tapping the trees soon."
"How do you know when?"
Matthew stopped the ATV and motioned for Gilbert to follow him. "You just feel it."
Gilbert laughed. "You feel it?"
Matthew nodded seriously, a smile on his face. "The weather's been changing, very slightly, but the trees will be ready to release their maple water in a matter of days. The trick is choosing the right time. If you tap too early the hole might start closing too soon. If you tap too late, you'll lose a lot of water."
He walked out into the network of tubes linking the trees to the main pipeline. "This tubing connects all the trees. Each tree has a spigot, two if it's a bigger tree, and the tubes feed the water to the main line, which runs all the way to the pump station. Sometimes there's a leak in a tube, you can tell by the pressure gauges in the station. In that case, one of the guys goes out to find the trouble, and splices the tube. Most likely, troubles occur from falling branches and squirrels. Autumn is an important time for us – that's when we comb the bush and clear out fallen branches and debris in preparation for winter."
Gilbert watched and listened to him all in silence, a slightly baffled look on his face.
Matthew snickered. "Here, I'll take us back to the shack and give you a brief rundown of the process."
On the ride back to the shack, Gilbert asked, "How long have you been doing this?"
"About five years, so far," Matthew answered. "I learned from my grandfather."
"Hmm," Gilbert said. "I don't think Alfred's ever mentioned that."
Matthew tilted his head. "Al obviously didn't want to pursue it like I did. I became grand-père's successor."
There was never any contention between his grandfather and Alfred, Matthew mused. His grandfather was a patient man, understanding the needs and fickleness of maple syrup. The job wasn't suitable for everyone, and Alfred's impatience was infamous. There was just something about The Life that Matthew loved. Whether it was the simplicity of producing a single quality product, his beloved Quebec, or the day-to-day surprises and anecdotes, Matthew wasn't absolutely sure. It was a mixture of everything.
Back at the shack, Matthew led Gilbert into the pump room and explained the operation.
"The maple water collected from the trees flows into the main holding tank here, and then goes through the filtration system. After filtration, a concentrate of sugar is left which goes into the evaporator. The evaporator is where all the magic happens and the maple water turns into maple syrup. It's a science, and Berwald is very territorial of his evaporator, so don't linger around here too much. If the pans aren't cleaned on a daily basis, then the whole batch could come out wrong. Syrup is very finicky.
"After it's finished evaporating, it goes into our barrels for use throughout the sugar season and as reserve throughout the rest of the year. The reserve syrup is what we're using to test recipes right now."
"Is that what you were doing when we got here?" Gilbert asked.
Matthew recalled the previous day, when he'd been startled by Gilbert's unexpected presence. "Yeah, although it was just me. The rest of my cooks will be back today for a full day of recipe testing. We've got to prepare for the incoming customers, and using maple syrup instead of white sugar requires altering recipes."
Gilbert blinked, thoroughly bemused. Matthew laughed again. Gilbert's face was so readable and entertaining sometimes. "Luckily, you don't have to do anything but eat what comes out of the kitchen," he told him.
Gilbert perked up.
Matthew licked his lip. "Maybe you'd even like to help me taste test?"
Gilbert laughed as well, with something that Matthew hoped was cunning flirtation flashing in his sharp eyes. "It'll be a hardship," Gilbert drawled. "But I accept."
Matthew grinned.
.
Gilbert was… dazzled. When Matthew gave him the tour of the trees – the maple bush – his eyes were lit with pure joy and pride. Gilbert sometimes missed some information because he'd caught himself focusing so hard on Matthew's cheeks, tinged red from the cold, or his eyes, pale blue like ice in the light of dawn. His breath puffed out in wispy clouds when he talked. He thought Matthew caught him staring more than once.
In the warm shack, Gilbert found an excuse to stand closer to Matt. After all, he needed to see the complicated equipment, right? Sure, he kept his hands in his pockets. There was no way he could touch Matthew right now without it leading to one thing or another. He himself wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish, he just knew that it wasn't time yet.
Oh, but when Matthew smiled at him, laughed at him, he wanted to–
"Gil?"
His gaze snapped away from Matthew's lips to his questioning eyes. "Hmm? What?"
"I asked if you wanted to come see the kitchen in action?"
"Yeah," he said, perhaps too quickly. "Ah, yeah. I'm just going to… look around outside a bit more."
Matt arched an eyebrow but said, "Okay."
Gilbert promptly exited the warm shack to the shocking chill outside. Just what he needed. He walked around for a bit, not straying too far from the shack, but he walked around toward the back, where they left the ATV. He heard the sound of wood being chopped and found one of the huge men Matthew had introduced him too earlier.
The man turned and looked him up and down. He held the axe loosely in his hand. Gilbert couldn't remember who this one was. The man wore a thick scarf and industrial leather gloves.
"You are Gilbert, yes?" the man said in a prevalent Russian accent.
This one must be Ivan then. "Yeah, hey," he answered.
"I have not seen you around before."
"Oh, I don't work here. I'm a friend of Matt's brother."
"Oh, Alfred," Ivan said, a weird smile alighting his face. "He is here then?"
Gilbert took a step back. "Yeah, he is. He's back at Matt's right now."
"Tell him to come say hello, will you?"
He was still smiling. Gilbert wasn't sure what was up with this guy and Al, but he wondered if it were worth tormenting his friend by following Ivan's request. He laughed nervously. "Sure, big guy. I'll just, ah, head back in. See you."
Gilbert high-tailed it back round the shack to the front entrance and slipped into the kitchen off to the side.
The dining room was silent, but behind the swinging doors French chatter bounced off the walls. A team of ten people was stationed around the kitchen, all cooking something different, giving each other samples to taste. Gilbert found Matt standing with a young woman, both hovering over a saucepan.
Gilbert had a very limited understanding of French, and Matt and the girl with long black hair were speaking too quickly between each other for him to even comprehend anything.
"Hey, Matt," he said.
Matt looked around and grinned. "Gil, hey. Gil, this is Michelle, one of my pâtissières. Michelle, Alfred's best friend, Gilbert."
"Alfred's friend? Nice to meet you," she said amiably, her accent thick.
Matt said one last thing to her in French then turned back to Gilbert. He stepped back out of the way of the others with him, against the wall.
"It's a lot of work," he said. "Testing recipes. Syrup has a different molecular structure than white sugar, so you can't simply substitute it. A lot of trial and error goes on here. We've almost compiled the complete menu though. Everyone's pretty excited."
"Does Al cook too?"
Matt swung a puzzled gaze toward him. "Al? No, he sticks to the eating part. Why?"
Gilbert shrugged. "Everyone seems to know him. Your guy, Ivan, out back… seems like he knows him. He was kind of freaking me out actually," he mumbled.
Matt laughed. "Ah, you talked with Ivan. Don't worry about Ivan and Al. They've been antagonizing each other for years. Nothing serious."
Gilbert snickered. "Then I won't feel bad for sending him over there."
As if on cue, Gilbert heard a bang in the restaurant and Alfred calling out, "Mattie, you here?"
Alfred, looking a little tired and frazzled but smiling, entered the kitchen. A few members of the kitchen crew called out greetings to Alfred and he approached the two of them.
"Hey, you guys left without me," he said.
"You weren't going to be up yet, and I needed to get down here. Gil happened to come with me," Matt explained. "I showed him around."
"Yeah? Do you need me to do anything?"
Matt thought a moment. "Not here. How are my menus?"
"Just waiting on your final approval."
"Well, I have some more to add so I'll go over them with you later. I need them printed next week. We open to customers in two."
"Gotcha," Al said. He flicked a slightly narrowed gaze between the two of them. "Enjoying yourself, Gil?"
"Sure am," he replied. Gilbert suppressed a grin; messing with Al was one of his favorite hobbies. "You know, this guy, Ivan, sounded eager to say hi to you."
Gilbert watched in amazement as Alfred started, a wily look in his eye. "Ivan? He's still working for you, Mattie? Where the hell is he?"
Matt was trying to stifle a laugh. "Out back."
Alfred stormed off, muttering things like, "That bastard. Russian asshole."
Once Alfred was gone, Matt burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. He wiped a tear from his eye. "Gil, you're the worst."
Gilbert chuckled. "He's just too easy."
Matt was smiling at him in a way that tickled at his insides. He pushed a hand through his hair, nudged Gilbert's shoulder.
"Would you like a drink?" he asked.
"Of course," Gilbert replied.
"Come out to the bar with me, it's quieter."
Gilbert followed him out the kitchen to the main room. He could only hear a soft buzz coming from the kitchen, the restaurant was so empty and quiet.
Matt went around the bar to make drinks. Gilbert watched him curiously as he slid a chilled pint glass across to him.
"Maple stout," Matt said.
"You weren't kidding around with this maple stuff." Gilbert took a sip. It was delicious. "Wow," he said. "That's amazing."
Matt laughed, that light, infectious laugh. "Thanks. And I never kid with maple." He winked. Gilbert swallowed.
"So, um," he began, trying to think of something else to say. "You said that Al was doing your menus?"
Matt nodded. "He does all my graphics, kind of his way of helping me out here, since he never got involved with the shack directly. He did the shack logo, did you know?"
Gilbert glanced back at the front door. It was a full pane of glass, bordered with wood. In the center was the shack logo, a circular design featuring a happy caricature of Matt's dog, Kuma, and the words L'Érable de Kuma: Cabane à Sucre curved around the circle.
Gilbert turned back around, and Matthew was watching him. He cleared his throat and took another swig of beer.
"You said that you don't make maple all year round."
"Yeah."
"What do you do in the meantime?"
Matt smiled. "I still cook. Not as much as I do while the shack is open, but we do host events from time to time and serve a short menu. Otherwise, we're gearing up for the next season. There's lots of things to do in the summer. We have to cut wood to heat the evaporator for next year, do a thorough cleaning, and pen new pigs."
"Pigs?"
Matt laughed. "I didn't show them to you when we were out there, but we keep some animals, and a garden. All the summer work doesn't require the full staff, so it's usually just me, Ivan, and Berwald most days. Sometimes weeks will go without anyone here. Berwald and I also do wood-carving on the side. We get a list of clients every year and that simultaneously gives us extra work and a use for the fallen trees.
"But summer is also when the storms blow in. They create more messes than anything, so once autumn rolls around we're back to cleaning the bush, clearing debris and fallen branches."
Gilbert had been paying rapt attention, partly because hearing about what Matt did intrigued him, but what was perhaps more intriguing in that moment was the way the afternoon light lit the strands of his hair golden. The way the waves brushed over his cheekbone, and the way Matt pushed it back with his hand.
He'd never really looked at Matt this way before. The New York glare didn't do him justice like it did out here, where the sun could shine uninhibited. Gilbert could feel himself getting sappier by the moment – and it had nothing to do with the maple.
"Gilbert?" Matthew said, trailing, something shining in his eyes.
"Hey Gil, you in here?" came Alfred's voice.
He leaned back, away from Matthew, as Al entered the dining room, taking a seat next to him.
He and Matt cast each other amused glances, and Gilbert said, "So what did Ivan have to say?"
"Ivan?" Alfred responded, as if he hadn't just been out there talking to him. "What do I care? He gets his rocks off teasing me, some shit like that."
Gilbert didn't mention that Alfred seemed rather eager to go find him when he'd mentioned him.
"Oh, that's too bad. He made it sound like you were good friends."
Alfred scoffed, a look of disgust passing over his face. "Friends with him? Gil, he is not my friend. Enemies, more like."
Gil hid a smile behind his glass. "If you say so." Matthew hung his head to hide his.
Matthew came around the bar, hooked his arms around both their necks and leaned in close. Gilbert's face was so close to his.
"Now who wants to try some samples?" he asked, grinning.
Alfred cheered and jumped off the stool, calling out to the chefs in the kitchen. Matt slid his arm from around Gilbert's neck. Slid as in slower than he needed to. He threw one last smile over his shoulder before following Al into the kitchen.
.
Matthew had made his decision. He was going to actively flirt with Gilbert for the entire week.
No more crushing from afar. No more missed opportunities. Gilbert was going to be there for a little over a month with nothing to do but spend time with Matthew.
Personally, he already thought he was making a good start. And it probably wouldn't be hard to sway Gilbert either, considering the way Gil watched him like no one else was in the room most times. He still couldn't be sure that it was attraction, but as long as Matt kept at it, he was sure to have an answer soon.
So he let Gilbert try anything and everything he cooked up. He sat next to him when they were lounging in his cabin, watching TV. When they all took Kuma on walks, Matthew hung back with Gil while Alfred raced ahead with Kuma.
He could tell Gilbert was opening up to him – at least that's what his optimistic side was telling him.
Alfred, on the other hand, grew more and more suspicious. Matthew largely ignored him when he narrowed his eyes at them, or when he could sense Al working up another lecture. He didn't have to worry much though, Al was usually busy with the finishing touches on Matthew's menus and other work that required his design skills. When he wasn't doing that, he was bantering back and forth with Ivan. That in itself was such a common occurrence that Matthew hardly paid attention to them.
And when Matthew went to bed at the end of the week, knowing that Alfred would be in Montreal for most of the morning picking up the order at the print house, he couldn't have been presented with a better time to finally act.
.
It was Friday morning, and Alfred wasn't in the bedroom when Gilbert woke up. He took this as an auspicious occasion and made use of the peace by taking a long shower. He didn't know if Alfred was even in the house, as all seemed quiet after he shut the water off. In any case he decided he would linger over some coffee before making the trek to the shack. He wondered what Matt had in store today.
Steam billowed out of the bathroom when he opened the door and the chill prickled at his skin. He quickly slipped on boxers and jeans, ruffling his hair with the towel.
It was then that he felt a fingertip trail down his shoulder blade.
"Jesus!" Gilbert shivered and jumped around, eyes wide on Matthew standing behind him. "Matt?"
"I didn't know you had a tattoo right there," he said, his eyes hooded. Gilbert's jaw fell open.
The softness of his voice caused an unexpected jolt in his heartbeat.
"Uh, Matt? I thought you were at the shack?"
Matthew stepped forward, his gaze scanning Gilbert upwards from his chest, his neck, to his lips. "Mmm. Obviously I'm not."
Gilbert swallowed, taking a step back. "Where's Al?"
Matthew took a step forward. "He left for the city, the print house. He'll be a while longer."
Out of questions, Gilbert retreated one more step and the backs of his knees came into contact with the edge of the bed. Matthew was so close to him, he could practically feel his breath across his cheek.
"Matt," he said hoarsely. "What are you doing?"
In lieu of a direct answer, Matt said, "I'm tired of playing games. And I'm tired of waiting."
"Wha–"
Matthew interrupted him with his lips. He lifted and draped his arms around Gilbert's shoulders and pressed himself to Gilbert in a way that had his blood spiking. In shock, Gilbert's hands grabbed at Matthew's waist, but it only succeeded in making Matthew moan deliciously into his mouth and press even closer. His lips were pried open and he became lost in the hot tongue that danced across his lip.
Matthew's next move was to push Gilbert back onto the bed, sensually, intently. Once Gilbert was back against the pillows, Matthew crawled over him and continued kissing him deeply.
He grabbed Gilbert's hands and moved them to his waist. Matthew deftly unbuttoned his own shirt and tossed it aside, giving Gilbert unbelievable access to the softness of his skin.
Gilbert's mind was wholly apprehended by this unexpected turn of events. He'd been imagining instances like this in hundreds of different ways, but never thought they'd actually come to fruition.
He had one hand on Matt's hip, and the other tangled in his sunshine hair, when Matthew flipped them around and twined his arms around his neck.
In between pants, his words buzzed against Gilbert's lips. "I've seen the way you look at me, Gil," he said. "And I've been looking at you too."
The words sent heat straight south and suddenly Matthew's fingers were undoing the button on his jeans.
Gilbert's eyes flew open, wide, and he grabbed Matthew's hands and held them away.
With his heart pounding, he said, "Wait, Matt, stop."
Matthew paused and looked up at him with hint of confusion, a hint of frustration. "Stop?"
"I– we can't do this right now."
"Of course we can. Alfred won't be gone long."
"No! That's not what I mean." Gilbert willed his pulse to slow down. "It's– I– I don't want –"
Matthew hooked his fingers in Gilbert's belt loops and tugged. "Cut the bull, Gil. You want me."
Gilbert made a sound of frustration and rolled off Matthew, sitting at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. "I do, Matt. But not like this."
He heard Matthew sit up behind him. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," he groaned. "You took me by surprise, and I couldn't think–"
"I see," Matthew said, getting off the bed. Gilbert wild heartbeat stuttered when he hard the wobble in his voice. His face was red and he snatched his shirt off the floor. "I guess you didn't– I should have asked or–"
"Matt!" he said in a panic. "You don't have to go–"
He was at the door. "No, it's okay, Gilbert. At least you stopped me before I ruined anything."
Gilbert watched dumbfounded. He stood but Matthew held up his hand.
"Don't follow me," he said, smiling weakly at the wall, avoiding eye contact. "I'll… just leave."
"Matt!"
But Matthew shut the door behind him.
Gilbert gripped his hair and fell facedown onto the bed. "What the fuck!" he mouthed into the duvet.
What had just happened? Gilbert had gotten out of the shower and suddenly Matthew was on him, kissing him, doing things to him that he'd only dreamed of. Things were moving so quickly and then Gilbert had to stop him. Had to stop him.
Yes, he did, he realized. As much as his mind fantasized about doing those things, and more, with Matthew, there were some things he'd wanted to do first. Matthew had approached him so suddenly, Gilbert didn't even have time to put together his thoughts. He wasn't even sure if he was going to confess to Matthew. But now that it was made quite clear that both parties were on the same level in regards to attraction, perhaps Gilbert could fix this.
Gilbert groaned again. How could he fix this when Matthew didn't even want to see him, and he himself wasn't absolutely sure what needed to be fixed? Maybe Alfred…
No, no, no, Gilbert's mind screeched. Alfred could not know what took place here. Out of the question.
Gilbert didn't know what to do, but he wouldn't bother Matt just yet. First, he'd need to sort out his own mind.
.
Everyone wordlessly gave Matthew a wide berth when he walked into the kitchen at the shack.
Berwald was the first to say anything to him.
Matthew had been grumbling, alternating between aimlessly stomping around various rooms of the shack, thinking he'd do any chore that needed to be done, and gripping his hair in remembered embarrassment while screaming internally.
Berwald caught him during a spout of anger. "What's got you angry?" Berwald asked him from where he stood by the evaporator.
"Nothing," Matthew instinctively replied, even though there was very much something – someone – on his mind.
"Doesn't seem like nothing."
"Don't worry about me."
Berwald shrugged. "I'm not the best person to talk to," he said. "But you should talk to someone."
Yeah, right. Who could possibly understand the situation? Alfred? Matthew was not about to drag his brother, who was also Gilbert's best friend, into this mess. It'd be childish and unnecessary. Not to mention, embarrassing.
Instead, Matthew returned to the kitchen to beat his frustration into a mound of dough. He wasn't able to simmer down until he was up to the elbows in syrup, and then was his mind able to focus only on baking.
But there was only so much he could do, and soon he found himself pacing the floors once again.
The shack had a rec room behind the kitchen for the staff to use. It housed a flat screen for watching hockey games, two well-worn couches, a foosball table, a mini-fridge full of various staff members' alcohols of choice, and a small bunk room in the back for when Matthew, Ivan, or Berwald pulled all-nighters.
Matthew shut himself inside, wrapping himself in a blanket on the couch and flicking on the TV.
His brother found him there a half hour later.
"Mattie? What are you doing in here?"
Matthew sighed, annoyed, and sunk further into the cocoon of his blanket.
He heard Alfred move around the couch, put aside the bowl of maple popcorn, and sit next to him.
"Matt, what's up?"
"Nothing," he said.
"You're watching the final Olympic hockey match. Again."
Curse his brother.
Alfred nudged him with his shoulder. "Tell me," he sang gently.
"Go ask Gilbert," he blurted. "He can tell you."
"Gilbert?" The sound of Alfred's voice on alert made Matthew instantly regret saying it. "What did Gilbert do?"
Matthew uncovered his head and directed a glare at him. "Everything and nothing."
Alfred cocked his head, puzzled. "I don't understand."
"It was me, Al," he said at last, throwing his hands onto the blanket across his lap. "I fucked up."
Alfred looked scandalized. "What? No!"
"Believe it or not, Al, it is possible."
Alfred twisted him by his shoulders so they were face to face. "Okay, just tell me what happened."
He really didn't want to, but he already told him this much. "Long story short, I came on to Gilbert and he was a jackass."
Alfred's mouth was hung open. "I think I need the long version."
"You most certainly do not. All you need to know is that I came on to Gilbert, he rejected me, and… well, I may have actually blown it out of proportion, not Gilbert."
"One thing at a time. You came on to him? How?"
Matthew slanted him a look. "Use your imagination. It was bad. I was so focused, I didn't even give him time to react." Now that he was talking about it, the words came rushing out and Matthew felt more embarrassed and miserable than angry. "I just thought, you were gone and it was only me and Gil for a couple hours. It was the perfect time."
"Wait, you did this just today?"
Matthew nodded, his face in his hands.
"Okay, I'll try not to picture it because I don't want to. But how was Gil a jackass?"
"Ugh, he wasn't. I knew I'd blown it out of proportion. All he did was stop me. He kept me from going further and maybe that was the smart thing because he actually doesn't like me."
"Mattie," he sighed. "What did I tell you when I first got here?"
"I know what you said, Al," he retorted. "But I went to him in this situation, okay? I don't care what he's like with other people. I've spent years crushing on him from afar and I wanted to finally do something about it." His face fell and his gaze dropped to his hands in his lap. "And look how it turned out."
"Mattie, I can tell you right now that he doesn't not like you. I'm not blind, you know."
"I know. You're too obvious when you're suspicious."
Alfred pouted. "Why did you go to such lengths to be secretive then?"
Matthew shrugged. "The less you were involved the better. At least I thought so."
Alfred sighed. "I'm not saying I don't like this situation, but…"
"You don't like this situation."
"Hell no. Now I've got to go fight Gil."
Matthew jabbed him in the side, unable to suppress a smile. "You don't need to fight him. This is between us, you don't even need to say anything." The look on Alfred's face opposed that sentiment. "But since you're going to anyway, because I know you, don't blame him."
"But he's the one that–"
"Al, he's your friend."
"He may be my friend, but you're my brother."
Matthew's annoyance vanished. He really was a sucker for Alfred's "older brother" shtick, despite him only being two minutes older. He wasn't sure when Alfred got it into his head, perhaps it'd always been there.
But Matthew never denied Alfred's shoulder when offered either. He huffed and laid his head against him, snatching the bowl of popcorn. It was his silent acceptance that Alfred was going to take matters into his own hands. To a certain extent.
"So, how's Canada doing?" Alfred asked casually after they both returned to the recorded match.
"You know, I think they might just win," Matthew replied conversationally.
"Sweden's looking pretty tough."
"Nah, they're not that tough." Matthew laughed. "Actually though, don't tell Berwald I'm watching this again. He didn't speak to me for a week after Canada won last year."
"Berwald? Not speaking? I'm sure it was hard on him."
Matthew delivered another playful jab to his side, which made Alfred snort with laughter.
.
It was nearing sundown before Alfred showed up at Matt's cabin. Gilbert had been distracting himself all day by working on his laptop, giving himself zero time for agonizing over what had transpired earlier.
Who was he kidding? He thought about the situation a lot. Too many times he recalled the way Matt felt under his hands, under his lips, the breathy moans and the painfully slow grinding of his hips. He nearly took five cold showers over the course of the day.
But what Gilbert was more concerned about was how they'd continue from here on out. Matt had been a friend. He didn't get to see him all that often, no, but Gilbert liked being around him. He liked him a lot, actually, now that he had the time to ruminate…
Gilbert heard the front door open from his bedroom. A cold sweat burst from his skin, but he relaxed when the noise was distinctly Alfred.
Alfred was back.
Shit.
Gilbert realized he hadn't left Matt's cabin all day. After all, where could he go? Alfred had his car, Gilbert didn't have the keys to Matt's – not that he would just take his car anyway – and he didn't exactly feel like traipsing about the forest alone. Even Kuma wasn't at the cabin.
Alfred's footsteps neared the bedroom and Gilbert spun around in the chair at the desk he was working at.
He was met with a critical, but not entirely hostile, glare from Alfred.
"Hey, Al," he said.
Alfred approached him.
"Al, listen–"
"I need you to explain to me what happened," he said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm thoroughly confused."
Gilbert said nothing, only his mouth hung open. "What?" he finally said, not expecting confusion from Alfred.
"I return to the shack and Mattie's re-watching the Olympic gold-medal match."
Gilbert didn't know what this meant.
"He only watches that match if he's feeling particularly angry or miserable."
Gilbert swallowed. "Which one was it?"
"Both. More so miserable."
That didn't make Gilbert feel any better. "Well. What did he tell you?"
Al gave him a once-over. "I want to hear your side of it first."
Gilbert sighed. "Listen, I didn't do anything to him. I mean, we made out a little but–" He started over. "After you left this morning he came in and kissed me. I kissed him back. He wanted to do more but I… I stopped him."
"That's what I'm confused about."
"That I stopped him?" he questioned. "God forbid I actually have feelings, Al."
"So you have feelings for him."
"Yeah– I mean, wait!"
Alfred was smirking now. Damn him. "Nah, can't take it back. You admitted it."
Gilbert crossed his arms petulantly.
Alfred came over and sat at the foot of the bed. His tone became softer. "Do you really?"
It was time to stop hiding from himself. "I really do."
"Since when?"
Gilbert met his gaze. "Since we first met."
Alfred groaned dramatically. "You too? Am I really that oblivious?"
Gilbert snickered. "Yeah, you are. Wait, has he liked me that long too?"
"Yeah."
Matthew had liked him since the beginning. Years Gilbert spent keeping their friendship a friendship, when he could have jumped in sooner. The timing didn't really matter anymore. Matt had certainly bridged that gap. And look what became of it.
"It doesn't matter now," he told Alfred. "I kind of made a mess of it."
Alfred hummed. "All hope is not lost yet, my friend."
Gilbert laughed. "What, are you going to play Fairy Godmother?"
"Only if you buy me fairy wings. No, what I mean is that it's obvious he still likes you. And you still like him. What's not to fix?"
"Well," Gilbert mumbled, "I don't want to lose a good friend if it doesn't work."
"Did you not just hear me? Jeez, for being such a player I thought you'd be better at this." Alfred sighed. "Go talk to him. Tell him how you feel."
Gilbert raised his eyebrow. "You are setting Matt and I up?"
Alfred shot him a flat look. "Talk to him, Gil."
He smiled. "Okay, okay. Just… let me do it on my own."
"Alright," Alfred agreed. He stood and jangled his keys in his pocket. "Now get a jacket, we're going out."
With his face twisting, perplexed, Gilbert asked, "Where?"
"Into town. I'll buy you a beer."
He laughed. "Feeling generous today, aren't we?"
"Ah, shut up," he said, smiling. "Only the first one's on me."
His spirits lifting, Gilbert grabbed his coat and they walked out of Matt's cabin.
.
Matt hadn't come home that night. He'd elected to sleep at the shack, without a call, without a word to Gilbert. He'd texted Alfred, but nothing to Gilbert.
And that was fine, he supposed. He ended coming back from the bar a little too buzzed to talk to Matt properly. With Matt's room empty, Alfred took his bed, leaving Gilbert alone with his thoughts in the dead of night, the dark outside the glass doors almost eerie calm. He supposed snowy nights were like that. Not even an owl hoot.
In the morning, Alfred prepared the finished and printed menus and Gilbert tagged along like an anxious child.
He was a little nervous about what to say to Matthew once they got to the shack, but once they were there it was obvious that he was too preoccupied to give Gilbert more than a quick "hey."
Matt was flitting around his kitchen like a hyperactive bird. Tasting, testing, guiding his cooks. Opening night was just a few days away now, but Gilbert couldn't help but think he was purposely making himself busy in order to avoid him.
He himself made use of idle time by helping unbox the tableware: dishes, silverware, glasses, linens, décor. The dining room was wholly rustic in design; long, communal tables and chairs made out of rough carved wood Berwald had done a couple years ago, warm light, two fireplaces on either end of the space. The seating was designed to bring groups together, out of the cold and into the warmth and good cheer.
Giving himself this task made him feel useful, but also gave him time to put together words that wouldn't sound idiotic when he approached Matt later. Every so often he'd see a flash of golden blond, hear his chirping laughter, and Gilbert's heart would squeeze.
"Bonjour, Gilbert," a soft voice said behind him.
It was the pastry chef, Michelle. Gilbert shook himself out of his emotional quandary. "Hello."
"Thank you so much for helping with this," she said, sitting across the table from him. "It is one less job off our plate."
"Don't worry about it, I couldn't just sit around." He stared at his hands, at the tabletop. "It sounds like you guys are just about finished with the recipes."
She grinned. "Ah, oui. One or two were giving us a hard time for a while. Maple syrup is tricky. You cannot just substitute."
"Matt told me about that," he said without thinking.
Her smile softened. "Did something happen between you and Matthieu?"
He tried to appear nonchalant. "Why do you think that?"
"Yesterday, Matthieu, he was quite angry and very hard on himself. It was obvious something was up. Today he is better, but you do not seem too happy."
Even Michelle had noticed?
He laughed. "How do you know?"
She shrugged, a knowing smirk crossing her face. "What can I say? Je vois tout."
"I'm sorry, I don't know much French."
"I have been friends with Matthieu for many years," she said. "And this is the first I've seen him like this. Whatever happened between you, is it serious?"
Knowing that this whole debacle was affecting Matthew in the same way it was affecting Gilbert made him hopeful and saddened at the same time.
"No," he replied. "It's not too serious, I think."
Michelle gave him one more smile, then she stood from the table. "Bien. I hope it works out. I am rooting for you, you know."
"You're what?" he questioned, but she was already walking away toward the kitchen.
.
Matthew would admit that he'd purposely avoided Gilbert all day. He was a little ashamed to admit it, but the nerve he'd built up to act like the previous day never happened had crumbled once Gilbert walked in the door. So instead Matthew threw a "hey" at him and took on any job that needed doing, so long as he didn't have to face Gilbert.
He was a mess.
However much his improved work ethic completed more tasks than he'd ever managed before, he still knew he needed to talk to Gilbert. He couldn't avoid it forever. After all, it was getting late. Over twenty-four hours since it happened and he and Gilbert were still tiptoeing around each other.
Matthew had a covered deck at the back of his cabin. There he'd set up a stone fire pit and put old, comfy couches and armchairs around it. He sat out there now, nearing one in the morning. Kuma lay on the boards at his feet, slumbering gently.
He could hear German coming from the room just to the side of the deck – Gilbert's room. He didn't know what he was saying, but he was entranced just listening, staring at the fire until his eyes burned.
He'd also forgotten that there were doors from Gilbert's room out to the deck. And when he slid them open, shut them quietly behind him and walked slowly over to where Matthew was sitting, a spike of panic burst in his chest. But that was silly, there was nothing to be afraid of. Except everything.
"Hey," Gilbert said, sitting on the couch, a full cushion between them.
"Hey," he replied. He cleared his throat. "Were you talking to your brother?"
"Yeah. He's an early riser."
"Just like you."
Gilbert smiled at the fire.
"Where's Al?" Gilbert asked.
"He fell asleep in my bed. The bastard."
Gilbert snickered. Another silence fell between them.
"Gilbert?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "About what happened."
He'd been watching the fire, but found Gilbert watching him.
"You don't have to be sorry."
Matt curled his fingers in the cuffs of his sweater. "Even so, it's just… I've liked you for a long time. And I saw an opportunity yesterday, I guess. I psyched myself up to do it. I thought I could just have sex with you."
"Why?"
Matt looked at him again. "Because I thought it was my only chance." Abruptly, he covered his face with his hands. "Oh, but now that I think about it, it was so stupid. I didn't even have anything for us to use, I just burst in there and–"
Gilbert's laughing interrupted him.
"Stop laughing," he pouted. "I already feel dumb as it is."
"You were persistent, I'll give you that," Gilbert said. "But Matt, I didn't stop you because I didn't want you like that. I've liked you for a long time too. Whenever you came down to visit Al I… well, I could never figure out how to talk to you."
Matthew sighed, smiled. "So we've both liked each other for years and were too chicken to do anything about it."
"Looks like it."
Another silence, though less awkward.
"Matt, there's another reason why I stopped you."
His heart thudded. "What is it?"
Gilbert's face scrunched in thought, and then he said, "I had kind of wanted to… to be the one to kiss you first." He was adorable when he was nervous. "You took me by surprise, I couldn't think, and I realized there were all kinds of things I'd wanted to do before jumping into bed with you."
A smile grew across Matt's face. "Like what?"
Gilbert shifted in his seat like a nervous suitor. "Well, I don't know, like confessing to you first, maybe… going out on a date or two. Things like that."
Matthew was grinning now. "I didn't know you were such a romantic."
"Yeah, well, I care about you, so–"
"Gilbert, that sounds really nice," Matthew said softly. "I would love to go on a date with you."
He was grinning at him, the firelight shimmering in his light eyes.
Matthew pushed himself off his seat and scooted closer to Gilbert. He tucked his feet underneath him, his knees resting on Gilbert's leg.
"How about we start over? Pretend I didn't jump your bones."
Gilbert laughed. Now that they were so close, his gaze flicked from Matt's eyes to his lips and back. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Matthew sat still for the most part. With every inch Gilbert leaned forward, he inched closer too. Gilbert still smelled a little like maple, after working in the shack all day, and Matthew imagined he did too. But he also smelled faintly of his cologne; a crisp, playful scent, just like him.
When Gilbert kissed him, it was a short, soft, chaste kiss. A toe in the water. He pulled back by millimeters, and Matthew kept his eyes closed. When he kissed him again, he let it linger, and Matthew slipped his sweater-hands up and around the back of his neck.
Gilbert was getting braver now, diving in with more fervor each time. With his hands slipping around his waist, he pushed against Matt while Matt pulled. Their breaks for air became panting and Gilbert peppered slow kisses on his lips before things got too heavy.
"That was much better," he breathed.
Matthew laughed. He ducked his face into Gilbert's shoulder and his arm wrapped around Matthew's.
.
"Alright everyone!" Matthew said, standing on a chair, his colleagues and friends surrounding him in the kitchen. The room hushed and he continued, "We've been prepping for this night since last year's closing night. A new menu we all worked extremely hard on and already a bountiful maple harvest – thank you Ber and Ivan. Let's make this another fun, busy month." Matthew lifted his beer bottle, and everyone in the room lifted their drinks too. "Santé!"
A chorus of "Santé!" echoed back, followed by heads tipping back as they drank. Matthew stepped off the chair and into the circle of Gilbert's arm.
"And aren't you lucky," Matthew told him, smiling with good cheer. "You and Al being tonight's VIP guests and all, you just get to sit back and eat."
"I promise to be brave," he replied.
Matt laughed. Kissed Gilbert's cheek before finishing his beer and moving around the kitchen to check in with his stations. Gilbert leaned against the wall and watched it all happen.
The staff's uniform consisted of t-shirts emblazoned with the shack's logo: the caricature of Kuma. Most of the staff accompanied the shirt with jeans, the cooks with an added apron. The only standout was Matthew. He wore a black and red plaid flannel over his t-shirt – Gilbert laughed, typical – rolled up to the elbows, and his black apron tied around his hips. Gilbert enjoyed the view of his toned forearms and his wavy hair under the light.
"Guests arriving in ten!" came a shout from the dining room.
Matt shouted back a thanks to the hostess. "Let's get prepping," he said to his crew. "Where's my music?"
In a minute, the restaurant's music began playing in the background, some light indie rock, and the sound of knives on cutting boards and chatter between staff members filled the air.
"Gilbert, out of my kitchen."
"Come on, man," said Alfred from wherever he'd appeared from. He pushed Gilbert out by the shoulders. "Mattie doesn't like outsiders in the kitchen during service."
"I'm hardly an outsider," he scoffed back.
"Unless you plan to join the line, you're an outsider. Cooks and wait staff only."
Alfred steered him around the kitchen and into the dining room. It wasn't like the kitchen was closed off; a long, wide window between the kitchen and dining room let patrons see inside for the most part. Alfred and Gilbert took their seats at their VIP table, situated right next to the window, one of the fireplaces at their back. They were brought maple beers and Gilbert sat back to watch the guests pour in.
If Gilbert hadn't been friends with Matt and Al, he might not have been able to get a reservation. The shack was only open for the sugaring season, which only lasted a month before the trees would stop being tapped. Gilbert was told they started taking reservations in December, and were booked out for the whole month in two days.
The opening weekend would consist of many food critics and bloggers, and Gilbert watched as many times throughout the night Matt came into the dining room to shake hands and greet some critic or another. He was all pleasantry and charisma.
He often heard the sung praises of "Montreal's young maple genius."
Nearly the other half of the shack's guests throughout the month would be Matt's contemporaries, local chefs and more renowned ones paying a visit. Gilbert hadn't even considered the fact that Matthew knew many of these people.
He and Alfred spent most of the time enjoying the small plates brought to them, tasting nearly the entire menu. Toward the end of the night, he and Alfred walked around to the back. The night air was cold, refreshing. They found Kuma tromping through the snow.
"Byli li u vas dostatochno togo, chto krikun ? Luchshe zdes' , ne tak li?"
"Hey," Alfred called out, once they saw Ivan seated on a box against the building wall. "What kind of weird Russian cult are you indoctrinating him into?"
"Oh, hello, Alfred," he replied as if Alfred hadn't just insulted him. "Gilbert. I was simply asking Kuma if he was tired of you yet. Beautiful night, yes?"
"Yeah," Gilbert cut in before Alfred could retort. "Have you been out here the whole time?"
"More or less. It is my job to keep an eye on the trees."
"All the time?"
"Too many people inside," Ivan said, ducking his nose into his scarf. "I like being outside."
Alfred was being suspiciously quiet. Gilbert glanced at him. He was staring off into the trees, pensive.
"Alfred," Ivan said. "Why don't you stay and have a little chat?"
Gilbert guessed that was his cue to leave. Alfred scoffed.
"We don't need to chat," he said.
He might hear it from Alfred later, but Gilbert smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll go back in," he told him.
Alfred didn't follow, and Gilbert shook his head as he rounded back to the front of the building.
He stepped inside as the final guests were leaving. The only other person in the dining room was the busboy. In the kitchen, Matthew and his cooks were slumped across the counters, seated on stools and toasting to a successful first service.
Gilbert moseyed in and came up behind Matt. Matt leaned back against him.
"Busy night," he said.
"So busy," Matt replied, exhaustion tinting his voice. "But so good."
Gilbert smiled down at him. "Michelle, your madeleines were awesome. Best thing I've ever had."
She giggled. "Merci, Gilbert."
"Are you done for the night?"
Matt nodded. "Just cleanup, and then we can head back."
"I'll help."
"Where's Al?"
"He's chatting with Ivan out back."
Matt lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"
Gilbert shrugged.
Cleanup went relatively quickly, with the whole team plus Gilbert. Al reappeared after most of the work had been done, and refused to say a word about what he and Ivan had talked about. Gilbert didn't see Ivan for the rest of the night, for that matter.
Not that he was paying much attention. That was spent on Matthew.
.
The four weeks passed as smoothly as the first night. A few bumps and snags here and there, but nothing serious, Matthew thanked his lucky stars. Berwald and Ivan really were his best men. They only had to splice three tubes this season.
The last group of guests had left the restaurant, and the staff filled the dining room, popping bottles of champagne and eating the last of what they'd cooked.
"This is to my entire crew," Matthew said, lifting a bottle of champagne into the air. "Every single person here is vital to making this place run as smoothly as it has this past month. Special thanks, again, to Berwald and Ivan, without whom I could never keep this place running. Thanks to all my cooks, you're all unbelievable. Thanks to my wait staff, and thanks especially to you, Peter." Matt grinned at the teenager who who'd been his busboy and was now sipping bashfully from a champagne glass.
Everyone laughed and cheered, "Peter!"
Matthew stepped off the chair he'd been standing on to give the toast. The room returned to playful conversation and laughter, stories of the past month traded back and forth with fondness, French and English buzzing in his ears. Matthew loved the duration, but the end of the sugar season was always bittersweet. Recalling memories made in a matter of months, knowing that his temp workers would go back to other lives. Until next season.
Matthew found Gilbert laughing with Michelle at the end of the table. Perhaps he was a little tipsy, but in any case he found himself plopping into Gilbert's lap. Gilbert received him flawlessly, wrapping his arms around Matthew's waist and stretching to kiss his cheek.
"I forgot to thank my cheerleader," Matthew told him.
Gilbert grinned. "Without me you'd have been nothing."
"How would I have even managed?"
He leaned down and met him in a kiss, sugary sweet. A lot of their kisses tended to be sugar-sweet lately. Must be all that maple.
"I was thinking," Matthew said. "After we've done the end of the season cleanup, I could come down to New York for a couple weeks."
"Really. And where will you stay?"
Gilbert and his games. "I don't know, I'll probably crash at my boyfriend's place."
"Who's this boyfriend? Do I gotta fight him?"
"You dork," he said, pulling another kiss out of Gilbert.
When he broke away, Matthew looked around the room.
"Where's Al?" he asked.
"I haven't seen him."
"Reminds me," Matthew mused, "I toasted Ivan, but I didn't see him either."
"They're probably fighting again."
Matthew pouted. "What am I going to do, Gil?"
"They're big boys. Instead of worrying about them, I can think of something better for us to do," he said, nipping at his neck.
Damn him.
They escaped down the hall to the rec room behind the kitchen, the hallway dark, and Matthew felt for the doorknob.
He swung it open with a laugh as Gilbert snared him between his arms. His hand found the light switch and when he flicked it on, he stopped cold.
Alfred had his hands buried in Ivan's hair. Ivan's hands were gripping Alfred's hips, trapping him against the wall.
They'd caught them in the midst of a heavy make out session.
As soon as Matthew had turned on the light, Alfred whipped his head around, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, his hands dropping as if shocked. Ivan simply raised an eyebrow.
"Uh, Mattie," Alfred laughed more nervously than he'd ever heard before. "Gil, what are you doing here?"
Gilbert was trying dearly not to burst out laughing. Matthew knew it only meant he was preparing to subject Alfred to a lifetime of torture.
"Do you mind?" Ivan said, not the least bit embarrassed. "I was not finished."
Matthew coughed. "Yeah, go right on ahead. I just wanted to tell you thanks for all your hard work this season."
"Spasibo, Matvey. Now go, please."
Matthew and Gilbert left, quick as a flash, to Alfred's muffled protestations.
Once they were down the hall, Matthew looked at Gilbert and Gilbert glanced back. They burst out laughing at last, barely able to keep standing.
Matthew wiped the tears from his eyes.
"What do you say we head back to the cabin then? It looks like we'll have it to ourselves for… a while," Gilbert said.
Matthew grinned as Gilbert wrapped an arm around him. "That sounds fantastic."
This fic satisfies my recent obsession with maple syrup, and subsequently with sugar shacks. All the information in this fic has been referenced largely from Martin Picard's big book-o-maple, Au Pied de Cochon: Sugar Shack. It's a wealth of information including how a sugar shack works, the science behind maple trees and the molecular structure of maple syrup, and the many recipes he uses in his restaurant. I bought the book, and boom. Fic inspiration was born.
So I hope you enjoyed this! I mostly wanted to explore the maple process and experiment with a ship I've never written before through a simple story.
Much love! Find me on tumblr: le-petit-fromage