Page 67 of Kitchen Gods: The Complete Series

“You’re Nana. I’m Wyatt,” he said slowly, clearly. Maybe it was just the bad connection. Maybe she just couldn’t hear him properly, and had gotten confused as a result.

“Wyatt?” she questioned. “Wyatt?”

If it was possible, his stomach sunk even lower. He tried to contain his panic, because he didn’t want Ryan to hear, and he didn’t want her to worry even more. It was something he’d read in the research books he’d checked out of the library when she’d first been diagnosed.

Don’t panic. They’ll hear the panic and panic themselves.

But it was too late, he heard it in his voice, no matter how he tried to contain it. “Wyatt is me. I’m Wyatt. I’m your grandson.”

“Wyatt . . .” There was still that thread of uncertainty in her voice. Uncertainty that he’d been dreading hearing forever.

He remembered reading once that for patients suffering from memory lapses, just voices could sometimes be tougher than a voice and a face put together.

The rationalization didn’t help extinguish his panic any.

“Yes, Wyatt. Your grandson. Wyatt.”

She took a deep, shaky sigh. “Wyatt.” And this time there was some semblance of normalcy in her voice as she said it. As she’d begun to place him. “You’re Wyatt.”

He closed his eyes, tightening his jaw, desperate not to cry. Not over this. Not in front of Ryan.

A hand reached over and lightly touched his bare knee. A reassuring touch. Even though he’d seen Ryan’s uneasiness with Wyatt checking in with Nana, he was still giving Wyatt what little support he could.

It might have been small, only a light touch, but it meant everything.

“Nana,” he repeated, voice breaking a little.

The first time this had happened and he hadn’t even been in front of her.

And once it happened, it would keep happening, an inexorable tide that nothing and nobody could stop.

Not even Wyatt, not even if he pushed it back with both hands and all his strength.

“I’m here, I’m here.” She sounded flustered. “I’m sorry, I just got a little confused.”

“It’s fine,” he soothed, even though it was anything but. She didn’t need to know about that, or how his heart was breaking. “I just wanted to call and see how you were doing.”

“I’m good. How about you, darling boy? You settle into your big fancy new job okay?”

She was back. The lapse had only lasted a minute, but it had left an indelible impression on Wyatt. He wasn’t sure he would ever forget this moment. The grease in the air, the five pressure points of Ryan’s hand on his knee, the sweaty grip on his phone.

He talked aimlessly for five minutes and then told Nana he had to go. He couldn’t pretend like nothing had happened.

When he finally hung up, there was silence in the car.

Finally, Ryan broke it. “Was that the first time she didn’t recognize your voice?”

Wyatt wasn’t sure he could speak, so he just nodded.

“I’m sorry.” Ryan sounded legitimately sorry, even though it was Wyatt who wanted to apologize for ruining a beautiful afternoon with this tragedy.

“Don’t be. Please,” Wyatt managed to say. “Please don’t.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. But if you ever need to go see her, you just say the word,” Ryan said.

“Okay. I . . . I appreciate it.”

Wyatt knew he should be more grateful for Ryan’s support and for his flexibility, but all he felt was a growing rage at fate and how it was trying to take yet another beloved member of his family.

First his dad had left, then his mom had died, and now the one person he still felt close to was going to forget who he even was.

He clamped his hand over Ryan’s, and as Wyatt gripped his hand, it struck him, suddenly and catastrophically, that the man Bea Blake would be forgetting wasn’t even the real Wyatt.

“I texted my aunt this morning,” Ryan said, clearly making good on his promise to change the subject. But Wyatt’s fingers didn’t let up on Ryan’s for even a moment. “Would Friday afternoon work for you?”

Swallowing all the emotions back, Wyatt held on even harder. “Don’t you have something important or fun to be doing besides going to your aunt’s house and watching her teach me how to cook?”

Ryan laughed unexpectedly. “Obviously you’ve never met my titi Flor before, because she definitely won’t let me just watch.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Wyatt said, and discovered that he wasn’t even lying. He wanted to meet the woman who could make Ryan laugh like that.

Ryan pulled into the driveway, the gate shutting behind them. “Do you think you could eat?” he asked, even though the bag of burgers was still sitting between them—a special detour to In-N-Out, and Ryan had whipped out his credit card despite the challenge he’d given earlier.

Wyatt still felt vaguely nauseous, but he’d only had a few eggs and some turkey sausage this morning before his run, and he’d worked up a real appetite surfing.

“Yeah, of course,” Wyatt said. How had Ryan even known he’d gotten nauseous? Had it been written all over his face? He pushed the embarrassment away. If there was ever a situation to feel sick over, it was this one.

“We could even watch some TV,” Ryan suggested.

Even though Wyatt had long come to terms with the fact that Ryan was nothing like his old boss, it still felt weird that Ryan was seeking him out all the time.

Either because he actually wanted to be friends, or because .

. . Wyatt didn’t even know how to finish that thought.

Because Ryan had explicitly and clearly expressed interest in a fake boyfriend, someone to convince the GM that he was dependable.

And if fake boyfriend had been ruled out, real boyfriend was definitely not in the cards.

“Sure, but if you turn on another of those godawful nature documentaries, I might have to pass.”

But then there was the way Ryan lit up at Wyatt’s teasing, defying explanation. “What about Star Talk?”

“With Neil deGrasse Tyson?” Wyatt opened his car door. “I thought you were a stupid athlete.”

“Well, this stupid athlete went to Stanford, and attempts to combat that stereotype by arming himself with knowledge,” Ryan said flippantly, but his voice was warm and comforting and certain. And Wyatt realized then that Ryan didn’t want him to agonize and obsess alone.

He thought about thanking him but going back to his cottage, but then Ryan was in the house, leaving Wyatt behind in the garage, and he was babbling about Twitter and flat earth conspiracists, and instead of dwelling, Wyatt let his words wash over him, taking all the ugliness with them.

Wyatt might not know what the hell they were doing, but they were friends. And that was going to have to be enough—at least for now.