Chapter 4 #3
“Oh yeah, he’s in the back. I’ll grab him. Just a moment.”
As the woman poured his coffee and set his pastry into a small warming oven, he looked up at the big menu board that stretched out above the counter.
There was a short list of sandwiches, mostly cold cuts and a chicken salad, with two hot paninis, all listed as available on four different homemade breads.
A single soup every day, that the menu noted was provided by a local company, not even made in-house.
Really, Sweetie Pie’s Bakery and Cafe was more of the former than the latter, and there was absolutely no reason why it should be competing with Nonna’s. Nonna’s served a full menu for lunch and early dinner. People came to Sweetie Pie’s for coffee and baked goods and occasionally a quick lunch.
Now, clearly, this business had the inviting factor down, and the far more appealing location, but that was it.
“Honey?” the woman called out. “Your coffee and pastry’s ready. Oliver’s just finishing something up, but if you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes . . .”
“No problem,” Luca said and picked up the cup and plate from the counter and took it to one of the empty tables. Settled down, and from the moment he took a sip of coffee and a corner of pastry, popping it into his mouth, fell headfirst into bliss.
This was really, really good coffee, rich and dark roasted and yet without any bit of burned aftertaste. And the pastry? Unsurprisingly, it was one of the best things Luca had ever put into his mouth.
He was just brushing the crumbs off his suit when a voice startled him.
“You again,” it said. The inflection was familiar. Luca would have recognized it anywhere.
And just as he’d expected, when he looked up, there he was. The guy from the car. And the Inn. Wearing a purple apron that matched the beanie from the other day, emblazoned with Sweetie Pie’s logo and there in one corner, was a name embroidered on it.
Oliver.
At least, now he knew the man’s name. And that he baked so well he could make angels weep.
“Yes, it’s me again,” Luca said. He stood and extended a hand. “I’m Luca Moretti.”
“Finally, huh? Oliver. Oliver Billings,” Oliver said and shook his hand. Briefly. Luca only got a moment to feel the calloused, capable hand in his own before it was gone. “I guess you figured out where I was.”
“Actually, no. This is embarrassingly accidental,” Luca admitted. If he’d known the guy was also Oliver, who owned the bakery, he’d have approached this differently. Less formal. Less like a business proposal. A lot more like a date. He waved at the opposite chair. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“A few minutes,” Oliver allowed, tilting his head. “I’ve got some dough rising.”
“So late in the morning?” Luca questioned as they sat.
“I make rolls for one of the local restaurants in town. In exchange for their soup,” Oliver said with a grin. “Know a lot about the baking business, do you?” He gave Luca a leisurely head-to-toe perusal, setting his nerves alight. “You don’t look like you do.”
“All our restaurants back in California bake their own bread fresh daily,” Luca said. Don’t be a haughty, arrogant asshole. Don’t do it and fuck this up. This is your one shot.
Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “Really? You’re here for Giana and Enzo, though, and I know they don’t.”
“No, they don’t.” Luca took a sip of coffee. “Which is what I wanted to discuss with you.”
“You want me to bake their bread for them.” Oliver stated it, one corner of that beautiful mouth twisting into a wry grin. “That’s an irony.”
“It is?”
“Oh, just . . .Enzo.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Your cousin . . .he’s your cousin, right?”
Luca nodded. Though he didn’t personally see much that he and Enzo had in common. Their dark hair maybe. And he supposed that someone might consider Enzo attractive. Personally, Luca didn’t find sulking and underachieving particularly tempting, but still. Someone might.
“Okay, well, he doesn’t mind telling everyone shit about me.” Oliver said it frankly, without heat or accusation. “So he’s not going to be very happy about this.”
Like he didn’t mind, it was just a statement of fact: Enzo talked shit about him.
Luca thought back and realized that when Oliver had come up the one single time, Enzo had definitely not let the chance go by to sneer about him.
“I don’t have an issue, but he might not be so keen on having me bake their bread,” Oliver continued, leaning forward a bit.
That’s right, Luca thought with satisfaction, get closer.
“What Enzo wants is immaterial,” Luca said. “I’m here to assist in improving their business.”
“Ah, they sent the fixer out.” Oliver sounded amused again. “I can see it. You’re definitely more of a fixer than a baker.”
Luca shrugged. “I run my family’s four restaurants. They do not typically need fixing.” Don’t be arrogant, don’t be arrogant. “But Nonna’s Deli here, it is . . .an investment of ours. Not directly under my control. So I’m not here to order changes but to . . .suggest them. Nicely.”
“Which is how they’ve managed to underperform all these years,” Oliver said with another of those smirks. They shouldn’t have been so frustratingly attractive. But Luca felt them deep down, stirring him up in a way he hadn’t expected.
Oliver was definitely a very attractive package, one he’d love to unwrap.
Would he be as sweet as promised? Or a little salty too? Maybe even a bit spicy?
“You could say that,” Luca said. “Part of the proposed changes are aligning the menu more directly with our other restaurants. And that includes fresh bread, daily. Nonna’s here doesn’t have the staff, the resources, or the equipment to do this, but you do.”
“I do,” Oliver conceded. “My schedule’s already pretty packed, but I suppose I could fit you in. French bread? Sourdough bread? Focaccia? Rolls? Loaves? How many dozen per day?”
Luca liked every part of Oliver he’d seen so far. He was charming and sweet and undeniably adorable. Then there was how goddamned sexy he was when he got down to business.
“I’m not sure yet,” Luca said. “In fact, they may not need any at all. Giana and Enzo have my proposed changes, but they are not required to accept all of them—or any of them, actually.”
“You must hate that, not being able to actually impose your control over them.” Oliver said it casually, like a true control-freak business owner, like he understood.
How did Oliver know how much he hated it? Was it that obvious? Was it written all over his face that he’d love nothing more than to march down the street and tell Giana and Enzo exactly what to do?
“Yes,” Luca admitted.
“Nonna’s isn’t just an Italian affectation, is it? Was there actually a Nonna?” Oliver asked.
“My grandmother.”
“Ah, well, there you go.” Oliver leaned back, grinning. Luca wanted to chase him, but he stayed on his side of the table, with what he thought was pretty admirable restraint.
“So why does Enzo dislike you so much?” Luca asked.
“That’s a long story. And I’ve got to tend to these rolls. If they overproof . . .” Oliver shrugged. “I’m a perfectionist, what can I say?”
“If he supposedly turns against you every chance he gets, what’s he going to say,” Luca said, deploying the most persuasive smile in his arsenal, “when he finds out I want to hire you to bake our bread? I need the insider info. Need to be able to convince him it’s a good idea.”
“It’s not going to help you, and you’re not going to like it,” Oliver said. “Though, you sorta look like there’s plenty of things you don’t like.”
But I like you. “You’re not wrong.” It was hard to admit it, but there it was. He was particular, okay? Particular and more than a little arrogant about his particularity.
Maybe it was good Oliver knew that now, even if all they ever had was a date and a night—though even that was still up in the air.
“We dated,” Oliver said. His watch beeped, and he stood, just as he’d left Luca speechless for another long moment. “Well,” he amended, with a cute little shrug. “It was one date. But still. He wanted to continue. I did not. And that’s the story.”
“That wasn’t a very long story,” Luca managed, and was he trailing after Oliver in his own bakery like a lost puppy looking for his owner? Yes, he was, a little.
Oliver shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it, even if he does, still.”
“Sounds like you could be a little less nice to him.” Luca certainly would’ve been.
“Yeah, but . . .” There was that lopsided, entirely charming grin again. Luca understood exactly why his cousin would ask Oliver out on a date. Because he wanted to, as well. Maybe they wouldn’t have more than one, either, but it wouldn’t be for a lack of desire. “I’m a nice person. Ask anyone.”
“There’s such a thing as too nice,” Luca said.
“Yeah, but that’s what guys like you are for,” Oliver said with another smile. He turned the corner, removing himself from Luca’s reach.
Frustratingly. Annoyingly.
“I guess.” Luca frowned.
“Well, good luck,” Oliver said. “My rolls are calling. I’ll see you around.”
See me tonight, he almost called out, but then he didn’t.
Why?
Because of that’s what guys like you are for.
He’d said it. You’re more like a fixer than a baker.
He was. He’d had to learn to be tough and to be sure, to preserve his family’s legacy. Was that all he was? Luca didn’t like to think so, but then, he also couldn’t remember a time when Nonna’s hadn’t consumed him.
Now it was doing it again. He’d come here with a promise to his mama that he’d take some time for himself, but what was he doing? Obsessing about Nonna’s and how to fix it.
And, he thought, I’m obsessing about Oliver.