Chapter 6
When Nicoletta had made him promise he would try to enjoy himself while in Indigo Bay, Luca didn’t think she’d had in mind him dating the cute local baker.
But that was exactly what he was going to do.
Well, he was going to go on one date, at least, with the cute local baker.
Giana and Enzo were still arguing about whether they were going to take his offer—though he was grateful that at least they’d realized he wasn’t willing to compromise, after they’d spent several, incredibly frustrating hours trying to convince him to alter his all-or-nothing stance.
At that point, he’d told them it was ultimately their decision, and he was out of it.
He’d left, as Giana and Enzo continued to debate what to do.
Their biggest problem was exactly what he’d told Oliver: ultimately Giana wanted Enzo to give a shit about the business, and he wasn’t going to, no matter how successful it became, and deep down, she knew it.
She could throw herself against reality all she wanted, but it wasn’t going to change.
Luca had managed to escape that increasingly uncomfortable situation with just enough time to fit in a workout, and then jump in the shower back at the Inn before meeting Oliver for dinner.
Now he was debating putting another suit on . . .or . . .being casual and wearing one of the pairs of jeans he’d brought with him on a whim.
It wasn’t that he didn’t wear jeans. He did. Occasionally.
When he was cleaning his townhouse. When he was doing yard work. When he somehow got roped into going to see one of his nephews play softball.
Not on dates. But then all the dates he went on were usually to expensive restaurants where jeans weren’t even allowed.
He had a feeling this Rudy’s place, where Oliver said they could get a steak, wouldn’t be fancy. In fact, he’d done some brief market research and there weren’t really any fussy places in Indigo Bay at all.
You had to go to Charleston for those.
Luca put the jeans on but drew the line at a T-shirt, which he usually only wore to the gym, and threw on a dark blue button-up, leaving an extra button undone and rolling up his sleeves.
The walk to Rudy’s was short, but the afternoon, even in late February, was still unbelievably mild. He didn’t even need a jacket.
The weather reminded him a little of Napa, but definitely with less spring rain to worry about.
Rudy’s was a small restaurant, but already packed, going by the way the lobby had a few older couples waiting when he walked in.
The decor was Southern rustic, like a Cracker Barrel had thrown up inside, but he could smell the food, and the aroma was not only fantastic, it had a strong meaty edge to it, which was always a good sign for a place that sold steak.
Plus, there was the fact Oliver had suggested it, and Luca had a feeling, no matter how much of a food snob he was, Oliver was worse.
Anyone who baked that well wouldn’t tolerate crap.
The young girl at the hostess stand took him in head to toe and before he could even say he needed a table for two, she said, “You must be that guy Oliver said he was meeting.”
For a split second, Luca wanted to ask her what adjectives Oliver had used to describe him to make her so sure, but that would not only be awkward, it would completely give his crush away.
You yourself totally gave it away, when you couldn’t stop staring at him like he was the best thing you’d ever seen, Luca reminded himself.
“I’ll show you to his table,” she said, efficiently leading him away from the lobby deeper into the restaurant.
The floorboards were worn pine, but scrubbed clean, same as the walls, and the booths were high backed and made of logs.
It wasn’t a big place, and it didn’t take very long to get to Oliver’s table.
“Here you go, enjoy your dinner,” she chirped as Luca took in his first look at Oliver, date-style.
He was wearing jeans, too, but the beanie was gone, and his hair was styled, swooping over his forehead.
He needed a haircut, Luca thought, but he shouldn’t get one.
His polo shirt was pale green and brought out the hazel in his eyes, fitting him tightly enough that Luca was reminded again of how solid his biceps were for his size.
“Hey,” Oliver said, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a sweet smirk as Luca slid into the booth. “So you do know what jeans are.”
“Everyone knows what jeans are, Oliver.”
“Yeah,” Oliver said, leaning over the table, eyes twinkling, “but I thought you might believe they were only for mere mortals like myself. I’m happy to report I was not only wrong, but you fill them out very nicely.”
“Thanks,” Luca said dryly.
He took a sip of water, because his throat was dry. He was already imagining messing up Oliver’s hair. Stripping him out of that polo shirt. What his skin might taste like.
It wasn’t like his arousal could possibly take him by surprise, because he’d been attracted to Oliver from the beginning, but he was astonished at how horny he really was.
Yeah, you dummy, that happens when you don’t make time to have sex.
Cause now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had.
Or who it was with.
But he had a feeling he wouldn’t be forgetting Oliver anytime soon, even if they only had one night together.
“So,” Oliver said, “did Giana and Enzo come to a decision?”
Clearly he wasn’t the only one wondering if this one night was going to be all they were going to get.
“Not yet,” Luca said. He sighed. “They were still arguing when I left.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “You waved the white flag, finally?” He sounded surprised.
“No,” Luca said. “I just got tired of them trying to change my mind about the terms.”
“Ahhhh,” Oliver said, picking up his menu. “So, you didn’t give in.”
“Did you think I would?”
Oliver laughed. “No, not really. But Giana and Enzo’s endlessly circular arguments could probably convince a pretty tough person to change their mind.”
“So you don’t just know Enzo,” Luca said as he looked over his menu. It was simple food. Steaks and chops and roasted chicken. But he found something he thought would suit and resolved to ask Oliver what he thought about his order before he put it in.
Luca knew Oliver, for all his sweet, kind exterior, would be beautifully and brutally honest about food.
“Oh, Giana worked for me for a bit. Six months, maybe?”
Luca was not usually surprised by things. But he was about this.
“Really?”
“It was right before she wanted to open the deli,” Oliver said, “and someone—I think I can probably guess now who that was—told her that even though they were lending her money, they wanted her to have experience in the restaurant industry before she opened.”
Luca had forgotten about that.
If he hadn’t, he would have reminded his aunt that she should know better.
Especially if he’d known the experience she’d gotten was at Oliver’s bakery.
Clearly he wasn’t the type to cut corners.
“It was right after I had expanded some offerings, and I needed just another pair of hands. I knew she wouldn’t be sticking around. And then, right before she left, I picked up Aaron, who’s my assistant baker and a hell of a lot more than just a pair of hands.”
Luca was digesting this new piece of information when the waiter appeared at their table.
“Oh, Oliver, I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, shooting both of them a large friendly smile. “And this is new.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Andrew, don’t.”
“Hey, you show up here with a date, a date who looks like that, and I’m not supposed to ask?”
Oliver leaned in, catching Luca’s eyes. “Sorry, Andrew here is the biggest gossip in about three counties.”
“Is that a problem?” Luca wondered. He honestly wasn’t sure. He’d never once been on a date with a waiter who was unapologetically interested in what was happening at the table. But the last thing he wanted Oliver to be was uncomfortable.
“No, not at all, if it isn’t for you.” Oliver turned to Andrew. “This is Luca Moretti. He’s Giana’s nephew, and he’s here to help her. Consult, so to speak.”
“Hello, Luca Moretti.” Andrew grinned. “What can I get you two cuties to drink?”
“I’ll have a water and a sweet tea,” Oliver said.
Normally, Luca would’ve already been examining the wine list, discussing its high and low points with his date, silently judging if they weren’t able to keep up with sommelier lingo.
But he hadn’t even glanced at the list at the back of his menu yet.
“A glass of your house red,” he said, realizing he didn’t even care what it was.
The only thing he cared about was sitting across from him.
“Sounds good. I’ll give you two a minute to . . .” Andrew paused. “Peruse the offerings.”
“Thanks,” Oliver said wryly as he departed.
“Alright,” Luca said, before Oliver could apologize again, “I have to ask: do you know everyone in this town?”
“Sort of,” Oliver said with a chuckle.
“Seems like more than sort of,” Luca observed. “It’s just . . .not what I’m used to. Well, I am used to my family constantly interfering, so I imagine it’s kind of like that, isn’t it, except with a whole town instead.”
“Yeah, kinda,” Oliver said, shrugging.
“You don’t mind it.”
“Most of the time, no. It’s actually . . .” Oliver hesitated. “It’s actually kind of nice. It’s why I came back here, instead of staying in Charleston.”
“First, before you tell me what you did in Charleston, and I get totally blown away by how ridiculously cute you are,” Luca said, and Oliver shot him a lopsided grin, “tell me if I should be ordering this roasted chicken.”
“What would you think if I told you everything here is good?” Oliver teased.
“I’d tell you that you were a dirty, filthy liar.”
“Fair, fair. The chicken’s fine. Get the roasted pork chop, if you don’t want a steak. Make sure to get the stuffing on the side and the Brussels sprouts. They’re fresh, not canned. But the green beans? Not so much.”
“Ugh, okay.” Luca mentally revised his order.