Chapter 7
Earlier today, Oliver had told Marjorie that kindness wasn’t in Luca Moretti’s top five attributes. But he was slowly revising that analysis.
Was it a dominant characteristic? No, not really.
But Luca was kind when it mattered, like when Oliver was feeling vulnerable, after Andrew was his normal obnoxious self.
He should’ve told Lucy not to sit them in Andrew’s section, because he should’ve realized the waiter would be way more interested than he needed to be in Oliver and his dining companion.
Not just because Luca looked like Luca, but because the last honest-to-God date Oliver had been on had been the Enzo disaster, and he knew everyone was hoping (perhaps even rooting) for him to bounce back from that particular mess.
As usual for Rudy’s, his steak was perfectly cooked, the roasted potatoes on the side crisp with their parmesan garlic crust, and the Brussels sprouts delicious.
Luca seemed to be enjoying his meal as well, specifically thanking Oliver more than once for guiding him in the right direction and theorizing how they managed to keep the pork chop so moist.
“I have it on good authority they brine the chops,” Oliver said.
Luca had been fascinated by that, and they had a long, involved discussion about one of the recipes at Luca’s restaurants, where he’d been trying to adjust one of his Nonna’s recipes to be more consistent. Brining, Luca thought, might be a way to guarantee that.
Watching Luca talk passionately about his grandmother’s legacy, her recipes, the responsibility she’d given him, and how he’d not only taken it on without complaint but with a commitment to carry it out to the best of his ability, only made him more interested in the man.
Was he interested in the man underneath the clothes?
Absolutely. Andrew had not been wrong about that.
You’d have to be dead not to think about Luca Moretti naked.
But Oliver was also really enjoying hearing him talk. He was deeply interested in food: how it was made, how it was prepared, how it was served, and that was a topic of conversation Oliver could talk about forever.
He’d meant it before when he’d said Luca was more attractive because of who he was, that fierce intensity he carried with him, the love he showed for his family through the care he took with his birthright.
They finished eating, Luca taking one last sip of wine before leaning back in the booth with a deeply satisfied smile on his face.
A glance at his watch told Oliver it was almost six-thirty. An hour and a half before he needed to be in bed—though he could stretch that, if absolutely necessary.
And to truly enjoy Luca’s company, he had a feeling it might be absolutely necessary to go a little short on sleep tonight.
“That was a great meal,” Luca said.
“I’ll pass your compliments onto Rudy,” Oliver said. “And tell him how meaningful they truly are.”
“There’s actually a Rudy?” Luca asked in surprise as Andrew—thankfully almost silent this time, apparently chastened by Oliver’s embarrassment—dropped off the bill and picked up their plates.
“Hey, let’s walk a bit; it’s a nice evening,” Oliver said, after he let Luca take care of the check.
Luca was clearly well-off. He could afford it, and Oliver decided it wasn’t worth arguing about.
If Luca wanted to buy him dinner, he was not going to overthink it.
He’d let Luca take care of it. Take care of him.
In every possible way.
“Sounds good to me,” Luca said. “It’s warm here, for spring.”
“Wait til you’re here in the middle of August,” Oliver said as they stood and began to make their way out of the restaurant.
Luca froze in front of him and then his own muscles tensed up the moment he’d realized what he’d said.
“Of course, you won’t be here in August, which let me tell you, is actually a blessing,” Oliver said hurriedly, feeling stupid for broaching the one subject he’d promised himself they wouldn’t touch, which was how short whatever this thing was between them would be, no matter how good it was.
“That hot, huh?” Luca asked as he pushed open the door, letting Oliver walk through it first.
That was the other nice thing about Luca. He was a gentleman. Respectful. Conscientious. Didn’t expect anything, even though Oliver had practically thrown himself at him.
Had even said, let’s see what happens after, like he had hopes and aspirations but not expectations.
Enzo had expected that he’d kiss Oliver and also that Oliver would like it. He’d expected they’d sleep together, because he’d paid for dinner.
It was all those things, plus absolutely zero chemistry, that had guaranteed no second date.
Luca was supposed to be the arrogant one, but he didn’t seem particularly arrogant now. Enzo’s cousin felt like an entirely different story, especially in the dark, just his face lit by the streetlamps as they strolled together down the sidewalk.
The first time Oliver had ever seen him, he hadn’t believed he was real, and there was a part of him that still didn’t think he could be.
“I can’t remember the last time I ever went on a date,” Luca confessed, into the still evening air as they headed toward the park at the center of Indigo Bay, “and actually wanted there to be a second one.” He glanced over at Oliver.
There was no way around it. Oliver yearned.
Maybe Luca Moretti wasn’t everyone’s idea of a fairytale prince, but he seemed to fit the fantasy man bill pretty well for Oliver. Even just a little spicy underneath, the way he hadn’t realized he liked, but he loved about Luca.
“Well, the last date I went on was with your cousin, and we know I didn’t want a second date with him,” Oliver teased. He expected Luca didn’t normally do this, but it felt natural to reach out and take his hand, intertwine their fingers together and squeeze.
Luca looked surprised and then smiled, softly, squeezing Oliver’s hand back.
“Please tell me I’m at least doing a little better than him,” Luca said with a smirk.
“Loads better,” Oliver said. “But honestly, don’t think I’m comparing.”
They’d meandered through the park now, and they were standing near the statue of Eliza.
The groundskeepers in town always did an extra special buff to her bronze exterior whenever the Sweethearts Festival came around, and this year was no exception.
She was glowing softly in the light from the streetlamps dotting the park.
Luca stopped next to her, glanced down at the plaque identifying her. “Eliza Billings,” he read.
“You wanted to know the obsession with all things love, and the Sweethearts Festival, and I said I’d tell you the story, but maybe,” he added with a tiny smirk, “we don’t have time for the long version anymore.”
“Oh?” Luca raised an eyebrow. “Why would that be?”
“I’d rather spend my evening doing something else.
” There was no point in prevaricating, or even pretending they didn’t both want the exact same thing: to end the night getting hot and heavy in a bed somewhere.
In Luca’s room in the Inn, or even in his room, in the tiny bungalow he’d bought two years ago.
“Me too,” Luca said with a chuckle. “So give me the short version. And Billings. Eliza Billings. She’s your ancestor, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Oliver said, nodding. “Eliza was one of the first children born to the new inhabitants of this town, when they settled it in the early 1800s. She grew up with Nathanial Billings. They were childhood playmates I understand, but then Nathanial went to sea, like so many teenagers did back then.”
“They were sweethearts, then, Eliza and Nathaniel.”
“If they were, then this story would be like any other town’s story,” Oliver said with a grin, “and we wouldn’t be celebrating it every year with an explosion of red and pink you’re never really prepared for.”
“So what happened?” Luca looked intrigued now.
“Nathaniel was engaged to a woman named Betsy when he went to sea. They were sweethearts, and when he came back from his long sea voyage, they were to be married. But when years passed and he never returned, Betsy stopped waiting, and married someone else. But Eliza? Eliza waited.” Oliver sighed, a melancholy sigh, because sometimes he knew how Eliza had felt, back then, not necessarily because he’d been in love with someone his whole life and had been waiting for those feelings to be returned, but because it felt like he was always waiting for something, he just never knew what.
“For how long?”
“Years. She’d climb to the highest point on the coast—this is South Carolina so it’s not high, but it’s high enough to see the ocean, as far as the eye can see.
And she’d wait. Wait for him to come home.
Everyone else, his parents, Betsy, everyone else, they believed he was dead, his ship lost, never to return, but Eliza? She never stopped believing.”
“She never stopped loving him.” Luca’s voice echoed soft and wondrous.
Like he couldn’t imagine that kind of steadfastness.
And for a man who rarely went on even a second date, that made sense.
But the wonder was surprising. Like he’d never even considered that kind of love before, but surely he’d seen it?
His family was large, by his own admission, and he cared deeply for them.
How was his love, his protection, his dedication any different from Eliza’s loyalty to Nathaniel? It was familial love, yes, and not romantic, but still, Oliver wasn’t sure there was any difference.
“Never,” Oliver said. “She never stopped loving him. She never forgot him. She never married. Ten years went by, and she kept going up to the high point, to watch and to wait. The town began to say she was crazy. Delusional.”
“Why?”
“Well, this is a small town,” Oliver teased. “We like to be iconoclastic, especially to outsiders or to anyone who’s different. And Eliza was different. Because she didn’t just wait for him; she refused to believe he was dead.”