Chapter 8
Just because he was used to getting up at the ass crack of dawn didn’t mean Oliver always liked it.
It was hard enough getting up with the alarm when he was alone in his nice warm bed.
It was ridiculously tough when Oliver opened his eyes and saw Luca’s handsome face, barely visible in the darkness of the room, relaxed and sleeping, tilted toward him like he’d wanted to fall asleep looking at him.
Of course he didn’t, Oliver ordered himself to believe. This is just . . .
Well, he didn’t know what it was.
Maybe it didn’t have to have a label or an identifier. Maybe it just was, for as long as Luca was here in town.
He gathered his clothes silently, let himself into the bathroom, and brushed his teeth with the extra toothbrush he knew his mom kept in every guest room. He’d always stored extra T-shirts at the bakery, so he could just throw one on and his walk of shame wouldn’t be that obvious.
Aaron might guess, and Marjorie definitely would, but he wasn’t really ashamed. He’d taken what he’d wanted and it had been even better than he’d anticipated. Where was the shame there?
He wanted to press another kiss to Luca’s forehead, smooth and relaxed in sleep, but he didn’t want to wake him up, so he pushed the desire down and let himself out of the room.
The Inn was still quiet, because it was too early even for people to be stirring. So instead of heading directly out the back door, Oliver pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and stopped right in his tracks.
He’d meant to pour himself a big iced coffee to go, because his mom kept cold brew in a big jug in the industrial-sized refrigerator.
But the light was on, and there she was, rolling out scone dough on the counter.
The pale expanse of it was dotted with dried fruit and nuts.
He’d told her a thousand times he’d be happy to bake her scones at the bakery, but she’d resisted, said she liked working with the dough herself.
Had even reminded him, firmly, he got his affinity for flour and sugar from somewhere.
“Oliver,” Joy said steadily as he tried to unstick himself from the doorway. “Up early?”
He’d told himself this wasn’t a walk of shame, but he also hadn’t anticipated facing his mother on it, either.
“Uh, yes,” Oliver said. He passed by her on the way to the fridge. Grabbed himself a plastic cup, filled it up with ice from the bin on the counter, and found the jug of cold brew in the fridge.
“Oliver, you can look at me,” she said. And when he turned around, she had her hands on her hips, leaving flour dusted down her apron-front.
He steeled himself for her disappointment and finally met her gaze.
“It’s . . .” But he couldn’t finish the sentence any better out loud than he’d been able to finish it in his head.
“I know,” Joy said, patting him on the shoulder, trailing flour as she went. “Besides, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“What?”
“Marge texted me last night, said I should expect it. But I kinda thought you’d go to your place.”
Maybe they should have.
“I have to be up so early . . .” It was a terrible excuse but the truth was he hadn’t wanted to walk all the way to his own place, and the Inn had been so much closer—but he couldn’t tell his mother they’d been too eager to wait.
“Uh-huh.” She was smiling now. “Well, can’t say you don’t have good taste. He’s very handsome, isn’t he? Giana’s nephew, and apparently very successful, according to Marge.”
“And doesn’t live here.” Oliver forced the words out to remind both of them this wasn’t going the place she thought it was.
She shot him a chiding look as she returned to her scone dough. “Since he’s staying here at the Inn, I did assume that.”
“Oh.”
“You work too hard. Always have. You get that from me, too. This might be good for you.”
“You’re not going to . . .” Oliver trailed off, flushing with embarrassment.
“Lecture you about sex?” Joy laughed. “Oliver, I am not naive. Not even in the slightest. I’m just glad you didn’t give in to Enzo. You deserved better than someone who believes you should just settle.”
“Thanks,” Oliver said dryly. “I think so too.”
“Do you think Giana should listen to him?” Joy asked as she floured the cutter she used on the scones. Heart-shaped, of course.
Oliver reached back into the fridge and pulled out the milk. Stirred some into his coffee. “Yeah, actually,” he said. “He’s smart. He’s got a plan. And well . . .we both know Giana doesn’t.”
“Bless her heart,” Joy said. “Her plan is for Enzo to somehow, miraculously, develop both an interest and an aptitude in the business, but we both know that isn’t going to happen.”
“And it won’t save it,” Oliver said bluntly.
“No.” Joy’s sigh was reluctant.
“So why are you up so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, placing her cut-out scones on a parchment-lined baking tray. “I’m stuck on the end of this book and I keep going round and round, trying to fix it, but it won’t be fixed.”
“Don’t they just . . .” Oliver waved his hands. “Fall in love and live happily ever after?”
Joy smacked him on the arm, leaving more flour behind. “You know it’s more than that.”
He did, but it was fun to work her up anyway. At least he’d made her at least half as agitated as he’d been when she’d found him sneaking out.
But, he considered as he took a long drink of coffee, maybe it was good she knew. He wasn’t trying to hide it. Not really.
He could have offered to fix dinner for Luca at his house, if he’d wanted to keep it a secret. Instead, he’d met him at Rudy’s, which meant the whole town probably knew now.
“I gotta get to work,” Oliver said.
“Can’t wait around for a fresh scone?”
“No, I’ve got bread I’ve got to get started.” Oliver was a little disappointed because he was a little hungry now that she mentioned it, and her scones were famous for a reason. “Just don’t make him squirm too much, okay?”
Joy shot him a look. “Have you seen him? He’s not really the squirming type.”
Oliver thought about Luca’s tough outer shell and then the surprisingly soft interior. The interior he kept hidden. The one he’d shown Oliver because maybe he couldn’t help himself.
“You’d be surprised,” Oliver said.
“Maybe I would.” His mother’s face softened into a warm smile. She gave him a quick hug as he passed by her on the way out the door. “Have a good day and don’t work too hard.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face as he headed out into the pre-dawn dark.
Luca had known when he woke up Oliver would be gone.
He was prepared for his alarm to go off, and roll over to a cold, empty spot where he’d been last night. He’d mentally bargained with himself that it was fine. It was the trade-off he’d made when he’d asked Oliver to stay.
Which . . .he still didn’t really know why he’d done that. It was not his usual MO, at all, because typically he liked his own space and his privacy, but something about Oliver had plucked at a feeling inside him he hadn’t felt in forever.
He hadn’t wanted him to go, because he didn’t know how much time they would have together —and it felt safe to ask, because it wasn’t like either of them believed this was going someplace it wasn’t.
They knew he lived in California, and that fact alone would keep this from getting too serious.
Still, even though he’d known he wouldn’t wake up to Oliver, he hadn’t anticipated he’d wake up to a phone call at six in the morning.
Luca rolled over with a groan and fumbled for his phone. “Yes?” he growled as he hit the screen to answer it.
“Yes,” Giana said. She sounded annoyed.
Probably not as annoyed as Luca was.
“Yes what?” Luca barked.
“Yes, we will make the changes. But I want in writing, signed, that you’re discontinuing the payments.” Her voice was prim.
Luca scrubbed a hand over his face. “I already had something written up,” he said. “I’ll send it over to you. To your email. That you’ll be checking.”
“Yes,” she grumbled.
“I want you and Enzo there at eight sharp today.”
She started to grumble more, but he interrupted her.
They were going to do things his way—she’d just agreed—and he was really tired of arguing.
“No,” he said. “You agreed. And you’re awake, you just called me at .
. .” He checked his watch. “Six a.m. We’re definitely both awake, so we might as well get started on the work at the restaurant. ”
“Fine.” She didn’t sound happy, which confirmed for him the only reason she’d chosen to call him this early had been as punishment for forcing her into a corner.
Guess this was battering ram Oliver had referred to.
She was going to take it to him, instead.
Well, if she tried, she was going to find out just how indestructible he was.
It would take more than a few early phone calls to disturb him.
“With Enzo,” Luca said firmly. “Not just you. You and Enzo.”
There was a long silence. “Okay,” Giana finally said.
Honestly, Luca thought as he hung up and flopped back into the bed, the sooner his aunt came to terms with the fact his cousin was never going to want the business, the better.
Maybe he would eventually buy it back from her, after it was back to Nonna’s standards, and it would give him an excuse to come here a few times a year.
To see Oliver.
But didn’t they both deserve better than a few stolen days a year?
Luca knew Oliver did, but it hadn’t stopped him from pursuing him anyway.
As for him, he wasn’t quite sure what he deserved, but enjoying Oliver definitely felt like pressing his luck. Still, that wasn’t going to stop him while he was here.
He knew if he wanted to get a workout in before he met Giana and Enzo at the restaurant, he’d need to get up now. But he still stayed in bed for another five minutes, and if he rolled over and sank into the sweet scent of Oliver on the other side of the bed, well, nobody knew but him.
Luca was not surprised when Giana opened the door for him at eight on the dot.
He was also not surprised when she glared at him when she did it.