Chapter 9 #3
“Just for this,” Oliver said, jabbing him lightly in the ribs. “Don’t give me shit. Some of us like our paper. Don’t worry, there isn’t a big overflowing box full of paper receipts in my office.”
“I’m relieved,” Luca said dryly. “And so is your accountant.”
“How much bread do you need? And what kinds?”
“Sourdough loaves, maybe thirty a week? At least at first? Maybe fifty after a month?”
Oliver scribbled that down. “What else?”
Luca hesitated. He wanted to add a few things to the menu, items that had done well in their deli in Napa, but for the paninis he needed focaccia.
In the Napa deli, they baked it fresh every day from Nonna’s recipe. But Luca had practically sworn a blood oath to never give one of her recipes to a non-family member.
What would Giana say if he shared it with Oliver?
Would she tell Nicoletta and Matteo? That seemed very likely.
He could already imagine their disappointment, the painfully sympathetic tinged with betrayal look on their faces that said they understood he’d lost his head to a cute guy and betrayed the family.
“You make focaccia?” It wouldn’t be Nonna’s but it was Oliver’s so it could hardly be bad.
“Yes,” Oliver said. “Not on the regular, but I can. How many pans?”
“Two, every other day,” Luca said.
He told himself that he wasn’t betraying Oliver by not sharing the recipe. He was not betraying Nonna and his family by keeping the recipe a secret, the way it had always been.
“Sure thing,” Oliver said, making more notes on the schedule on his clipboard.
“What are you topping yours with?” Luca asked.
“Rosemary, or thyme? Roasted garlic? Just sea salt? There’s options. It’s up to you.”
“Rosemary and sea salt, please,” Luca said.
He shouldn’t be so surprised to see the business-focused Oliver.
He knew that version of Oliver existed. There was no way Sweetie Pie’s was as successful as it was without focus.
Luca should know. But he was still surprised by Oliver’s sudden brisk professionalism.
“Delivery early or late?” Oliver glanced up when Luca didn’t answer right away. “Do you want to ask Giana?”
“Early,” Luca said firmly. “She’s not going to like it, but it’s what she should do.” Bread, even well-wrapped bread, could turn stale overnight. And that was exactly what they were trying to avoid.
“You gonna get more five a.m. bludgeoning phone calls?” Oliver asked, setting the clipboard on one of the bare counters.
“It’s possible,” Luca conceded. Giana was not happy, and if it was possible, Enzo was even more pissed off.
“I bet Enzo wasn’t particularly pleased either, cause I’m sure Andrew told the whole town who he served last night,” Oliver said. “Did he make things hard for you?”
Luca rolled his eyes. “No, he couldn’t possibly. He’s more of an annoyance than anything else, but the way he keeps talking about you pisses me off.”
“Oh, he’s been that way forever,” Oliver said, dismissing it with a casual wave of a hand. “It’s no big deal. It doesn’t bother me.”
“It bothers me,” Luca said slowly. “He was a jerk and you should be allowed to not go on a second date with someone.”
“Well, yeah, but explain that to Enzo,” Oliver said with a chuckle.
“I did.”
“Really?” Oliver sounded surprised. Maybe not at his admission, but at the steel in his tone.
“Really. I’m not happy with how he keeps talking crap, and I let him know I’ll be extracting a pound of flesh for every time it happens again.”
Oliver looked at him, jaw dropped. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh my God, I’d have paid good money to see you threatening him. Did he shit himself? Did Giana freak out? She seriously babies him, you know. It’s a problem.”
“Metaphorically, of course, yes, he totally shit himself,” Luca said with a fierce grin he couldn’t hold back—and didn’t even want to.
It had been satisfying to wipe that sulk off Enzo’s face, even for a moment.
“And yes, Giana freaked out. I think she believed he wouldn’t stop, and I’d make good on my threats. ”
“Would you have?” Oliver asked speculatively, glancing up at Luca from under light brown lashes.
“I’d have made him regret it for sure.” Violence was definitely not the answer, but he’d have done something, Luca knew that much.
He really didn’t like how Enzo harassed Oliver.
Or how Enzo had the nerve to be annoyed about Luca taking Oliver out instead.
“Just wait til he finds out you’re getting a second date.”
“I’m looking forward to it, though frankly, I think he’s already guessed.”
“I’ll have to make your deliveries myself and make sure to give you a nice big wet kiss right in front of him,” Oliver said, a determined look in his eyes.
“Any time you want to give me one of those, I’m never going to complain,” Luca said.
“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Oliver teased. “What time do you want to come over tonight?”
“Five is good, again.” Luca was already thinking of the food he’d cook Oliver. His food in Oliver’s mouth. It filled him with a savage sense of satisfaction.
“I’ll text you my address,” Oliver said pulling his phone out of his pocket, and laughed, , probably realizing he didn’t have Luca’s phone number.
Luca took the phone, added his number in, opening a text window so Oliver could send him his address.
“You know—” Oliver nudged him. “—now that I can bother you all the time, I probably will.”
“Anytime,” Luca said and realized as he left the bakery ten minutes later, Marjorie’s knowing smile still lingering in his vision as he’d said goodbye, that he meant it.
Oliver could bother him anytime.