Chapter 11 #3
The various people who would be dispatched to the bakery to try to change his mind.
“Seems like I’m not the only one who has to deal with that kind of responsibility.” Luca’s sigh was deep.
“But you talked to Gabe.” Oliver perched on the side of the bed, hoping—and also not hoping—Luca wouldn’t take it as an invitation.
He really needed to get a good night of sleep.
There was a ton of work to be done in the bakery tomorrow, and he couldn’t play hooky for another night, no matter how much he might want to.
Responsibility. That was a word he’d never hated before starting his own business.
Or meeting Luca, who had his own share of them.
“Yeah, I did.” Luca stayed over by the desk, lifting his wine glass. “Want some?” he asked.
“No, but I’ll just have a sip of yours, so I can try it,” Oliver said. Luca crossed toward the bed and took a seat next to him, handing over the glass.
“It’s a pinot, from a vineyard near us,” Luca explained as Oliver took a sip.
It was delicious. Fruity and deep and rich.
“You have exceptional taste in wine,” Oliver said seriously, then took a second sip.
Luca laughed. “So I’ve been told,” he said.
“So, you and Gabe,” Oliver prompted, passing the glass back over.
“It was . . .nice actually, to talk to him,” Luca said. “Surprisingly.”
“You aren’t surprised,” Oliver corrected gently. “You wanted to talk to him. I could tell you did.”
“How are you so smart?” Luca wondered, and Oliver thought it must be a rhetorical question, because he wasn’t, at all. If he was smart, he wouldn’t be sitting here on Luca’s bed at the Inn, sharing a glass of wine.
He’d be at home, going to sleep alone. Not unbearably tempted to throw all his rules and his responsibilities right out the window.
“Just observant. Baker, remember? Better than a bartender,” Oliver said with a grin. Trying to lighten his own mood.
“I talked to Marco too. He confirmed they’re handling stuff on their own, deliberately.”
Oliver wasn’t surprised. This was exactly what he’d suspected, and, he knew, Luca’s worst fear.
That they could do things without him.
That he wasn’t indispensable.
That he wasn’t needed. Or even worse, wanted.
“And?” Oliver kept his tone really casual.
“And? And?” Luca totally sounded like he was panicking about this. “I mean, it’s sweet, sure, because they know I’m busy here, but what if . . .”
He trailed off, clamping his lips shut.
Oliver reached over and took his hand. Squeezed it. “What if they don’t need you? I think you know that’s not true. They’re just trying to give you a little bit of a break. You work really hard, and they know that. And maybe this is also them telling you, hey, we can do this, too.”
“Can they, though?”
Oliver shot him a look. “I know you don’t mean that.”
“They just haven’t ever done it before,” Luca said with a heavy sigh. “I guess . . .I guess I assumed they couldn’t.”
“And you could.”
He nodded.
“There you go. It’s all okay. You’re fine.” Oliver stole the glass and took another sip of wine.
It shouldn’t have felt so right, sitting here together and sharing a glass of wine, but it did.
“I’m . . .I’m okay.” Luca admitted it slowly. Carefully. Like he was testing it out.
“Yeah, you really are.” Oliver grinned. “Okay and fine. Especially in these.” He touched the corner of Luca’s glasses. “Please wear them all the time.”
“Seriously?”
“They’re sexy librarian glasses,” Oliver said. No other explanation needed. “Maybe you could tell me to shush a half dozen times and then if I won’t, make me do it.”
Luca laughed, sounding a hell of a lot lighter, and Oliver didn’t miss the light returning to his eyes either.
“But not tonight,” Oliver continued reluctantly. “I’ve got to get home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a long day.”
“I know tomorrow’s our first bread delivery, but if it’s too much—”
“No,” Oliver stopped him before he could do a very un-Luca like thing and tell him to delay the first order. “Really, it’s fine. I’ve got Aaron to help. Just a lot of other things I need to get done tomorrow too. I wish I could stay, but I can’t.”
Luca had the nerve to look disappointed. Which, in turn, stoked Oliver’s own regret.
Then Luca leaned in and said, in a deep, soft voice that felt like it altered something permanent inside Oliver, “What if I tried to convince you?”
Oliver hesitated.
“Or . . .” The corner of Luca’s mouth kicked up. “How about if I just gave you a kiss goodnight?”
Oliver opened his mouth to argue, to tell him it was never going to be just one kiss, but that was all the invitation Luca needed to press their lips together.
They’d only spent a handful of nights together, so the kiss shouldn’t have felt so stupidly sweet, but it did anyway. Like that was truly all it was, like that was all Luca wanted from him. Just a kiss.
Luca’s hand crept up and cupped Oliver’s head and his touch was gentle. Had anyone ever treated Oliver like this before? He didn’t think so.
Right after Luca’s tongue brushed his, velvet-soft and in no particular hurry, he broke off, giving Oliver just the tiniest nibble on his bottom lip before he pulled away.
Oliver’s eyes fluttered open.
He wanted to reach back and kiss him again.
Because even though it was just supposed to be a kiss, it was impossible for Luca to not light a fire—even a small, cozy one—inside him.
“There,” Luca said. “You’re all set now.”
“Am I?” Oliver felt turned upside down.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Luca said, his voice becoming firmer. “You’ve got sleep to get, yes?”
“Yes.”
Luca wasn’t wrong.
But already Luca made him want to throw everything away.
Made him want to play hooky.
It wasn’t the first time he’d ever been tempted, but the temptation had never been more seductive.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Luca said. He drained the rest of the wine and stood.
But Oliver didn’t.
Couldn’t he sit here forever and just look at Luca as he walked into the bathroom, washed out the wine glass, set it back on the desk, next to the corked bottle, and turned back toward Oliver.
“You haven’t moved,” he said, in a deeply amused voice.
“I will,” Oliver said, with as much dignity as he could gather. “I’m in mourning that you didn’t try to convince me.”
“I sort of got the impression you didn’t want me to.” Luca rubbed the back of his neck, looking rueful.
“I didn’t, but I also did.” Oliver forced himself to move, get upright.
Took two steps toward the door. He wanted to tell him it had been easier to justify this when they were also having sex.
But he’d stopped by tonight just because he’d wanted to, and Luca had kissed him just because he’d wanted to.
“Believe me, I understand,” Luca said. “But I’m not a saint . . .”
He wasn’t.
But he was trying, and that meant so much more to Oliver than he realized it would.
“Alright,” Oliver said, “I’m gone.”
“Wait,” Luca said and then he was right there, in Oliver’s space, pressing him back against the door. This kiss wasn’t quite so gentle, but it was still so goddamn sweet.
Then Luca was gone, a few feet away, and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, like he needed to control himself every way he could.
Oliver missed the pressure of his lips, but if he didn’t reach for the doorknob now, every single good reason for why he should would fly right out the window.
“I’m really gone now.” Oliver took a deep breath and felt for the doorknob. “Night.”
The last thing he saw before the door closed behind him, was Luca’s face—and the affection in his dark eyes stuck with him all the way home.