Chapter 12
“Giana,” Luca said patiently—or at least he was trying to be patient—and mostly failing. “That sauce is from yesterday.”
“Yes, I know,” she snapped back at him. “We’re going to finish it off, then we’ll have the fresh. We need to figure out how to predict better how much we’re going to use, because I’m not throwing it away.”
“Oliver doesn’t throw anything away,” Luca offered mildly, leaning against the back counter, watching as Giana stirred the sauce in a pot on the stove, re-heating it.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, saint Oliver.”
“I know he gives some of his extras to a shelter down by the wharf,” Luca said. “And you should know that too, since you worked with him. In the future, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll contact them today, make sure they can use what we’re giving them.”
Giana’s frustration softened. “That’s . . .that’s actually really nice, Luca.”
It was like nobody but Oliver knew he could be nice.
But he could.
He was proving it one day at a time, here in Indigo Bay.
And when he went back home—and that thought stung, deep down, in a place he wasn’t necessarily ignoring, but that before the last few weeks, he hadn’t even knew existed—he wasn’t going to stop trying.
He’d begun to make amends with Gabe. He’d accepted what Marco had said.
He’d even listened to Oliver and decided that he would let the rest of the family take care of things, for now.
“That’s what we do at our own restaurants, back in Napa. I know it’s going to take us some time to adjust the food estimates. Especially when we’re working toward a period of growth. That’s always going to be hard to get it right. It’s okay that it’s not right now,” Luca said. “We’ll get there.”
Giana actually shot him a legitimately grateful look.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He heard the front door open and close, and assumed it must be their bread delivery from Oliver’s bakery.
Luca straightened. “I’ll get them,” he said, but before he could turn to go, Giana reached out and caught his arm. “I mean it,” she said. “Thank you. For that. And for everything.”
It was the first tiny inkling he’d had that she actually was grateful.
“Oh. Well, you’re still welcome.” But she still had his arm.
“I didn’t know if I even wanted this place,” she said, voice bittersweet. “I wanted it for Enzo. I still want it for Enzo. But . . .”
“Maybe he’ll come around.” Luca wasn’t going to hold his breath, but maybe he’d discover a shred of familial obligation at some distant point in the future.
“Maybe.” But Giana also didn’t look convinced. She dropped his arm. “Go see about the bread,” she said.
He had an inkling their conversation wasn’t over, but he was feeling at least decent about the fact that his aunt had realized what he’d tried to do for her. It was, at the very least, better than her hating and resenting him for every change he’d implemented.
When he pushed the door open, he was surprised to see Oliver standing there, a big bundle of wrapped bread sitting on the front counter.
“Oh,” Luca said. “It’s you.”
“You thought I’d send a lackey on your very first day?” Oliver grinned.
It hit him square in the chest.
Someday, in just a week or two, you’re not going to see him smile anymore.
Luca pushed the thought aside. He couldn’t focus on the good—on the very good—that was happening right now if he was constantly worrying about the future. He wouldn’t. He would just take each day as it came. Enjoy them. Enjoy Oliver.
“I guess yeah, I thought you might,” Luca said, coming around the counter.
“Besides, I promised you a kiss,” Oliver said, looking downright excited about the prospect of collecting.
“I don’t think Enzo is here, unfortunately.”
“That’s okay,” Oliver said casually and reached for him anyway.
This kiss was hotter, wilder than the one last night. Like Oliver had been thinking about it since he’d left Luca’s room and wanting it more with every second that passed between then and now.
Luca lost what was left of his mind and pressed his hips against Oliver’s, both of them groaning as arousal rushed through him.
Because he hadn’t stopped thinking about it either.
How much he hadn’t wanted Oliver to leave last night, even though he’d known he’d needed to.
It had nearly killed him to do the right thing—and at the last second, he’d almost buckled, and had convinced him anyway.
“God,” Oliver groaned as he nipped at his mouth. “I want you.”
Luca’s fingers tightened on his hips, dragging him even closer. “Tonight?”
“Can’t. Have another meeting. Longer meeting. But tomorrow? I’ve got the day off, and I thought maybe you could play hooky too and come hiking with me. I wanted to show you the spot. You know, the spot.”
Luca raised an eyebrow. “Is this some kind of sex thing? Because if it is, I’m on board.”
“No,” Oliver said, laughing and putting a little distance between them.
It was better this way, but that didn’t mean Luca liked it.
“It’s the spot where Eliza went when she was missing Nathaniel, and the spot where she found him, after he came back to Indigo Bay.
It’s just a bit of a hike, and I thought I’d put together a picnic for us. ”
“Leave that to me,” Luca said.
“Like feeding me, do you?” Oliver smirked.
Sue him, he totally did. And he was going to do it now, while he still could. “Yes.”
“Well, then I’ll allow it. Pick you up at eleven tomorrow.”
Luca nodded. It was time for Giana and Enzo to be on their own for a day. He’d been working with them so closely, there wasn’t time for them to prove that they wanted to be on this path. Though he supposed Giana’s appreciation just now was the first real proof he’d seen. Tomorrow would cinch it.
He’d ordered the decor on the plan Chiara had sent over, and it was showing the shipment would be received in two days, so there was a little bit of time for him to do something else.
He’d intended on working on some of his own plans for the California version of Nonna’s, but this would be better.
After all, wasn’t his family always telling him to work less? Hadn’t Nicoletta told him to take some time for himself while he was here?
“Alright, important things out of the way,” Oliver said. “Let’s talk about the bread.” He gestured toward the packaged bundle on the counter. “Focaccia as promised. Do you want to try it?”
Luca knew it would be good, because Oliver wouldn’t make something bad, but he nodded anyway. Still feeling that weird remnant of guilt that he hadn’t passed over Nonna’s recipe.
Oliver put the sandwich rolls, which were resting on the top, on the counter and pulled off the plastic covering on the pans of focaccia. They looked really good, golden brown and pitted with a sprinkling of sea salt and fresh rosemary dotting the surface.
“Looks solid,” Luca said.
“Knife?” Oliver asked archly. Like he believed he had something to prove. And he did, with this, even though he didn’t even know it. Which . . .there was that pang of guilt again.
Luca reached behind the counter and came up with a clean knife from one of the silverware bins. He neatly sliced a corner off, broke it in half and handed half to Oliver and popped the other half into his own mouth.
Rich, warm yeast flooded his taste buds, followed by salt and the rich buttery feel of the olive oil. It was really good bread. Exceptional bread, even.
But it wasn’t Nonna’s.
You are not disappointed, he told himself firmly. If you wanted him to make Nonna’s focaccia, you could’ve given him the recipe.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Oliver said, savoring the bite with a long eye-fluttering look that couldn’t help but spike a flare of heat at the base of Luca’s stomach again.
Yes, he really loved feeding Oliver. Even when it was Oliver’s own food.
“I thought my opinion was the one we were worried about,” Luca teased.
“Of course, but if you tell me it’s not good, now I’m gonna know you’re full of shit,” Oliver teased right back.
It was funny, even when he was trying to be snarky, he was still so fundamentally sweet Luca knew if he kissed him again, he’d taste sugar on his tongue.
“Noted.” Luca smiled. “But I wasn’t going to tell you that at all. It’s really good. Just like I expected it’d be.”
Oliver flushed, cheeks turning pink. The fact that Giana was just in the back was all that kept Luca from kissing him and more.
“Good.”
It was time for him to go and they both knew it, but instead of saying his goodbyes, Oliver lingered.
“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” he asked, carefully wrapping the focaccia back up.
“Teaching Giana the new panini I want to make with this,” Luca said. “And work. Always more work. What’s tonight’s meeting about?”
“We’re a little over a week out, so it’s to go over the main schedule, do a walk-through of the festival grounds, make final decisions about where everything’s going. That kind of thing.” Oliver hesitated, and Luca couldn’t help but jump in.
“Final decisions?” he asked.
Oliver had to know what he was worried about.
But instead of telling him, sorry, I couldn’t make it work for Giana, he said with an eyeroll, “And yes, saved a spot for her.”
Luca shouldn’t have been too surprised. This was Oliver. He had a soft spot for everyone—except maybe Enzo, and that was totally deserved—and he wasn’t afraid to show it, not like Luca, who kept his own guarded and buttoned up all the goddamn time.
But he was still so pleased he’d done this for her.
That was what he told himself. It’s for Giana, because she worked for him, and he feels sorry for her. Not because you asked. Not because he wanted to do something nice for you.
“That’s great,” Luca said, resisting the urge to put his hands on Oliver and thank him a lot more intimately, again. “That was really generous of you.”
“Well, someone asked me nicely,” Oliver teased. “And they reminded me that I have some power around here.”