Chapter 13 #2
They’d made it to the edge of town now, and Oliver guided them to the path that led to a steep-ish slope, the ground rising toward the top of the cliff.
The day was warm, just the faintest hint of the beginnings of spring.
He tipped his head back, let the warm breeze wash over him.
It felt good to be outside, to be drinking in the fresh air. He didn’t do this nearly enough.
Maybe after Luca left town, he’d make it a habit, just like Eliza had.
Maybe she hadn’t climbed all the way up this hill because she’d wanted to look for Nathaniel. Maybe she’d done it because sitting at home and staring at the walls with only her own thoughts for company made her want to crawl up them.
“So you really meant it, didn’t you, when you said you didn’t go on second dates,” Oliver said after a few minutes of silence passed between them.
Luca shrugged. “You caught me.”
“What does your family think about that?”
His gaze swung toward Oliver. He’d taken off his windbreaker, shoving it into his backpack, and his skin was flushed and dotted with sweat. It was a really good look on him.
“My cousin Ren asked me if I’d finally found someone to ‘unbend me’ or . . .uh . . .what was it? ‘Remove the stick from my ass’? So yeah, they don’t like it very much.”
Oliver felt a rush of shock. “You told your family about me?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Luca set his hands on his hips, pausing on the trail. “If you think this town is nosy, it’s got nothing on the Morettis. I mentioned you, and they were like a dog with a bone.”
“That’s cute, though,” Oliver said. Not charmed at all. No way. Or pleased that Luca had mentioned him, in whatever capacity it had been.
“You only say that because they don’t harass you. Though . . .” Luca pursed his lips. “If a random fruit basket shows up on your doorstep, enjoy the fruit and ignore whatever message comes with it.”
“A fruit basket?”
“My cousin Ren again. Always a huge pain in my ass. But sort of better now that he’s my brother’s huge pain in the ass.”
“Oh, he’s the one who works with Gabe, right?” Oliver knew he shouldn’t be memorizing every aspect of Luca’s family. It wasn’t that kind of relationship. He’d never fly out to California and have to identify a whole slew of Morettis.
Though he knew if he ever wanted to, Luca would welcome him.
But then he’d have to leave again, and history would just repeat itself.
“Yes, they own the food truck together.”
“Come on,” Oliver said, reaching out a hand. “We’re only about twenty minutes from the top. And the view has to be seen to be believed.”
Luca took it, and maybe his hand was a little damp, but then Oliver’s wasn’t exactly dry either. As they climbed, Oliver discovered that really didn’t matter.
Oliver hadn’t been kidding about them working up a sweat, but it was different in a gym, somehow.
Less urgent. Less his own power driving him up the hill.
He found himself enjoying this more than he’d expected, the burn in his muscles beginning to fade as they emerged through the tree line and reached flat ground, the ocean spread out around them.
“Wow,” he breathed out, unsteady, as he walked closer, taking in the incredible view.
“Wasn’t lying, was I?” Oliver sounded smug, and maybe it shouldn’t have been adorable, but it was.
“I still kinda can’t believe she made that climb every day.”
“Maybe it’s one of those things that got embroidered after the fact. Makes the story more dramatic,” Oliver theorized as he sat on a big flat rock positioned just near the cliff with a perfect view off the edge.
“Or maybe she really did it. Love . . .” Luca hesitated. “Love makes you do crazy things, sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Oliver said wryly. “Never been in love before.”
He wasn’t looking at Luca. He was just looking out at the ocean—like it held the answers to every question.
The problem with that was Luca wanted to discover every single question Oliver wanted to ask. Not just discover though . . .be told them, from Oliver himself.
“Neither would I.” Though he’d certainly seen his share of love.
His parents, absolutely. Marcella and her husband.
Marco and his ever-revolving door of boyfriends and girlfriends, none of whom stuck around, but all of whom he loved, even if it was only for a little while.
Gabe and his boyfriend, Sean. Ren and Seth, and, seriously, who had pegged that happening?
Luca had been sure Ren would stay single as long as he did, and it had come as a bit of a shock to discover the truth.
If Lorenzo Moretti could fall in love, then anyone could.
Even he could.
“I guess we’re both just a little fucked up.” Oliver sighed, reluctantly.
“I don’t think so,” Luca said. “Just busy.”
Oliver tucked his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. He still hadn’t looked at Luca.
Maybe this was really why he didn’t go on second dates much—if ever.
Because he didn’t know what to say when things got serious.
Because he didn’t know what to say to Oliver now.
You’re wonderful and amazing and you deserve to fall in love with someone who loves you and who will always put you first.
He thought about saying it, but Oliver’s words from earlier were still echoing in his head: I just want to live in the moment.
If all they were going to get was the moment, Luca wanted that too.
“I’m thinking about getting busier,” Oliver said out of the blue. Now he glanced over at Luca. And if there’d ever been a burning regret in his eyes that love wasn’t in the cards for them, it was gone now. Or hidden.
God knew Luca had hidden his own deep inside, so deep he didn’t have to put a name to it.
“You are?”
“Mrs. Casey, who owns the antiques shop next door, cornered me at the last festival meeting and told me she’s thinking of finally retiring. Sometime in the next year. I always told her if she did, I’d buy her out. Expand.”
“What would you do with the extra space?”
“More commercial baking,” Oliver said with conviction, like he’d been thinking about this for a while. “And expanding the menu. Maybe even trying out a dinner a few days a week.”
It shouldn’t have hit Luca like a freight train.
He’d known Oliver’s roots were deep here, that they wove into the ground.
He’d come back, after all, hadn’t he, from Charleston, after pastry school, and working there for a few years.
He wanted to be in Indigo Bay. His family had practically founded the town, and he was as much part of it as the red and pink color scheme.
So it shouldn’t have come as a shock that he wasn’t only not willing to leave, he was digging those roots in even deeper, expanding his business.
But it did, anyway.
That thing Luca had buried deep down, the thing he didn’t want to name, throbbed.
“What do you think about that?” Oliver asked, less certain now, after Luca lapsed into silence.
He cleared his throat. “I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” he said. “Whether that’s put together a big commercial bakery or expand into a restaurant. I think you could do it all.”
Oliver’s voice was quiet. “That means something, coming from you.”
“You’d need more help.”
“Yeah. Aaron has a friend in pastry school who I’ve thought about hiring. If we expand, I’ll need to hire someone. Plus, Aaron’s ready for some additional responsibility, I think.”
“They grow up too fast,” Luca said. “One day Gabe was a gawky teenager, and the next he wanted to manage the deli, and I told him he was crazy, and well . . .I won’t lie. That was the beginning of the end for us.”
“Not the end. You told me you talked,” Oliver reminded him gently.
Something he’d never have done if he hadn’t come here and met Oliver and seen a different way to approach things, a different way to approach people. If Oliver hadn’t told him to stop regretting the past and do something about it.
“We did. It’s . . .better. We’re better. Probably not fixed.”
“Oh, it’ll take more than a few phone calls for that to happen,” Oliver teased. “You gotta put in the work.” He nudged his shoulder. “At least we know that’s one thing you’re not afraid of.”
“Come on.” Luca heard the gruffness in his own voice. “Let’s eat.”
“Sure.”
He’d stowed away a bottle of wine in his bag, and when he pulled it out, along with the plastic cups he’d stolen from the kitchen at the Inn, Oliver burst out laughing.
“Listen,” Luca said sternly, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile he couldn’t quite help, “you can take the Italian boy out of Napa, but you can’t take Napa out of the Italian boy.”
“I can see that,” Oliver said.
He’d prepped and wrapped two paninis, and pressed between Oliver’s focaccia was salami, capicola, ham, and provolone cheese, as well as some marinated tomatoes and artichoke hearts he’d started storing in jars in the walk-in, with the hopes Giana could be convinced to add this to the menu.
“This is really good,” Oliver said, after taking a big bite, chewing and swallowing. “I love the artichokes.”
“I’ll give you my recipe,” Luca said and realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it wasn’t his recipe.
It was something he’d adapted from one of Nonna’s.
She’d used it on olives, but he actually didn’t particularly care for olives, so he’d tried it on artichokes instead, and preferred it that way.
Oliver raised an eyebrow, like he’d realized the reason for the frozen expression on Luca’s face. He reached up, patting him on the cheek. “You can,” he said. “Or you can not. It’s alright. I’ll figure something out.”
Luca shook his head, trying to clear it.
“It’s just . . .” He couldn’t explain it.
How Nonna had taken him into her confidence, trusted him, taught him everything she’d known, everything he’d ever need to know.
How precious that had felt, how fiercely he’d fought to protect it.
How intensely he’d loved her for her complete faith in him.