Chapter 14
Oliver had wondered if things would shift between him and Luca after their life-changing sex of the other day.
He’d thought maybe Luca would regret being laid so bare, made so vulnerable.
That he’d pull away, because it was so much more than he’d experienced with anyone else.
That he’d be smart about it, even a little cold, and start to put distance between them, because in less than a week, that was all they’d have.
Distance.
Oliver couldn’t say that he hadn’t considered the possibility himself.
Should he cut Luca out? Or at least freeze him out a little? His mom’s words echoed through him, a reminder that the only thing he was going to feel when Luca flew away was pain.
But he’d have the memories too, and the belief that he could do this with someone.
That in only a few weeks, he could fall for someone.
Because even though he’d rather die than admit it, he loved Luca.
Wanted him in his life, even if it was impossible.
But he couldn’t bear the thought of pulling away.
You only have a little more time left, he thought as he glanced up from his laptop. Luca had invited himself over tonight—sort of unspoken, in that he’d showed up just as Oliver was finishing up at the bakery, and they’d walked back to Oliver’s house together.
“I’m cooking you dinner again,” Luca had announced, even when Oliver had reminded him he had festival business he needed to take of tonight.
“It’s alright,” Luca said, “I’ve got work to tackle after dinner, too.” And who was Oliver to say no when Luca was that determined?
“What are you making me?” Oliver asked, because it was hard to keep his eyes on his screen, on the work he knew he needed to get done, when Luca was in his kitchen, and the smells were already amazing. Roasted garlic and something nutty, like parmesan or nuts, toasting in a pan on the stove.
“Something simple. Cacio e pepe, with a roasted garlic and pine nut gremolata,” Luca said. “My favorite quick go-to, when I’m home and need some carbs for a long night of work.”
“You do that?” Oliver asked, standing up, stretching and then wandering into the kitchen. “If we’re having pasta, you should grab that extra sourdough I brought home and toast it up.”
“Already found it,” Luca said, clearly making himself comfortable in Oliver’s kitchen, which wasn’t attractive at all. Or the way he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves and already had pasta boiling away in the pot and a pan with garlic and parsley simmering in olive oil.
Nope. Not at all.
“And,” he added, shooting Oliver a rueful smile, “yes, way too often, honestly.”
“Really?” Oliver couldn’t believe it. He worked long hours at the bakery, yes, but he’d spent the time when he’d first opened to automate his billing and ordering systems and hired the best accountant in town to take care of his books, so when he came home, he came home.
He didn’t just spend a few more hours working just because he had to.
Those steps had made his margin razor thin at the beginning, but it had been worth it, because he hadn’t burned out, like so many other restaurant owners he’d known in Charleston.
Was Luca like that? But he’d told Oliver he didn’t work the line, not normally. So what was he spending all his time doing that he needed to work when he came home from work?
Luca glanced up from the cheese he was shredding into a neat pile on Oliver’s butcher block.
“Really,” Luca said. “And yes, I’m a workaholic normally. This is . . .” He hesitated. “A break of sorts, for me. That’s what my mom told me, when I came here. That I should take the time.”
“That why everyone’s running interference for you at home?” Oliver wondered.
“Sort of, yes, I think so,” Luca admitted.
“But still, how are you working so much? How much are you overseeing, day-to-day?” Oliver was curious, because at some point in the very near future, all he’d have of Luca were these little glimpses into his regular life.
He’d be able to glance at his watch and think, right now, Luca’s at the restaurant, shaking hands and asking people how their dinner was.
Right now, he’s eating a family meal with the staff.
Right now, he’s in his office at home, running through the daily take and reconciling it.
He already knew they wouldn’t be keeping in contact when he left, because it was going to be too hard as it was. They didn’t need to prolong the agony, even though Luca had become a good friend, too, in the last few weeks, not just a lover Oliver was desperate to keep.
“I spend some time at the deli mid-morning to early afternoon, working with the manager there, to avoid any issues, then I move over to the main Nonna’s location.
Sometimes I’ll stop over and check in with Marco at the steakhouse, but he likes it when I keep my hands out of his business.
” Luca rolled his eyes. “But I’ll see Marcella, my sister, who is in charge of the front of the house, have a quick meeting with Dario, who’s our accountant, and sometimes I’ll get to see my parents, too, if they’re coming around.
Then I work the floor, usually for most of dinner service, but I can usually sneak into the kitchen for a quick meal, before settling in with paperwork and email for the evening. ”
Oliver didn’t ask if he could work less.
He knew that wasn’t how Luca functioned.
It wasn’t even how he functioned. He knew Aaron was a competent and capable assistant.
He could handle the bake more than one day a week, which was what he was currently doing, but Oliver had resisted changing the schedule.
Why? He liked having his hands in the dough, having his fingers in every pie, feeling the pulse of his bakery around him.
Luca was the same.
He wanted to be involved. This involved.
“It’s a good life,” Luca said quietly. Like he knew what Oliver was thinking. “Lonely, maybe, but good. I love my family.”
Oliver knew it.
But it didn’t stop him from sneaking up behind Luca and putting his arms around him, holding him close for a single moment, resting his cheek on the broad planes of his back.
It didn’t stop him from wishing for things he couldn’t have.
“Same,” he echoed in a low voice.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Luca cleared his throat and Oliver let go.
It was killer, the letting go, but necessary. He knew it was.
He returned to his laptop and Luca cleared his throat again, glancing over. The look in his dark eyes burned. And Oliver knew it wasn’t only killing him. “Dinner ready in a few,” he said. “Once the pasta’s cooked, it goes quick.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, Luca set down two plates on his little kitchen table, full of delicious-smelling pasta.
“This looks amazing.” Oliver picked up a fork, twirling it in the beautiful mound of pasta. Groaned after he shoved it in mouth, chewing through the bliss. “Tastes amazing, too.”
Luca’s smug expression might’ve been a turnoff, but he was just as good as he thought he was, and that made it kind of hard to blame him for it.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No, really, thank you,” Oliver said. “Without you, I’d probably have scrounged in my freezer for frozen pizza or something.”
“Or something?”
“You have something against frozen pizza?” Oliver had a feeling he totally did. This was Luca Moretti after all.
Oh, well, not everything about him could be perfect.
“There’s a reason I haven’t invited my mother to my place in ages,” Luca said, dropping his voice down, like his mother might spring out from behind the ficus in the corner. “She’d go through every cupboard, every drawer in my fridge, and definitely through the freezer.”
“What would she find there?” Oliver asked innocently.
“Not just frozen pizza, but mozzarella sticks, too.” Luca sighed. “Listen, we all need our vices.”
“Let me guess, you pair your shitty frozen mozzarella sticks with really good wine.”
Luca chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”
“See, I knew I didn’t run you over for a reason,” Oliver teased, waving his fork in the air in Luca’s direction. “Knew I’d like you.”
Knew I’d love you.
Luca met his gaze directly and was laughing too. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t, that burning look in his dark eyes back from earlier.
The feeling pressed, hard and insistent and undeniable, against Oliver’s breastbone.
This was the most exquisite pleasure and the worst pain he’d ever felt, all tangled together.
It would be easier if they could separate themselves, if he had the nerve to back away now, while things were easier. Not easy, but easier.
But he couldn’t do it. He just didn’t have the courage.
Instead, he was greedy and wanted to grab everything he was allowed, right up til he wasn’t anymore.
Luca coughed and returned his gaze to his plate.
Maybe it should’ve made Oliver feel better that he wasn’t alone in feeling this way. But it didn’t; in fact, it made it feel worse, if that was even possible.
“So,” Luca said, “what do you have to do tonight, still?”
“Finalize the placement of the vendors,” Oliver said. “And review someone’s application that came in quite late.”
The corner of Luca’s mouth quirked up. “Oh, who’s that?” he asked innocently, like hadn’t sent it over himself just this afternoon.
“Someone trying to get the attention of the town,” Oliver said. “If the food’s anything like this, I think they’ll succeed.”
“Inside’s spruced up too.”
“You convince Enzo to do the mural?” Oliver had both been surprised at the idea—and not very surprised at all. Surprised, because he hadn’t once thought of it, even though it was a damn good thought, and not surprised, because of course Luca would be brilliant like that.
There was that feeling again.
Suddenly, the food tasted like ash in his mouth.
He looked up to find Luca staring at him intently.
“No,” Luca said conversationally, but with purpose. Intent. “No, you didn’t want to talk about it, and we’re not going to.”
Oliver swallowed his food. “But—”