Chapter 7 #2
When Enzo said this, more theorizing than wanting an actual answer, Will smiled. “You don’t think she has video equipment set up everywhere?” he wondered. “Maybe she’s got a spy relay system, up and down Main Street?”
“Oh, she might,” Enzo said, flopping down onto the chair, then looking over the different takeout containers that he was opening. There was a nice selection of antipasti, along with fresh bread from Oliver’s. “She did make her artichoke spread. She really must like you.”
“Or,” Will joked, “she really hopes I’ll like you.”
God, that was probably true.
“She doesn’t make it for just anyone,” Enzo said, ignoring that.
“I know she won’t give me the recipe. I tried replicating it, but I’m no cook.”
“I don’t know, those brownies from last night would beg to differ.
” Enzo picked up a slice of bread and spread tapenade on it, added a few slices of prosciutto and a nice wedge of what smelled like smoked mozzarella.
Chewed and swallowed, making happy humming noises in the back of his throat as he did so.
Now that he’d finally cooled off some, he realized he’d been even hungrier than he’d imagined.
Will leaned over the desk and grabbed them two more bottles of water from the mini fridge underneath.
“Thanks,” Enzo said.
“That’s just simple baking,” Will argued.
“Oliver would probably disagree with that assessment.”
“True.” Will dipped a crostini in the artichoke spread and made his own set of happy noises as it disappeared into his mouth. “Maybe if I date you, Giana would be willing to give me this recipe.”
“Wanted only for my mom’s artichoke spread,” Enzo said mournfully.
Will laughed. Nudged him with an elbow. “Might actually be a solution,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Enzo ignored the way his voice went high and surprised. Hoped that Will would, too.
“She’s gonna be doing this all summer, isn’t she? As long as you’re here, working on the mural?”
Enzo wanted to tell Will that no, she wouldn’t, because he’d be taking care of it, he’d be convincing her to stop it, but he knew what his mother was like when she got her teeth into an idea.
And frankly, Enzo had a feeling he and Will didn’t look all that averse to each other.
Which was not going to help the situation.
“Probably, yeah. I can talk to her but well . . .” Enzo winced. Picked up a chunk of salami, sandwiching it between two pieces of provolone.
“That was what I thought,” Will confided. His blond hair shone under the lights, and he looked so clean and new and shiny, so gorgeous, Enzo ached with it.
Like this guy would ever need help getting a date.
“Yeah, well, I can still talk to her,” Enzo said, pushing down his humiliation.
“That’s what I’m trying to say. We don’t try to convince her to stop. Instead, we tell her we’re dating. And then maybe she’ll leave us alone. It’s what she wants. So we’ll just give it to her.”
“Uh,” Enzo stammered.
Will nudged him again. “Not like for real,” he joked. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me.”
Um, yeah. You’re gorgeous and if things weren’t so weird with my mother and the fact I’ve got no intention of staying here, I’d totally date you. For real.
But their situation was weird and complicated, and he had every intention of seeing Indigo Bay in his rearview five or six weeks from now.
“It’s a thought,” he said. “Would it really make her leave us alone?”
Will shrugged. “She’s your mother. What do you think?”
“I think it would take more than just a declaration. We’d uh . . .have to prove it to her. Go on a few dates.”
“And?” Will grinned. “You’re not so bad, Enzo Moretti. Especially once you’ve cleaned off your face.”
“Ugh,” Enzo complained. Of course Will had noticed the dirt.
“I mean, it’s just a few evenings. We’re both going to be busy. You with the mural. Me with Cherry’s. Easy enough to pawn her off with that excuse, too.”
“True.” Enzo couldn’t believe he was considering this. But then, his mother was abominably persistent. “I can’t believe you suggested this.”
“I’ve spent the last two months trying to convince her I don’t want your phone number.” Will took a bite of focaccia and chewed, swallowing. “And that hasn’t worked, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Enzo echoed.
“So I thought, well, we could try something else,” Will said. “But if you’re not interested . . .”
Oh, I’m interested.
“I just think I’d like to try to convince her first, before we uh . . .do anything drastic.”
“Going on a fake date with me is drastic? You Morettis are overdramatic.” Will’s grin was so broad Enzo discovered he had dimples too. Honest to fucking God dimples.
“I want to believe she isn’t completely unreasonable.” It was hard to admit this. “That she can see the truth when I ask her to.” That she can see I’m not sticking around.
“I get it,” Will said sympathetically.
“Somehow, I actually think you do.” Maybe Will had a story too. After all, why was he here in Indigo Bay.
But instead of Will confiding about any of his own troubles, he said in a lighter tone, “Well, I’m not just here for the artichoke spread.”
“It’s damn good though,” Enzo agreed, dipping a crostini into the container and popping it into his mouth.
“I don’t suppose she’s ever given you the recipe?” Will asked hopefully.
“She probably has, but I’m not sure I ever bothered to keep it. I’m really not a cook. I’m a good eater. That’s all.”
Enzo told himself that Will’s shocked expression was fine. He was used to it, by now.
“But you’re—”
“A Moretti? I know,” Enzo said wryly. The cheese was curdling in his stomach, but he didn’t want Will to know so he took a long sip of water and then wrapped some prosciutto around another chunk of provolone.
“You know, you’re not required to be good at everything.” Will shot him a sweet look. “You’re already a nationally renowned mural artist, so famous you’re in constant demand. Would you really want to trade that to be able to cook like your mom and Luca?”
“No.” Though he’d asked himself that question enough back before he’d left Indigo Bay.
He forced himself to smile. Reminded himself that before this moment, he’d actually been having a pretty good time—and that his Moretti deficiencies were not Will’s fault.
“So, that’s what you’d get out of fake dating me? My mom’s artichoke spread recipe?”
“Enzo Moretti, did I damage your ego?” Will teased.
“That was actually my own mother. Over and over again,” Enzo grumbled.
Will laughed, and that somehow did more to soothe his bruised ego than anything else.
“The answer is no, that isn’t all I’d get out of it.
You’re a cool guy. Could be a friend, even.
I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you.
Of course if I did, your mom would probably be lurking around every corner, waiting for one of us to drop to one knee. ”
Enzo didn’t have to hold back his shudder. “She probably would, wouldn’t she?”
Will nodded as he finished off the rest of the artichoke spread, Enzo deciding as he scraped the rest of the spread out of the container that this probably made him a good boyfriend, already.
“Just let me talk to her first,” Enzo said. “Maybe I can make her see the facts of the situation. That I’m not sticking around.”
“No matter how much you like me?” Will’s voice was teasing again, but Enzo couldn’t deny the little thrill that wound its way through him at the idea of it.
But they didn’t like each other that much. They’d just managed to make it past I think you might be vandalizing my building and you’re accusing my painting of being illegal graffiti.
“Right,” Enzo agreed. He snagged the last piece of salami. Popped it into his mouth. “Thanks for the water and the break. I’d better get back out there and finish up my scaffolding before it gets dark. And I assume in a little bit that you’re gonna get busy.”
“Hope so,” Will said, smiling, helping Enzo fill the basket with the empty containers. He gestured towards the basket as Enzo closed it up. “You want me to keep this in here, ’cause you know she’ll be back for it?”
“No. I’ll take it. And talk to her,” Enzo said firmly.
He was already dreading it, but he knew he needed to try.
He was desperate enough that he’d even considered enlisting Luca and Oliver, but he didn’t want to.
He wanted to prove he was an adult; that he could take care of difficult situations himself.
Luca might’ve saved his future by insisting he attend art school, in spite of his mother’s protests, but Enzo wasn’t about to rely on him for Giana interventions forever.
“Sure,” Will said. “But the offer’s open.”