Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
GIOVANNI
“You’re going to tell us everything,” Bianca says as she stalks back into the tent and shoves a T-shirt at me from across the checkout table.
I pull it on gratefully, because fuck, my own abs make me feel exposed.
It’s too late, though. I know it’s too late. There’s no way that busybody with the phone isn’t going to spread the news far and wide.
Eva actually paid for the pumpkin she ruined before she left—but only after I agreed to pose for a photo with her. Emily’s the one who took it, while Bianca gave her the death stare.
We sold a couple of other pumpkins after she left, and the women who bought them insisted they wanted photos with me too. They clearly had no idea who I was, but they’re probably going to run to Google to find out.
I know it’s all over.
I can practically hear my brother say, Good going, Giovanni.
Luanne, who’s been taking everything in with interest from her wheelchair, says, “Yes, I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d like details, son. Do you have some kind of a secret pornography career? It’s not often a man is recognized by his abs.”
“Luanne,” Emily says with a sigh. “You can’t ask him that.”
But Bianca peers at me with a fierce, unyielding gaze. “Answer the woman’s question. Do you?”
I run a hand through my hair and glance hopelessly at the entrance to the tent. I’m not sure what I’m more worried about, being stampeded by a bunch of strangers or undergoing this inquisition by Bianca Murphy. Especially in front of her closest friend and a woman at least as old as my grandmother.
“What about the customers?” I ask.
Bianca waves a hand around at the now-empty tent. “Yes. However will they occupy themselves?”
“This is…private.”
Not true. Obviously not true. My business stopped being private weeks ago, when millions of people saw my face and heard my name.
But Luanne nods to herself in satisfaction before whispering to Bianca’s redheaded friend, “Pornography.”
“Fine,” Bianca says.
She grabs a pen from behind the register, then rips a sheet of paper out of a notebook. She scrawls CLOSED FOR LUNCH on it before stomping out of the tent.
I don’t know how she expects to get that flimsy sheet of paper attached to the tent flaps, but I know better than to ask. Or to bet against her.
She’s running hot. Has been ever since that woman started taking photos of me.
The thought actually makes me smile for half a second, before Bianca comes stomping back in.
“Well?” she says, eyebrows winging up.
Emily takes a sip of her warm cider.
Luanne lifts my Henley, which is still in her lap, up to her face, possibly to wipe her nose, possibly for a sniff. Either way, I no longer want it back.
I shift my weight between my feet, feeling like a little kid about to get called out for cutting class.
“Look. My grandmother doesn’t like me talking about this,” I say, “but I have a…I guess you’d call it a following.
I had this anonymous YouTube channel, and I got a lot of followers.
But a few weeks ago…” I hesitate, reliving the memory.
“Everyone found out who I was. Where I lived. All of it. It was a big deal. People were showing up at the shop, following me, and—”
“So you decided to bring them here?” Bianca asks.
I hang my head. “I…Miles suggested it was a place where I could keep a low profile. People here don’t keep up with what’s going on outside Apple Ridge. It’s a bit like where I’m from, but everyone there knows me.”
Her jaw hardens. “Miles is not exactly known for his decision-making prowess, Giovanni. What have you brought to our doorstep?”
“Porn,” Luanne repeats confidently. “He’s been doing that porno stuff. It’s very popular with young people these days. Emily and I watched a documentary about it the other week.”
“It’s not porn,” I say through my teeth, a bit sensitive about the accusation, given my own grandmother has accused me of it dozens of times.
“So what is it?” Bianca asks, exasperated. “Why are you being so weird about this?”
Emily, who’s been silent this whole time, waves her phone in the air. “He’s the Shirtless Chef.”
Bianca’s eyes are glued to me, several strands of hair escaping from her bun and her growing-out bangs partially draped over her face. She looks like she might attack me or—
She’s not going to kiss you, dumbass. She made that very clear.
I shove the thought away, because giving a girl a bad kiss when I was fourteen is definitely the least of my problems right now.
Sighing, I admit, “Yeah. I made instructional cooking videos. My brother Nico helped me with the recipes at first, but I got…kind of into it. I liked helping people.”
“And you did it shirtless?” Luanne asks.
“Yes,” I concede, feeling heat rise in my face. “It wasn’t sexual. It was just…”
“You showed off those—” Bianca waves toward my abdomen. “And you’re saying it wasn’t sexual?”
“So you like what you saw?” I say before my judgment can catch up with me.
Me and my big fucking mouth.
Bianca glares at me, while Luanne laughs easily. “Who wouldn’t?”
I shrug at Bianca. “Look. Everyone needs to have some kind of gimmick to stand out. That was my thing. I was just trying to raise some money when my family business was going through a tough patch, and—”
“You made money from it?”
A lot of money, actually, through advertisements, product placements, and The Shirtless Chef merch store. More money than I’d ever seen in my life. I was pretty pleased with myself, right up until it all blew up in my face.
It bears admitting that I could now earn a lot more money. Since people found out who I am, I’ve received interview requests from broadcast television shows, emails from talent agents, and even a message from a movie producer. They all want a piece of The Shirtless Chef.
But it isn’t worth it.
My grandmother can’t look me in the eye without muttering about lost souls and ungrateful boys, and back home, strangers started catcalling me on the streets. I couldn’t go to the gym anymore, because random passersby kept pressing their faces to the glass.
Complete strangers emailed me nude photos.
Others told me they wished I’d choke to death on camera.
A woman kissed me at my friend’s bar, and I only figured out she wasn’t for real when I got back from the bathroom and found her filming a live video about how she was going to fuck the Shirtless Chef and report back with a review.
For the record: I did not sleep with her.
And then there was the incident that had basically driven me out of my hometown, not to mention the entire state of Maine.
The end result was that this thing that had been secretly, beautifully mine now feels like it has fuck-all to do with me. It’s turned into an avalanche, driving bullshit into every crevice of my life.
Bianca’s still staring at me, waiting for an answer to her money question, so I nod slowly.
“It was good to me for a while. And the shop is doing well. But there’s a price.
I don’t want to cause any trouble for you and your family.
Nonna Francesca and I will go home. I was just…
we both wanted to get away from the chaos for a while. ”
“How many people watched these videos?” Bianca asks, her expression shifting. She’s interested, despite herself.
“Tens of millions,” I admit, feeling overwhelmed all over again.
“They were really popular before. More so now.” I clear my throat.
“My grandmother and Enzo walked in on me making a live video. They were…upset. The camera got knocked over, and it showed my face. The footage went viral, and the rest of my videos got more views, and, well, here we are. Life got pretty impossible back home. Everyone knew about it. Everyone had an opinion or a thought or wanted something.”
Bianca nods, her gaze holding mine, an invisible connection that I feel in my chest. “This is what you meant the other day. Be careful of what you wish for.”
I brush my hair away from my face. “You’re right. I’m a middle child, and I always did want attention.”
Especially after my mother left us.
I shrug. “Turns out it sucks.”
“What are we waiting for?” Luanne asks, wheeling half a foot closer to me.
I squint at her. “Excuse me?”
“Aren’t we going to watch that video? I’d like to know what all the fuss is about.”
“Not while he’s here,” Emily says in an undertone. “That’s the kind of thing you do when someone isn’t watching.”
“Yeah…” I admit. “I’d prefer it if you waited.”
“So scram,” Bianca says. “I’m guessing we don’t have too much time before Eva St. Claire broadcasts news of your presence far and wide. If we’re going to be dealing with crazy fans, then I think we at least deserve to know why.”
I hang my head, feeling like a real piece of shit.
I should have refused to come to the pumpkin patch.
But ever since my last video, I’ve felt this awful gaping hole in my life.
It’s only grown deeper. So when Bianca asked me to help out in the pumpkin patch, I was desperate enough to agree.
And I enjoyed every minute of it up until that woman recognized me. Now, I feel like an idiot.
“Like I said. My grandmother and I will go,” I repeat. “There’s no point in sticking around if—”
Bianca’s finger pokes me in the chest before I can finish. “You think you’re bailing on us just like that? Miles still isn’t here, and he sent you as his replacement.”
“Yeah, but…” She’s still poking me, her finger like a cattle prod, shocking me awake. “It got a little crazy back home. You don’t want that here.”
Something I can’t read flickers across her gaze. “Don’t tell me what I want.”
“Oh, you should never tell a woman that, son,” Luanne says with a chuckle. “There’s a useful life lesson.”
“But you want me to go now?” I ask Bianca.
“Yes,” she says, her stare fixed on me. She finally pulls her finger away. “We’re going to watch that last video.”
The memory flashes before my eyes—
My grandmother shouting and gripping her face like she wanted to gouge her own eyes out. Was this how I repaid her for teaching all of us grandchildren how to cook?
My big brother, glaring at me like I was some kind of idiot pervert who couldn’t possibly share genes with him…
I sigh, already feeling the embarrassment. It’s one thing to make shirtless videos in the privacy of your own home when no one knows about it. It’s another when nearly every person you’ve ever met has seen them.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, feeling like a sullen kid the second the words pass my lips.
She smiles, but at least there’s a teasing glint in her eyes this time. “Why don’t you go cook something?”