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“And now you’re going to open a bakery back in your hometown.”

“Seemed like a good idea, if I didn’t want to work for anyone again.” Andrew flashed another of those undeniably charming smiles that Marco kept trying to pretend didn’t give him butterflies.

Marcella liked to tell him that he loved love, that helikedfeeling it, indulging in it, liked to get swept away.

And Marco felt that a little now, the urge to do his best to charm this man.

Of course, that would probably only lead to more pomegranates launched at his head.

So he didn’t. He straightened.

“Working for me is a bad way to not work for anyone else again.” He’d attempted to remind both of them that he was Andrew’s boss now, but Marco was all too aware of the flirtatious undercurrent in his tone. He hadn’t even meant to sound like that. Maybe Marcella was right and it was too much a part of him to turn off.

“Maybe, but it’s only temporary.”

“Right. Temporary.” It was exactly what Marco wanted, but he found himself disliking this label already.

“Besides,” Andrew said, “you need me. I saw a few comments on reviews I read, talking about a ‘predictable’ and even ‘pedestrian’ dessert selection. Ricotta cheesecake, Marco? Cannoli?”

“They’re classics for a reason,” Marco said defensively. “The menu doesn’t change.”

“Sure,” Andrew said easily, and Marco imagined that three or four nights from now, there would be some spectacular new item on the menu and they would argue about it. Marco would pretend that he was annoyed by it, instead of secretly thrilled that this gorgeous, talented, charismatic man wanted to leave his imprint on Marco’s restaurant forever.

Leave his imprint onhimforever.

Marco dragged his attention back to where it mattered.Business.

“The menu doesn’t change,” Marco repeated firmly. They didn’t need to get into any flirty arguments and he definitely didnotneed to be imprinted. Not now and definitely not in six nights.

“Alright, alright, I’ll pretend those reviews don’t exist.” Andrew flashed him such a great smile it took the sting right out of what he’d repeated.

“You’d better,” Marco said and stood now, because if he stayed, he was going to want to keep talking to Andrew. He was going to want to keep flirting. Ask about Paris. Barcelona. Sweden. About the bad breakup, even.

And of course, because he had a service to prepare for.

“See you tomorrow at ten,” Marco said, picking up his latte so he wouldn’t do something stupid like offer his hand again, so he’d have an excuse to touch Andrew again.

No more unnecessary touches.

As the door to the Coffee Beanery swung shut behind him, Marco swore he felt a phantom pomegranate sail right over his head. But he ignored it.

ChapterThree

Night One

“Behind!” Theo, Marco’s sous, called out as he carried a steaming hot pan from the stove to the prep station.

Marco glanced at the list of tickets in front him, nodding absently as he absorbed the sounds of the busy kitchen around him. Everything was working like clockwork, an hour into dinner service.

He could take a minute to duck back to the pastry kitchen and make sure everything was all set. It was Andrew’s first night, and even though he was clearly eminently capable, it would be the right thing to do to check on him.

If it was anyone else, Marco would’ve done it without thinking.

But Andrew was not anyone else, and he was afraid of what he’d feel if he went back there. Attraction, without a doubt, and the insistent, dizzying pull to give in to it.

When he’d texted Marcella, annoyed that she had still suggested Andrew, she’d replied obliquely, saying that,Everyone grows up, even you Marco.

He’d intended to confront her about it, but when she’d shown up to do her nightly tour of the front of the house, he’d been busy, prepping for family dinner, and hadn’t had a second to spare.