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Marco cleared his throat, pulling back. “Uh, excellent work here tonight. Best yet. Very pleased.”

He wasn’t very proud of it, but he turned and he left. Abruptly. Without looking once in Andrew’s direction.

ChapterSix

Night Four

Fridays were always busy at Nonna’s.

Marco was counting on the date nights and the big family dinners and the corporate glad-handing to get him through the afternoon of prep and then service.

To keep him from losing the rest of his mind and heading back towards the pastry kitchen, damn his promises to his family, to his employees, tohimself.

He’d reminded himself half a dozen times on the drive home that Andrew wouldn’t work for him forever. It was only ever supposed to be a temporary job. In a month or two, he’d leave, to open his bakery andhopefullystay in the general vicinity of the Napa Valley. Then Marco could subsequently ask out Andrew and then kiss him andmore, so much more, all he wanted.

But for now, he was going to be hands-off. And if he used his job as a distraction to do that, well so be it.

Marco subbed himself in on the line, pushing Jose to the pass-through as a final check, ostensibly because Jose needed the experience—which hedid, though he was already good at it—but in reality because it meant Marco’s hands and mind were constantly occupied by the revolving line of tickets.

When he finally got a break, he went to Dario’s office instead of meandering back to where he wanted to be. Scarfed down a plate of salad and chicken parm and then went back to the line.

When the night finally ended, Marco was exhausted. Hollowed out by the repetitive work.

But ultimately believing he’d done the right thing. It would get easier, he decided, as he helped scrub down the grill and then the rest of the kitchen.

When it was finally clean, he headed towards the locker room. Had just finished pulling off his chef’s coat and the T-shirt he wore underneath, wiping himself down with a wet paper towel just so he wouldn’t offendhimselfon the walk home, when a noise behind him made him turn.

Andrew was standing there, fingers frozen on the tie of his apron. Gaze glued to Marco’s bare chest.

He didn’t spend the time in the gym that Luca did. He wasn’t chiseled, but he knew he was strong. Lithe too, because of the yoga classes Marcella had introduced him to.

But whatever Andrew saw, helikedit. He wanted it.

The heat in his eyes was evidence enough.

Andrew’s fingers fiddled with the tie on his apron. “Didn’t see you tonight.”

“No,” Marco said. Hoped that the single word was explanation enough. They’d been playing with fire yesterday.

How else would Andrew know how much he respected him, if he didn’t keep his hands off when it mattered most? How else could heshowhim that he wasn’t anything like his ex, who’d blended business with pleasure and then fucked Andrew over?

But of course Andrew wouldn’t let it lie. There was a reason helikedAndrew, and it was about so much more than just getting him naked.

“You’re avoiding me,” Andrew said bluntly.

“No. Well . . .a little,” he conceded, ultimately not really able to lie to him, to his face. “I’m trying to do the right thing. Not be . . .” He waved his hands around himself. “Not be myself. Cloud your judgment with my stupid Moretti-ness.”

Andrew’s eyebrow rose. “Your Moretti-ness?”

“Marcella says I can’t help it. But I can. Iwantto.” Marco shoved a hand through his hair, especially unruly because he’d tied it back for service.

Andrew took a few steps closer, which was plenty close enough. Marco thought it, but didn’t quite have the self-control to say it. When he was this close, Marco could almost pretend things were different.

And they will be, just not right now.

“You’re trying to avoid being my ex,” Andrew stated. His gaze softened, like this was touching. Like he was being seduced, even though Marco had gone out of his waynotto.

“Yes,” Marco said. “And avoid flying fruit, too. I’m not entirely selfless here.”