Page 10 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Two

M arco got Andrew’s phone number from Marcella and texted the next morning, explaining who he was and what he was interested in offering.

He hadn’t had to wait long for an answer. It had come in less than five minutes later. Let’s talk , the text read. 11 AM, the Coffee Beanery.

At eleven, Marco would normally be at the restaurant, prepping for the day’s service, but he decided that to fix this whole pastry situation, he could duck out for a few minutes.

After making sure his sous knew what needed to be done, Marco jumped in his car and drove the ten minutes over to the Coffee Beanery, which also happened to be his favorite coffee shop in the area.

At least Andrew had good taste in espresso.

When Marco walked in, there wasn’t anyone in line at the counter and maybe half of the dozen tables in the quaint, wood-paneled space were full. But nobody who looked even vaguely like he remembered Andrew stood out to him.

Marco glanced at his watch, but he was five minutes late, already, probably because he’d swung by the pastry kitchen on his way out, making sure Daniel was set for the afternoon of prep work.

Had Andrew not even shown up on time? Well, that was disappointing. Marco glanced around one more time and satisfied that Andrew definitely wasn’t among the current customers, pulled his phone out of his pocket as he approached the front counter. He’d just send a quick text before he ordered a latte, making sure Andrew was still planning to show.

“Marco?”

The voice behind him made Marco turn.

And the man rising from one of the nearby tables, made him stop—body and heart and brain—in his tracks.

If this was Andrew . . .

Well, if this was Andrew, he was fucked.

Because Andrew wasn’t scrawny any longer.

He’d filled out his tall frame, a plain white T-shirt clinging to defined biceps and pectorals. The acne that had dogged him during his teenage years had cleared up and he’d grown into his face, golden-brown scruff covering a jawline that could cut glass.

“Fuck me,” Marco muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, you are Marco,” Andrew said with a charming smile that he definitely had not possessed in high school.

He had had those eyes in high school, hadn’t he? They were a flawless azure blue, and Marco could see himself getting lost . . .so fucking lost . . .

He dragged his brain—and his dick—back to sanity.

“Yes,” Marco said, shaking his outstretched hand and getting a brief impression of a firm strength and callouses. Ignoring the sparks that raced up his arm.

What he should do was tell Andrew that he was sorry but he couldn’t hire him.

As for why . . .maybe it would be better to be honest?

Sorry, but you’re too freaking hot and I’m way too freaking attracted to you for us to ever work together.

But it wasn’t going to be forever, was it? No. Andrew only needed to come in, spend a few weeks, maybe a month or two, in Marco’s kitchen, not even his main kitchen, but his back pastry kitchen, and train Daniel to be able to deal with whatever came his way.

It would be embarrassing to admit, even to practically a stranger, that he couldn’t handle that.

“You’ve seen Marcella since you’ve been back?” Marco said, taking a seat opposite Andrew.

He tilted his head towards a cup of coffee in front of Marco. “Yeah, a few times. I got what Marcella said you liked,” Andrew said.

Great. Marcella knew Andrew looked like this now, and she’d still suggested Marco hire him, while also simultaneously lecturing Marco about how irresistible he apparently was, just by fucking breathing.

He and Marcella were going to have words later. He desperately loved his twin, but she could also be a massive pain in his ass.

But first, he needed to seal the deal .

Nope. Do not go there.

First, he needed to hire the guy .

Better.

“We’re looking for a pastry chef, for Nonna’s. My Nonna’s, the high-end steakhouse,” Marco said. “Marcella said you were looking for work.”

He sipped his coffee and to his surprise, yes , Andrew had asked Marcella what his regular order was, because the latte was perfect.

Andrew shrugged. “Yeah, that’s true. But I’m not looking for something permanent. You’d want to hire someone who’s sticking around. Eventually, I’ll be opening my own bakery.”

“Well, about that . . .we do have an assistant who I think has a great future, but Daniel’s young. Needs guidance. More training than I have time for. That would be the plan. Get us through the next month or so. Get Daniel trained.”

Andrew tapped his finger against the tabletop. “I’ll give you a week. You’re open what, six nights a week?”

Marco nodded, not liking this. He needed a lot longer than a week.

“Okay, six nights of service. And if it’s alright, if I like it, if this Daniel is as good as you think, I’ll give you two months.”

Marco opened his mouth, not really liking how Andrew was acting like they needed him .

Don’t be stupid, you do need him. That was Marcella’s voice in his head, lecturing him about the unfortunate realities of the situation.

“Okay,” Marco said. He named a figure for each night of service, and Andrew tilted his head, those blue eyes nearly impossible to read.

“Make it fifty bucks more a night, and I’ll do it,” Andrew said.

Marco was annoyed Andrew was acting like he was doing them a favor and negotiating a higher pay grade, but they did need him. He could call up their staffing agency and get another temp, but it wouldn’t be someone he’d trust, or someone who could train Daniel.

And God only knew, it might be someone else who’d fall in love with him.

Marco was done dodging pomegranates.

“Fine,” Marco said, extending a hand, and Andrew took it, shaking on the deal.

“I’ll start tomorrow night,” Andrew said.

Despite all his vows to himself, he’d let Andrew handle this whole fucking negotiation. Because he unsettled you. You didn’t expect him to be so fucking hot.

Marco forced himself to focus. “Why did you agree to meet me if you weren’t looking for a job?” He hadn’t mentioned the job was temporary when he’d texted him.

The corner of Andrew’s mouth—even that was fucking beautiful—tilted up in a smile. “Maybe I was curious how you grew up.”

He hadn’t been curious at all about how Andrew had grown up.

But that had been his own stupidity, imagining that the guy would still look like a gangly eighteen-year-old, not someone who’d just spent the last nineteen years in Paris.

“Curiosity satisfied?” Marco wondered gruffly.

“Almost,” Andrew teased.

Marco needed to get a fucking grip.

The irony was that just yesterday he’d been dodging fruit missiles and he hadn’t earned any of those, but this guy . . .well, Marco might deserve to be pelted by a whole fucking orchard if he did half the things his imagination was picturing.

He would keep everything focused on business.

Business was what mattered.

Marco dragged his focus back. “I’ll have Dario text you a link to our HR system. Get you set up.”

“Dario? Dario works for you now? I remember when he was barely a teenager, obsessed with comic books.”

And I remember when you were scrawny and plain and your smile wasn’t guaranteed to keep me up at night.

“Ah yeah, he’s . . .uh . . .he basically runs the empire now.”

“Not Luca?”

“I thought you’d seen Marcella since you’d been back?” Marco wanted to be annoyed by his charm, but he wasn’t.

“Oh, but we talked all about my exploits,” Andrew teased. “She wanted to know all about Paris and Sweden and Barcelona.”

“You lived in Sweden and Barcelona?”

Andrew waved a hand. “Oh, I’ve been all around. Was definitely ready to come back, stretch my muscles a bit. But when I left, Luca had just taken over and I had a feeling even then you’d have had to pry out any control from his cold, dead hands.”

“Six years ago, he went to South Carolina to fix my aunt’s deli. Fell in love with the guy who ran the bakery there and basically . . .well, he’s not here, so I can say it.” Marco grinned. “He finally ran away from home.”

“And now Dario runs everything,” Andrew said, looking surprised.

“Yep, in his own painfully competent way. Of course don’t tell Luca that. He still thinks he’s got a finger in every pie here, and he does try, but he’s got his own mini empire over in Indigo Bay. A husband. Three businesses. His hands are plenty full.”

“I never thought he’d leave Napa. Kind of like I never thought I’d come back,” Andrew mused.

“Why did you?” Marco wanted to know, even though he had no reason to ask. All he’d probably have to do was ask Marcella. She could squeeze hot gossip out of a dry turnip.

Andrew shrugged. “Same old story. Bad breakup. Lost my job.”

He didn’t seem bothered by this confession. In fact, it felt a little rehearsed. And Marco couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t added any details at all.

“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 he liked feeling 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 on him forever.

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 did not need 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.