Page 42 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter One

Mateo

B oardwalk Pizza’s lunchtime rush was the usual medley of starry-eyed tourists, loyal locals, and a smattering of students and faculty from the nearby college. Like now.

A family of five sporting sweatshirts advertising the roller coaster at the pier studied the menu on the wall behind the register while the old man with a newspaper folded under his arm and an unlit pipe in hand chatted with the professor of humanities. A gaggle of female students huddled at the end of the line, gazes locked on their cellular devices.

The family was currently vacillating between the extra-large meat lover’s pizza and my cousin Sal’s special with double pepperoni. They couldn’t decide which sounded better, which meant they’d probably drag me into the decision-making process. I’d happily push the meat lover’s, but I was feeling a little stabby that I was running the register at all. I was supposed to be in the office, finalizing tomorrow’s grocery list. This was Giovanni’s job.

Where the hell was he?

“Everything just looks so good. What would you suggest?” the middle-aged mom asked, fluttering mega lashes at me.

See, I told you so.

“The meat lover’s. Hands down, my favorite.” I flashed a flirty smile, ignoring Mr. Smith’s eye roll. The old geezer got testy when forced to wait too long for his daily slice of ’za and a side salad…hold the onions.

“Sold!” The woman twittered. Thankfully she and the rest of her family knew what they wanted to drink.

I rang her card and pushed a plastic marker across the battered wood counter. “Thank you. Here’s your number. Your pizza should be out within ten minutes or less.”

Mr. Smith toddled forward, his signature deadpan expression in place. He stuffed his newspaper into the front pocket of his tweed coat and tapped his pipe on his thumb. “I’ll have the usual.”

“You got it.” I narrowed my eyes mischievously. “You sure you don’t want to try Sal’s special?”

“The last time I tried Sal’s special, I had heartburn for three days. No, I’ll stick to the usual.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “Keep the change.”

Our prices had gone up a couple of times since the older man had last bothered checking—however, no one corrected him. Mr. Smith had been a regular for forty or so years, which meant that other than on my days off and during my short stint after college playing pro football, I’d seen this man more often than I saw some family members. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, but he’d played poker with my grandpa and had coached Little League with my uncle once upon a time, so yeah…I wasn’t about to let him know he owed me an extra five bucks on the daily.

“Thanks, Mr. S.” I held my hand up for a fist bump, chuckling when he raised his brow and shuffled off.

The college girls were next. No problem. I locked and loaded my most charming smile just as Vanni rushed in, tying a marinara-stained apron around his slim waist.

“Sorry about that. I had some snoopin’ to do. You’re not gonna believe who’s moving in next door, Cuz.” Vanni bumped my elbow and grinned like a fool at the pretty girls waiting at the counter.

My cousin was a little scatterbrained. However, he was great with customers. I let him take over, hanging the new orders on the line for Sal and Jimmy in the kitchen. I should have ducked out and made a beeline for the office, but I poured drinks and made myself useful instead. And yeah, I was curious.

“Who?” I asked, arranging a tray of drinks.

Vanni closed the register, waiting for the counter area to clear before he replied, “A football buddy of yours.”

“Really? From Haverton?”

“Yeah, a big guy—a linebacker, I think. Rob something or other? He was standing outside with an inspector, talking about permits. I said hello, all friendly like. Introduced myself. He says, ‘Nice to meet ya. I’m opening a bagel shop.’ ”

“Rob? I don’t know who—oh, Rob Vilmer?”

Vanni snapped his fingers. “That’s the guy. Rob’s makin’ bagels. Not regular bagels, either. Savory ones. Whatever the fuck that means. Heya, Mrs. Sanders. What can we get started for you today?”

Rob Vilmer. Huh. Talk about a blast from the past.

I delivered the drinks to table fourteen, pausing to inquire about their meals. How was the pepperoni today? Do you need any parmesan? That kind of thing. I made my rounds, strategically stopping near the entrance with the tray tucked under my arm to open the door for a group of students, then sneaked outside to peek at the flurry of action at the neighboring store.

The former owners had operated a candy emporium for decades. You know, the kind with big barrels of saltwater taffy and walls filled with classic treats—Pop Rocks, Abba-Zabas, and Sugar Babies. It had been a staple of my childhood, and my cousins and I had been sad to see it go. The Corcorans had given us first right of refusal three years ago, and though I’d appreciated the gesture, we hadn’t been in a position to buy them out. My dad had just passed away, and keeping the pizza parlor afloat with my cousins had seemed daunting as fuck at the time.

It made me sad knowing that Dad had always wanted to expand, but paying our employees had been the number one goal that first year after he was gone. We’d been in mourning, and taking on additional debt had been the last thing on anyone’s minds. The pressure had eased a bit in recent months, and that For Sale or Lease sign had taunted me.

Seriously. Just three weeks ago, I’d worked on a spreadsheet and outlined a proposal for expansion. My cousins, Sal, Vanni, and Jimmy were interested too, and that had me fired up. This could be real. After three years of sadness and nonstop struggle, we might actually do something positive.

We’d talked about tinkering with the menu, tearing the wall down, and modernizing the space. The old, pockmarked linoleum floors, seventies’ paneling, and dull lighting could make room for fancy tiles, leather booths, and contemporary accents.

Or not.

The agent had regretfully informed me that the property had been leased. Okay, that was a bummer, but I figured it might be the universe’s way of letting me know the timing wasn’t right. I had to hold on, be patient. Trust me, that was easier said than done lately. It pissed me off knowing we’d never get a chance like the one we’d just missed out on again.

All because of…bagels.

And Rob Vilmer.

We’d never been friends. Not really. Just teammates. I hadn’t seen Rob since graduation. He’d been drafted and had played pro for a few years, and now he was back in Haverton…selling bagels. Color me curious.

I peered through the window at the cavernous space with a brick facade on one side, black-and-white tiled flooring, furnished with nothing but a cardboard table littered with rolls of design plans. Two men stood in the center: a shorter, balding guy pointed at the ceilings while a tall, massive dude with shaggy brown hair nodded, his arm draped over the shoulders of a woman with bouncy blond curls.

“Mateo, honey. Are you lost?”

I pivoted, rolling my eyes at the stout older woman with a jet-black bob who was decked out in her signature gold chains, hoop earrings, and leopard pantsuit. I kid you not.

“Hi, Aunt Sylvie.” I kissed her on each cheek and tried not to wince when she reached up to smooth my wild hair into place, her bangles smacking my temple. “We have a new neighbor.”

“Oh, go say hello.” She shooed me with a red manicured hand toward the door and held up a pastry bag before hurrying to the pizzeria. “I brought cannolis for you boys. Better hurry, or they’ll be gone.”

“Thanks, I?—”

“Mateo Cavaretti. Is that you?” The shaggy-haired bear of a man stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and his head cocked inquisitively.

Well, I was stuck now.

I transferred the tray to my left hand and offered my right. “Yeah, that’s me. Rob, right?”

He shook my hand, nodding. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Uh…good. You’re back in Haverton?” Captain Obvious. I know.

Rob smiled and damn, he had a nice smile. It met his twinkling blue eyes and gave him a warm, welcoming aura. “Yeah, I’m in the midst of a career change. Football to bagels. I guess we’re neighbors.”

I nodded, letting my gaze wander over his massive shoulders and thick chest. His navy sweater stretched at the seams around his biceps. He’d definitely grown since college. His face had matured too. Baby fat and wispy facial hair had given way to sharp cheekbones and a beard Paul Bunyan would be proud of. Rob looked like what he was…a newly retired professional athlete in great shape, probably with plenty of money in the bank.

And in my red-checked shirt and stained apron while wielding a tray like a shield, it was fairly obvious that the past eight years hadn’t been as kind to me. Don’t get me wrong, I was proud to carry on the family business. I just hadn’t intended this to be my whole fucking life.

Bitter much? Ugh, that wasn’t a good look.

“I guess so,” I agreed. “Why bagels?”

“My grandfather had a bagel business in Philly. I loved that place. I have these amazing memories of shaping the dough and watching it rise in boiling water. He had classic flavors…plain, sesame, everything—and he made these incredible breakfast sandwiches. I was thinking about investing in someone else’s business, but when I heard about the candy shop closing, it was like a sign from above.” Rob grinned. “College kids love bagels. And pizza. I bet they’d love pizza bagels.”

Screech.

“Uh…come again?”

“My partner and I are gonna make savory bagels. Bagels with a twist. We’ll sprinkle those in with my grandpa’s tried and true recipes. Should be fun.” He glanced at his watch and tipped his chin. “Hey, I gotta run. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Just like old times.”

“Whoa. Wait up.” I held my hand like a stop sign and stepped into his space. Bad move. I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes now, and that was weird. I was six one—not exactly a small dude, but that asshole had sprouted at least another two inches since college. I’d bet he was six foot six. And yes, he was an asshole. I hadn’t thought so until a minute ago, but now… “You can’t sell pizza bagels next to a pizza parlor.”

“I can’t?”

“No, you can’t. It’s brand assimilation or something. It’s illegal.”

“Illegal?” he scoffed. “I don’t think so, Mateo. Bagels are bagels, pizza is pizza. But I was only kid?—”

“Yeah, but a pizza bagel is a piece of dough that’s dressed up to look like something it isn’t. It’s shady advertising, not to mention blatant customer poaching. Sell all the bagels you want, but don’t sell pizza bagels. That’s a great way to get off to a rotten start. You know what I’m saying?”

Rob regarded me for a long moment. “Are you threatening me?”

“Threaten is a strong word. I’m suggesting that you do the right thing.”

“Or what?”

I snort-laughed in my most derisive, supremely irritating fashion. It was the kind of insincere and dismissive gesture that had pissed off opponents on the field years ago and still probably got under my cousins’ skin. Nothing to brag about, but hey…I’d learned how to play with the big kids early. Rule number one: never show fear. Rule number two: never back down or give someone else the upper hand.

“I ’spose you’ll find out.” I turned on my heels, tray clenched to my chest as I sauntered next door.

Yeah, yeah. Look, maybe Rob wasn’t the enemy. Maybe it was a quirky act of fate that he’d happened to lease the property next to mine. The one I wanted.

Fortune had shined upon him and that was nice and all, but Boardwalk Pizza was an institution in this town. We were the experts, we were the ones with decades of experience, and we weren’t going anywhere.

So Rob could shove his goddamn pizza bagel up his ass.