Page 44 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Three

Mateo

I called a meeting with my cousins immediately after my run-in with the bagel boy. They thought I was overreacting.

“Cuz, bagels and pizza are like apples and bananas. You can eat ’em both. One’s superior,” Vanni said. “But you know what I mean.”

“It’s more like Froot Loops and mac n’ cheese,” Sal interjected.

I was surrounded by lovable bozos, but maybe they were right.

According to my family, I was a hothead, and was it possible that Rob had just rubbed me the wrong way? Yeah, definitely.

Still, I kept an eye on the hullabaloo next door all fucking summer.

Two months of annoying pounding on walls, accompanied by the grind of a saw and delivery vans blocking the curb in front of our shop. Two whole fucking months. But I had to admit, it looked good.

The logo on the new black awning was sophisticated, the contemporary lighting, refurbished tile flooring, and the steel-and-glass cases were classy as fuck. And the smell of fresh bagels was mighty pleasant first thing in the morning.

And as my mom reminded me, “Any new business in town brings new customers our way.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The invite to the soft-opening soiree arrived on an ordinary Tuesday in September. It was one of those fancy engraved numbers with thick paper I associated with weddings. And get this…it was for Friday night—the busiest night of the week for us. What were they thinking? People ate bagels in the morning. No one wanted a bagel at six p.m., but I wasn’t gonna miss this. I needed to know what we were up against.

I left Vanni and Jimmy in charge of the store and traded my apron and red-checked shirt for a black V-neck sweater and a nice pair of jeans. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but I figured I should step up my game.

And I could tell this was a bougie event. A cascade of balloons framed the front door, and jazz music drifted from the speakers as waiters circled the room, passing out flutes of champagne and bagel-ish canapes.

I nodded to an acquaintance as I plucked a glass of bubbly from a tray along with a cream-cheese-and-lox everything bagel bite dusted with caviar. Holy crap, it was tasty. I grabbed another, then moved on to a feta-and-cucumber combo garnished with delicately shaved red onion that should have been gross but was equally amazing.

I mingled amongst the locals as I feasted on a variety of interesting concoctions, not one of them resembling a piece of pizza. Good. My ego had taken a beating over the past few years, and this minor concession felt like a win.

And since Rob the football hero had made an effort to be cool, I could do the same.

I spotted him at the far end of the shop, chatting with Coach Malveney and his wife and the pretty blond I’d assumed was Rob’s wife or girlfriend until she’d set me straight last month.

“No, no. Rob and I are best friends and business partners. That’s all,” Amber had clarified.

Vanni had been happy to hear that. He thought she was cute and nice, and that I was an idiot for making enemies when I could have been angling for a sweet discount.

Whatever. I liked Amber fine, but Rob…

Well, now that pizza was off his menu, I could be cordial.

I set my empty flute on passing waiter’s tray and approached the group. “Coach, Mrs. Malveney, it’s nice to see you.”

“Mateo! Oh, heavens! How are you?” Coach’s wife threw her arms around me and kissed my cheek. I was afraid she was about to ruffle my hair for old times’ sake, but she just beamed like a proud parent. “You’re as handsome as ever.”

“This guy has a big head, honey. Don’t give him any reasons to strut like a peacock.” Coach punched my biceps and pulled me in for a gruff, one-armed bro hug. “How ya doin’? Long time no see, kid.”

“You need to eat more pizza, Coach,” I joked.

“You think?” The older man patted his ample belly before gesturing between Rob and me. “What are the chances of two of my guys setting up shop next to each other? I feel like I should be yelling at you to remember curfew.”

“Time flies,” Amber singsonged, flashing a pretty grin my way. “Hi, Mateo. I’m so glad you made it.”

“Congratulations,” I said, managing a sincere smile.

She motioned between Rob and me. “I know we all went to college together, but it was ages ago. Sometimes I forget that you and Rob played football together.”

I slid my gaze toward the big guy standing behind her. Rob wasn’t exactly handsome—his jaw was too strong and his nose had been broken more than once. However, his size and build made you take a second glance. And as much as I hated to admit, he cleaned up well in a navy sport coat, blue oxford shirt, and jeans.

“We did. Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course.” Rob tilted his chin in acknowledgment. “Glad you could make it.”

Coach slapped my back and chuckled lightly. “It’s a treat to be able to brag that two of my star players are business owners in town. You’re a great example to a younger generation.”

And with very little prodding, he launched into a trip down memory lane involving a fourth-quarter Hail Mary at a championship game. Not gonna lie, that was one of my best throws ever, but reliving college glory days with a guy who’d taken his career to the next level was a little humbling. Unfortunately, it was impossible to walk away from Coach without being rude, and the man had always been good to me.

Amber and Mrs. Malveney drifted into another conversation, but just as Coach had settled into storyteller mode, a parent of one of his current players interrupted. Rob and I waved off his apologies and stepped aside. And okay, maybe I should have left well enough alone and let the guy enjoy his party, but I was curious about the renovation. We were definitely going to need to make some improvements next door, and it seemed like a harmless conversational segue.

“What’s your new kitchen like?”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he motioned for me to follow him, deftly maneuvering through the press of bodies. The brick wall dividing the store from the kitchen provided a nice sound barrier. I could actually hear myself think as I studied the stainless steel ovens, the large kettle for boiling bagels, the commercial-grade refrigerator, and the ample workspace with a twinge of envy.

Rob spread his arms wide. “This is where the magic happens.”

“ Huh . Well, this is really—” I stopped short and pointed at the congested counter. “That’s a fucking pizza bagel.”

Yep, lo and behold, there on a large silver tray were dozens of pizza canapes—sausage, pepperoni, a sprig of basil, feta, goat cheese, pine nuts. They looked gourmet, and damn it, they looked delicious.

“Try one,” he urged.

“No, thanks.”

“C’mon, don’t be a dick.” Rob picked up a pesto, goat cheese, and sausage bagel bite and offered it to me on a napkin.

“I refuse on principle,” I growled. “I told you not to?—”

He shoved the bagel bite into my mouth.

The fucking nerve. And you know what was worse? It was delicious.

Of course, that was beside the point.

I glowered as I wiped the corners of my mouth. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn his gaze followed my tongue with the kind of attention that gave me all the wrong ideas. And what the actual fuck was I thinking? Rob Vilmer was off-limits, all caps. Not only was he most likely straight as an arrow, he was a minor celebrity and …he was a jerk.

“Good, isn’t it?” Rob’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was predatory and dangerous, and damn, that did something for me. All the wrong things.

“It’s edible.”

He barked a laugh. “You’re a piece of work, Cavaretti.”

“Me? You’re shamelessly poaching my business!”

“I’m not poaching your business. For fuck’s sake, man. I never intended to make pizza bagels, but?—”

“You did. So, congratulations, you’ve just started a pizza war.”

Christ, I sounded like a moron or a child who was pissed at the meanie who’d called dibs on his favorite swing at recess. I hated coming across as a dumb jock to someone who used to know me as being relatively cool under pressure. Now…well, I wasn’t at my best.

Rob shook his head in undisguised amusement. “A pizza war. That’s a new one. And how does that work? Are there rules in a pizza war, like…only five pepperonis on each slice or a quarter cup of mozzarella and it has to be from a specific region in Italy or?—”

“Funny. Very funny. Hey, I came tonight ’cause I was curious. I’d hoped you’d done the right thing, but no, you actually made the pizza bagels.”

“So what? You’re not gonna bully your way into setting my menu. Nice try, but I don’t work for you.”

“It’s called common fucking courtesy,” I growled, stepping into his space. “It’s called not being a jackass.”

Rob lips twisted unpleasantly as he nudged the toe of his shoe to mine. “How am I the jackass here?”

“You’re openly competing with an established business in a small town. That’s fucking hostile.”

He knit his eyebrows fiercely. “I’m making fucking bagels. Bagels don’t compete with pizza.”

“Until they do,” I countered.

Geez, his eyes were the clearest shade of blue and his lips were full and— Oh, no. No hate-lusting after the enemy allowed.

“You’re out of line or out of your mind…or both,” he huffed.

“Right…to you, this might be a joke. To us, pizza is a legacy that my family has carried on for generations.”

Rob rolled those fucking pretty eyes and paced toward the refrigerator. “I never said or insinuated that this was a joke. But I will say that I wouldn’t have asked Amber to come up with new pizza recipes if you hadn’t basically challenged me to do it. So now…you bet your ass I’m making these bagels.”

“Two can play that game.” I shot him a condescending smirk and showed some restraint by not grabbing another bagel bite on my way out the door. “It’s on, Vilmer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he called after me.

Fuck if I knew. I was spouting gibberish and digging a nice hole for myself.

Yeah, in string of lows, I’d officially hit a new one.