Page 14 of Delicious

Piece Of Cake

Beth Bolden

ChapterOne

Apomegranate flew through the air, trailing seeds as it arced across the kitchen.

Marco Moretti ducked with plenty of time to spare, but then grimaced as half a dozen plums pelted him next, each of them hitting him on his white chef’s coat with a soft squish, leaving behind tracks of pale orange pulp.

“You’re an asshole!” Izzy shrieked, launching another attack with a handful of grapes. These hit a lot harder than the plums. Maybe because of the way they resembled small bullets, or because Marco had gotten closer, to try to prevent additional weaponized fruit.

“I’m sorry,” Marco said, between clenched teeth. Maybe hewasan asshole. Maybe he deserved death by fruit bowl.

But he’d certainly never made Izzy any promises, and he’d thought they were on the same page. The page where she worked for him, they were friendly, and that was it. But when she’d announced she’d taken the pastry job at his restaurant because she’d assumedhecame with the compensation package, he’d needed to set her straight.

“I can’t fucking believe you! You flirted with me! We had a drink! Twice!” Izzy was panting now, hands deep in one of the bins of fruit. He hoped to God she didn’t find a pineapple or melon or coconut in there. He might not survive that.

His sister Marcella would tell him that he’d deserve it.

Well, alittle, anyway. When he’d been young and stupid, he’d had precisely two relationships with employees, and he’d long since learned it was 1) a terrible idea and 2) wrong on a fundamental level. But his reputation had only grown, despite every attempt he made to change it.

“I was being nice!” Marco didn’t usually get pissed off. That was his eldest brother Luca. Marcohada temper, but it was buried deep, under layers of other emotions.

He hadn’t meant to do this. He’d thought he and Izzy were becoming friends. And if she touched him more than his other friends, casually, on the back and on the neck, well, that was just her way, right?

It turned out her friendliness hadnotbeen because it was her way. She’d shown up at Nonna’s with expectations and Marco, unaware and trying to be a friend and a good boss, had only exacerbated them, not tempered them.

After family dinner tonight, when he came by the back pastry kitchen to check Izzy’s progress with the special order cake, she’d sidled right up to him, kissed him firmly, and told him, “It’s time.”

Marco had been bewildered. Then incredulous. And then annoyed.

Thus, why he was currently defending himself like a fruit ninja.

“Nice would’ve been not leading me on,” Izzy barked, thankfully crossing her arms over her chest. “Making melikeyou.”

Marco winced. He didn’t want to explain to Izzy, who seemed like a nice enough girl, that she wouldn’t be the first or the last to get sucked in by his inadvertent Moretti-ness.

The whole family possessed it—good looks and some amount of charm were sprinkled generously through their family tree—though Marco was the only one this kept happening to.

Gabe, his younger brother, would tell him that the Moretti genes used him instead of Marco wieldingthem. But Marco had never been interested in that.

He just wanted to put his head down and enjoy the work that brought him so much joy—owning this restaurant in his grandmother’s name, one of the three that the family ran.

“I didn’t mean to,” Marco said, holding out his hands in mute surrender. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated for a single second. “Could we get back to the cake?—”

“Fuck your cake and fuckyou. I quit,” Izzy said vehemently and ripped off her apron, using it as one last bit of ammunition, hitting him square in the chest with it.

He caught the balled-up fabric and sighed as she stomped off.

“Chef?”

Marco turned towards the hesitant voice in the doorway.

It was Daniel, Izzy’s young sous. He was wringing his hands, looking distressed.

Marco tried to marshal his expression into something gentler, less thunderous.

“Yes, Daniel?”

---