Page 16 of Delicious

“Well, he’s back in town. He’s thinking about opening his own bakery, but he hasn’t found a location yet. I bet you could convince him to work for you for a bit, train Daniel up.” Her voice dropped. “That kid is wildly in love with Bea, who barely notices he exists, so he wouldn’t be interested in you. Win-win.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Why don’tyouconvince Andrew to work for me and train Daniel? He’s your friend.”

“And your friend, too.” Marcella shot him a chiding look. “Surely you remember that.”

It had been almost twenty years, but now that Marco was thinking about him, he had a lot of memories with Andrew. Mostly revolving around food or Marcella.

Had he gotten distracted and sort of forgotten about the guy since he’d left and gone to France? Yes, he had—but then he’d been fairly busy himself, graduating from the Culinary Institute of America in Napa and then starting and running this higher-end evolution of his family’s restaurant brand.

“Sure,” Marco said, because agreeing with Marcella was usually easier than arguing with her.

“Go talk to him,” Marcella said. “And be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Marco grumbled. He was at least nicer than their older brother Luca.

“Actually maybe . . .maybe don’t betoonice,” Marcella said, wincing. “You don’t want the guy to fall in love with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Marco said. “That’s not going to happen.”

But that was because Marco was already determined to be more careful this time around. More aware, anyway. The Andrew he remembered had not once pinged anywhere on his attraction meter. And he found a lot of people attractive—or at least he used to. It should be easy enough to keep his distance.

This time, Marco would make sure he didn’t get too friendly or invite Andrew for a drink. He’d keep their lines clear: he was the boss and Andrew was an employee.

If Marcella’s plan worked out—and it was Marcella, which meant it probably would—today’s pomegranate would be the very last he had to duck.

ChapterTwo

Marco 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 behisfavorite 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.

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