Page 24 of Delicious

Marco swallowed hard. “I did?”

“I’m sure you don’t remember—we were in high school, and I was over at your house. You were making marinara, and you showed me how to smash and paste the garlic so nobody would ever get a big chunk of it.”

Actually, Marcodidremember that now. He’d stood behind Andrew, guiding his hands on the knife, making sure he’d gotten the motion of it.

“Seemed appropriate to use that trick now,” Andrew said wryly. “Glad you liked it though. Assuming you liked it . . .”

“I loved it,” Marco admitted. At the time, he’d been more interested in imparting the process than in the man himself. But those tables had turned.

Still, Andrew remembered that day.

Remembered well enough that he’d dug that trick out yesterday, to use in his beloved Nonna’s recipe.

“You recognized me in the coffee shop,” Marco said.

Andrew tilted his head. “You haven’t changed much, Marco. Not in any way that actually matters. I’d have recognized you anywhere.” He patted him on the shoulder, and his touch burned. “Still the same handsome, irresistible Marco Moretti.”

Marco opened his mouth and then shut it again. “Marcella’s been telling you stories.”

“About you leaving a swath of broken hearts behind you? A little, maybe. But then, you were doing that in high school, too. Imagine my surprise when I come back home and you’re still single.” Andrew looked amused by this.

Marcowasn’t amused by this. He wasn’t someone’s gossip entertainment.

“Haven’t met the right person yet.”

“If Marcella’s to be believed, you’ve met lots of right people,” Andrew teased. He looked right now like he wanted to be one of them.

It would be so easy to tuck him in, under his arm, and kiss him.

He’d probably let Marco.

But Marco didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want to be at the mercy of his own desire. What really stopped him, though, was what Andrew had said before. The words that had been turning over in his head, right alongside the undefinable flavor in the cheesecake.

Bad breakup. Lost my job.

It suddenly occurred to Marco those were connected.

“You dated your boss, before. The bad breakup.” He said it, shocked, before he could snatch the statement—not even a goddamn question, Marco—back.

Andrew tilted his head. “You looked me up.”

“No.”I wanted you to tell me.“I guessed.”

“Yes,” Andrew said precisely. Carefully. But with no additional details.

Marco wanted to demand why he was here right now, then? Swaying in front of him, like he was a half-second and the remains of his judgment away from leaning in, pressing his body against Marco’s. Taking what they were both tempted by.

But he didn’t.

He moved away, instead.

“Makes sense, now,” Marco said.

He could be the reasonable, intelligent one.

You’re thirty-seven years old and a great chef who runs this restaurant brilliantly.

“Yes,” Andrew repeated.

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