Page 28 of Delicious

“You have gotten stuck in a bit of a rut, haven’t you?” Luca said.

Marco rolled his eyes harder. “And you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Luca laughed. “I’d knowallabout that, which is why I’m telling you, Marco. It’s good this guy is shaking you up.”

“But don’t shakehimup,” Marcella warned.

Marco barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes a third time. “Thank you, Marcella,” he retorted sarcastically. “I’m attempting to restrain my natural Moretti-ness.”

“What?” Luca asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, apparently I can’t help that everyone falls in love with me.”

Luca laughed again. “Somehow I never had that problem. Except when it counted.”

“Or maybe I’m trying to avoid any more pomegranates,” Marco muttered.

“The last pastry chef that quit was madly in love with him,” Marcella said.

“She was not,” Marco protested. “She was just?—”

“Madly in love with you?” Marcella suggested archly.

“This is a pointless conversation,” Marco said firmly. “Andrew’s here. He’s doing great. Idowish he’d stop changing the menu without my permission, but he’s training Daniel and I think in a month or so he’ll be set to take over.”

“That intern?” Luca asked.

“He’s more than an intern,” Marco retorted.

“But he’s young.” Marco could hear the frown on Luca’s face.

“But learning,” Dario added supportively. “I agree with Marco’s assessment. If Andrew keeps training him, he’ll be ready, as long as Marco’s okay continuing to oversee him.”

“The question isn’t will Marco supervise Daniel, the question is will Marco keep his hands off Andrew?” Marcella joked.

“Marco is trying,” Marco said between clenched teeth.

Thankfully, Luca changed the subject, bringing up the new quarterly figures from the distribution company that sold their line of sauces and antipasto spreads.

After the meeting, Marco avoided heading back to the pastry kitchen. And not because Marcella and Luca had given him shit. Nope. He didn’t have a reason to go back there, so he just wouldn’t.

Instead, he spent the early afternoon working with his sous, Theo, on the new monthly special, repeating and perfecting it until they were both happy, and by the time he lifted his head, checking on the rest of the kitchen, he realized it was almost four.

Time for family dinner.

“Who’s—”

But before Marco could get the rest of his question out, Jose said, “Oh, hey, new guy cooked.”

“Paella,” Elijah said excitedly. “He said he learned the recipe when he was in Barcelona.”

And sure enough, there was an enormous pan of it, sitting right in the middle of the table, and a big bowl of salad currently being passed around, someone exclaiming about the shredded Manchego “he” had grated on top.

Marco didn’t need to ask who “he” was.

“He” was standing at the head of the table, smiling and answering questions about the meal he’d just cooked.

But when someone asked directly about Barcelona and the work he’d done there, Marco could sense a shift in him.

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