Page 29 of Delicious

“Owned a restaurant there, with my partner,” Andrew said, not looking like he wanted to discuss it. “Ex-partner, I guess. He bought me out, and I came back to Napa.”

Everyone looked rabidly interested, and like they were about to demand answers about Andrew coming home. Why he’d needed to leave in the first place.

But before they could—honestly, both his employees and restaurant employeeseverywherewere more into gossip than a whole gaggle of old hens—Marco interrupted.

“This looks amazing,” he said, patting Andrew on the back, and ignoring the ripple of sensation that washed through him at the undeniable firmness and the warmth of his skin under the white coat. “Thanks for making family dinner for us.”

“I wanted to do it,” Andrew said, shooting him a look that Marco couldn’t help but interpret as pure relief.

He hadn’t wanted to discuss why he’d left Barcelona.

Marco had assumed it wasn’t a particularly good story, and he hadn’t even known that Andrew was part-owner. Now it looked even worse.

He spent the meal making sure nobody else asked Andrew about the end of his time in Barcelona—and enjoying the hell out of the food he’d prepared for Marco’s employees. The chicken and shrimp paired with the spicy sausage were tender and delicious, and the rice was flawlessly cooked. Fluffy and perfect.

Andrew was an incredible chef, that much was clear. Much too talented to be bothering with the Nonna’s desserts.

He could be doing anything he wanted to be doing. Maybe he’d stick around St. Helena and open his bakery, or he’d go on to something bigger and brighter, but whichever he did, Marco was certain that he’d be brilliant at it.

The thought shouldn’t have made him so melancholy, but it did.

Maybe because he was now convinced that the “ex-partner” had massively fucked up in some way, and now Marco wanted to fly to Barcelona and punch him for hurting Andrew. Or maybe systematically destroy his business.

It was a very Luca-like thing to want to do, and Marco didn’t quite understand it, not until much later, after service was over.

Elijah and Jose were bickering good-naturedly as they cleaned the grill, and after checking their work absently, because he trusted them, Marco ignored his good judgment and wandered back into the pastry kitchen.

Andrew was cleaning up alone. He glanced up, seeing Marco walk in.

“Everything go okay tonight?” That was the minimal excuse Marco had prepared to come back here.

After all, he was stillthe head chef of this restaurant.

Dario’s words from the other day echoed through Marco. A good, and necessary, reminder of why he should be able to keep his hands to himself.

Nevermind the reminder from earlier. Andrew’s old partner had betrayed him in some way. Romantically? Professionally? Marco didn’t know the details, but he didn’t have to know the details.

It was enough to know that it had happened. Marco wouldneverbetray Andrew that way, and if that meant tackling this inconvenient attraction head-on, then he’d do it.

“Yeah. Went fine. Sold out of the special.” There was a glimmer of a smile on Andrew’s mouth as he said it, but it was fleeting as he went back to wiping down the counters meticulously.

“Heard you nearly ran out of cheesecake too,” Marco said.

Andrew gestured towards the fridge. “There’s still one piece left. You want it?”

It wasn’t cheesecake that Marco wanted, but maybe tasting more of Andrew in his mouth would help him stick to his promises.

“Yeah. I would, actually.”

Andrew smiled wider at that. Leaned down to grab it, but Marco gestured him away. “I got it,” he said. Grabbed the plate from the fridge and picked up a spoon from a crock of them sitting on the counter.

After his first bite, Marco was no longer convinced this creamy delicious goodness would keep him on the straight and narrow, because it was even better. Tonight, Andrew had garnished it with a sliver of candied orange peel, twisting impossibly and elegantly across the surface, and drizzled a hint of the darkest chocolate around the edge of the plate.

It was even better this way. Impossibly, ridiculously better.

Marco groaned as he took a second bite.

“Good?”

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