Page 38 of Delicious

Andrew and Daniel were both working—this time it was Daniel whipping cream, as Andrew bent over a cutting board, absorbed in a delicate dissection of some fruit.

Clearly, they were busy too, so Marco went back to the prep kitchen and his vat of marinara.

He looked up what felt like only a few minutes later, and it was actually a whole hour later. Nearly close, in fact.

“God,” Marco said, scrubbing a hand across his face, “is it almost nine already?”

“Yep,” Elijah said. “And there was only a minor riot about the veal.”

“We’ll get our delivery tomorrow,” Marco said. “I called in and double-checked.”

Nonna’s were all closed on Mondays. Dario always received the deliveries, and he’d already promised Marco that no matter what emergency cropped up, he’d leave Marco be.

He’d been looking forward to sleeping in—hopefully, if everything went well, with Andrew next to him. Waking with him for the first time. Taking him out to his favorite diner for breakfast, their first official date.

“Good,” Elijah said. “You go on, Chef. I got this cleanup. I know you’ve got other things going on.”

Marco raised an eyebrow, wondering just how much the rest of his staff knew about his situation with Andrew. Dario wouldn’t blab, but they all had eyes, didn’t they? And they all talked and gossiped plenty.

“It’s all good, Chef,” Elijah said with a reassuring nod.

Maybe it shouldn’t matter that his staff approved—but it did. They were all a family, because like Marcella had told him, he had absolute shit boundaries.

He was already in the locker room, getting his stuff together, when Andrew walked in.

“Hey, Chef,” Andrew said, amusement glimmering in his blue eyes.

“I . . .” Words died in his throat as Andrew walked right up into his space and cupped his cheek.

“Busy night?” Andrew’s tone was still teasing.

“Yeah. No Jose and of course, half a dozen problems that I had to take care of—but you know how it is.” Andrew would, of course. He’d co-owned a restaurant. He’d always understand if there was some issue that only Marco could solve.

Would it be easy? Marco never assumed that it would be. But even the shitty moments would be worth it.

“I do,” Andrew agreed. He put a hand on Marco’s chest. Through the thin cotton of his T-shirt, Andrew’s touch burned. Made his pulse accelerate. “So, what’s the plan?”

You. Me. A bed.

But this wasn’t just about sex; if it was just an itch they needed to scratch, they could’ve done all that without paperwork.

“I was thinking my place,” Marco said. “I want to hear all about Paris. And Sweden. Even Barcelona.”

“That all?” Andrew’s eyes twinkled.

“Well, notall. I was promised dessert, after all.”

“I did, and I intend to deliver.” Andrew gestured down at the white box in his hands. “I was wondering should I bring a bag?”

“Yes,” Marco said quickly.

“Good, ’cause I already packed one.” Andrew pressed a swift kiss to Marco’s mouth and turned towards his own locker, carefully setting the white box on the bench. Unbuttoning his chef’s coat, tossing it in the big laundry bin in the corner.

Marco tried not to look as Andrew stripped down, pulling on a pair of jeans and another T-shirt from his locker.

He filled out both perfectly, and Marco’s cock throbbed at the thought of stripping him out of them, slowly.

“I’m going to . . .uh . . .go check on everything. Make sure nobody needs anything,” Marco said uselessly.

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