Page 17 of Cherry on Top

Or about Giana’s plans for Will.

Chapter Five

Turning the corner to Main Street, Will gave up even trying to stifle his third neck-cracking yawn of the morning.

He’d known, of course, that running his own business without the benefit of the Johnson last name would be hard. Worthwhile, but hard.

He’d still underestimated how much it sucked to be the only one who he felt completely comfortable relying on in a pinch. Kate was wonderful, and he knew she’d grow into a great manager, but she was still new enough that he didn’t feel like he could call her at all hours.

Like he’d been called last night, by Luca.

So he’d dragged himself out of bed—a bed he’d just collapsed into, gratefully—and gone back down to the shop, opening it up and grabbing another few gallons of Tahitian vanilla bean for Luca and the restaurant he ran with Oliver.

He wished he’d grabbed another cup of coffee from Joy, pouring it into one of her to-go cups, before he’d left the Inn. But he’d stubbornly believed that he’d only needed the one.

Will yawned again, and it was why he missed the figure stepping out from the morning shadows underneath the white and bright pink striped awning over the Cherry’s door.

His first reaction was, Oh yes please. Because in the bright morning light, Enzo Moretti was gorgeous. Even prettier now than he’d been in the dusk, last night. His second was, What the hell does he want now?

Maybe he could have been more diplomatic last night, but it wasn’t like he was any less tired or any less cranky this morning. He’d woken to his alarm blaring, body aching from a long day of work and the long workout he’d indulged in after, and cock aching from the dry spell of a century. He didn’t want to play nice with Enzo.

For the first and the second. Because the first made him want to tell him to fuck off. And the second made him want to tell Enzo to fuck him.

“Hey,” Enzo said. He pulled away from the brick wall he’d been leaning on.

Will ignored that he was carrying two cups of coffee. Because of course he was. Was there anything more gorgeous in the morning than a man in jean shorts and a T-shirt that hugged all his curves, carrying coffee?

“What do you want now?” Will knew his tone was short, but it was the best he could do, all things considered.

It was so unfair that Enzo was going to rub his attractiveness and smug assholeness in this morning.

He extended the coffee towards Will, who didn’t take it. Offering a blinding smile, along with the caffeine.

“I think we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot yesterday,” Enzo said. Enzo being persuasive was even hotter than Enzo being a jerk.

Unfortunately.

“I can’t imagine what you mean. I found you painting on my building. My building,” Will dryly, still ignoring the coffee, even though he really wanted to take it—and more. He was going to blame this momentary weakness on exhaustion. He unlocked the door and stepped through it, not holding it for Enzo. Hoping that would be enough to dissuade him from following.

It did not.

“I know. And I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t realize you hadn’t been told about the mural.” Another charming smile. Will didn’t know how he hadn’t recognized the man immediately, from the first moment. Because Luca and Giana also smiled like that, and the effect never failed to captivate anyone within a mile radius.

“Clearly.” Will had realized that too, when he’d calmed down enough to think about it.

He flipped lights on, heading behind the counter. He didn’t think Enzo would be ballsy enough to continue following him, but sure enough, there he came, coffee still in hand.

“Then let me apologize. For me. And for my interfering mother,” Enzo said persuasively, stopping just where Will did, short of the door to the back kitchen. He lifted the coffee again. “Come on, take my peace offering. You look tired.”

Will made a face and gave in. Grabbed the cardboard coffee cup, making sure not to touch Enzo while he was at it.

No point in making things worse.

“Isn’t it rude to tell someone they look tired?” Will grumbled, sipping the coffee. He’d expected it to be too sweet and prepared totally wrong. But it was perfect, exactly the way he liked it.

Glancing at the cup again, he couldn’t miss either the Sweetie Pie’s logo—Oliver’s bakery—or the large black W scrawled on the side.

Enzo shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

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