Page 13 of Cherry on Top

When he’d first turned around and seen the guy, he’d felt an immediate jolt.

First, attraction. That much was easy to understand. The guy was freaking gorgeous—built big and brawny, with messy blond hair a few weeks past needing a cut, piercing blue eyes, and a tan that tight white shirt accentuated to perfection.

Then, annoyance.

How could anyone believe that he, Enzo freaking Moretti, was painting graffiti? Enzo still didn’t understand how that misunderstanding had happened.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” Oliver said, nudging him.

Enzo had a feeling Oliver had been waiting to bring up his crap mood until his mom had ducked out for a Fourth of July planning meeting at Joy Billings’ B&B. Then Luca had followed, claiming he needed to deal with a problem at the restaurant.

“Yeah, you have,” Rocco agreed, as he leaned back in one of the teal blue Adirondack chairs dotting Luca and Oliver’s patio. “You kept glaring at the chicken piccata like it did something to insult you.”

“I just . . .”

“Hate being back here?” Oliver inserted with a raised eyebrow. “I know.” He gave Enzo a commiserating glance.

It was almost funny to remember a time when he’d had the world’s stupidest crush on Oliver Billings.

He’d been an ass back then. A mess of hormones and frustration with no outlet and then the one chance Oliver had given him had gone terribly and he hadn’t taken that well, either.

When Luca had come to town and he and Oliver had fallen in love, Enzo had begun to understand just how much all of that was his fault, and before he’d left for San Francisco, he’d apologized and began to mend the rift between them.

It hadn’t been easy or quick but slowly, they’d become friends.

Oliver would’ve been impossible to avoid as his cousin’s husband, especially after he and Luca had become close, but Enzo liked to think he and Oliver had a friendship entirely their own, in-law status notwithstanding.

“It’s not being back here, actually,” Enzo said. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Hard to be miserable, already.”

“Then what’s up?” Rocco asked, a frown creasing his tanned forehead. “It’s not Auntie, is it?”

Giana was not Rocco’s aunt, but he liked to call her that, and to Enzo’s surprise, Giana actually liked it, and even kept harassing Luca to join in. But Luca would only shoot Giana a look and pretend he hadn’t heard her teasing entreaties.

“No.” Enzo huffed out a frustrated sigh. “You two don’t know anything about the guy who owns the old hardware store, do you? I think it’s called Cherry’s?”

He’d wanted to ask his mother, because she was the one who’d arranged the mural in the first place, but Enzo knew her well enough to understand, even through his frustration and anger, that there had to be a reason why she hadn’t decided to inform—or even ask—Will about the mural. He wasn’t going to head into that particular conversation without being forearmed with at least a guess why.

“You mean Will? Will Johnson?” Oliver looked confused. “Of course we know Will. He’s a great guy.”

“Hot, too,” Rocco teased.

Oliver shot his young cousin a fond glare. “He’s not interested, Rocco. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize,” Rocco insisted.

Oliver rolled his eyes.

Enzo didn’t need his cousin to tell him how hot Will Johnson was.

“Is it possible that neither of you know that Giana arranged for me to paint a mural on the side of his building?”

Enzo got his answer when Oliver looked surprised and Rocco downright shocked. “I know Luca mentioned it,” Oliver said slowly. “Not that you were painting Will’s building, but that you were going to paint one while you were here. I thought the location was still up in the air.”

“It’s not,” Enzo said. Though maybe after Will’s reaction—and then his reaction to Will’s reaction—it was now.

“Well, that’s surprising,” Oliver said bluntly. “I saw Will the other day and he didn’t say anything about it.”

“Because I don’t think Giana told him,” Enzo said.

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