Page 82 of Cherry on Top

His face was more drawn than he’d realized, a white cast under his tan, and he knew he’d need to thank Rocco when he brought out his food out.

After washing up, he sat in the corner, his favorite table since forever, and a few minutes later, Rocco brought the food over, setting it front of him, along with another bottle of water.

“There’s more where that came from, too,” Rocco said. “Though you’re already looking better. You were white as a sheet before, all clammy looking.”

“Oh. Well. I guess I overdid it, a little,” Enzo admitted. “Didn’t realize it, until I looked in the mirror.”

“Good. At the risk of sounding just like Giana, you gotta take better care of yourself when you’re out there in the heat, painting.”

“I will,” Enzo promised, digging into the chopped salad. It was cool against his tongue, spicy and bursting with herbaceous flavor.

“I got an email today,” Rocco said casually as Enzo continued to shovel salad into his face.

“Yeah?” he asked between bites.

“You know I’d been putting out feelers to buy a place. In a small town. Not this small town.” Rocco shot him one of the patented Moretti smiles. “I love our cousin but I couldn’t live with him looking over my shoulder the rest of my life.”

Enzo considered telling Rocco that it wouldn’t be so bad, but then he reconsidered. For Rocco it probably would be tougher, because he wanted to run a coffee shop. First, it was way too similar to Oliver’s concept, and second, because it was food related, Luca would be unable to help himself.

He’d just want to help, and then he’d help Rocco right along into insanity.

“I get that,” Enzo said.

“Well, yeah, there’s a reason you don’t live here, though . . .” Rocco gave him a sly look. “Maybe you’ll be spending more time here in the future. Because of a certain ice cream guy . . .”

“Yeah,” Enzo said. Because Rocco’s insinuation wasn’t untrue now. Not now, anyway.

“Anyway, I’ve been talking to some people. Hoping to find something close-ish. That’s like here, but not here, you know? And I got an email today. Some ladies want to sell their coffee shop.”

“Where’s it at?” Enzo asked.

“Town in Illinois, outside Chicago. Get this,” Rocco said, leaning forward, excitement gleaming in his dark eyes that felt so much like a mirror of Enzo’s own, “it’s a Christmas themed town. It’s even named Christmas Falls. They do a big ass festival celebration there every year.”

“Do you even like the holidays?” Enzo asked, a little skeptical. That seemed like a lot of Christmas.

“Well, yeah. Who doesn’t?” Rocco waved his hand, dismissing Enzo’s concern. “Anyway, I figure I’m familiar with that whole festival vibe, since I’ve been here for the Sweethearts Festival the last two years.”

“And they want to sell it to you?”

“Yep. They told me to make an offer.” Rocco looked so excited, and Enzo was genuinely thrilled for him. The guy worked his ass off, at what felt like a hundred part-time jobs, to save money and to get as much experience as possible. He knew Oliver spent hours with him every week, teaching him every baking secret he knew.

“That’s so great, man. I’m happy for you.” Enzo finished his salad and moved onto the meatball sub, using the knife Rocco had provided to cut it in half, picking up one side. A glob of marinara dropped on his hand and he licked it up.

“They say they want someone with an affinity for the business. They said they heard of the Morettis all the way out there. Isn’t that cool?”

“So cool.” It wasn’t that Enzo wasn’t thrilled for his cousin. It was the reminder that he wasn’t part of that Moretti tradition. He was different. Just different enough that he’d never felt like he belonged.

Everyone was nice enough about it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still suck.

“Luca said he’d look at the offer. Let me know his thoughts, but I’m gonna be honest. I want this.” Rocco leaned over, dark eyes gleaming. “They got a little kitchen in the back—not as big as Oliver’s of course, because they’re more of a coffee shop than a bakery, and not nearly the size of Will’s—but I’ll be able to do a bit of baking. Maybe expand, in a few seasons. Make all the pastries in-house. Maybe add paninis and hot sandwiches. Soup. Salads.”

“It sounds like the perfect spot for you. And the town’s chill, yeah?”

Enzo would be remiss if he didn’t ask. Some small towns, especially in the South and the Midwest, weren’t. And he knew Rocco had been out of the closet, out-and-proud, since early high school.

He wouldn’t want to go back in, just to own a business.

“Nah,” Rocco said. “I did some research. It’s friendly. Won’t be a problem. Besides, the couple I’m buying it from? Two lesbian ladies.”

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