Page 6 of Falling for my Family's Rival

In my mind, I agree. Fair enough and all that. But I make sure to frown at him. “You’re still wasting my time, not to mention your own. There is no way that my family is trying to sabotage your family. That’s ridiculous.”

“Probably,” Luca says, “but there aren’t any other Italian restaurants within a fifty-mile radius, so it’s only natural that our fathers are rivals.”

I actually do laugh out loud at his statement. “Now you sound even more ridiculous. Why do our fathers need to be rivals? Your restaurant isn’t even in Cranberry Creek.”

“I just think it makes life more interesting,” Luca says with a shrug. His shrugs are the full-body kind, that suggest ease and nonchalance. Nothing seems to bother him. If anything, he seems amused by the whole situation.

Then you have me, afraid to break out in a sweat in front of a cute guy, but also equally as worried about not being able to get all my work done, because I’m busy blabbering away with him.

“Not interesting enough to waste my time,” I say.

“For someone who is so concerned with wasting time, you are definitely engaged in this conversation,” Luca says with a wink and a smile.

I roll my eyes, although I can’t help but notice how nice his smile is. Friendly. It makes him look boyish. Charming. Ugh. I have to stop thinking about him this way. “That’s because I feel like I need to defend my family’s honor… or something like that. You came in here making accusations. What else am I supposed to do?”

Another shrug. “I suppose you’re right,” he says. “But don’t you think the day just got that much more interesting?”

I gape at him. Is he joking? He has to be, but I honestly can’t tell. There is a mischievous glint in his eye, but I don’t know if he’s making fun of me or including me in the joke. I’m not sure which one pisses me off more.

“I think you should leave . . . now,” I say.

I’m not even totally sure that I want him to leave. There is something about him that makes me feel like I know him from somewhere, but that’s just because I know who his family is. I would swear it was more than that if I didn’t know better.

“Okay, I’m going,” Luca says. He grins at me again. “Come on, though, this really did make your day more interesting, didn’t it?”

The surge of annoyance I feel makes me want to chuck a glass at his head. The cold sweat I’ve been hoping to avoid breaks out on my skin, making me feel clammy. I’m ready to yell at Luca, but he turns with a salute and hurries toward the door. For a second, I’m not sure what to do. I should just let this weird encounter go, but I can’t. I make the last-second decision to follow him out of the restaurant.

Five

LUCA

Istep out onto the sidewalk in front of Little Italy and take a deep breath of the late September air. It’s sunny and warm, but there is a hint of wood smoke in the air. The trees are just starting to change color. I love this time of year, and oddly, after my exchange with Marissa, I feel pretty good. There is something about her that feels so familiar. According to her, it’s because our families go way back. As rivals. But I swear I’ve never laid eyes on her before.

The door to the restaurant bangs open behind me, and I turn back to see who has come out. Marissa stands there in the Fall sunlight, looking particularly lovely in her work apron, with her curly black hair going in every direction as the wind lifts it and sets it dancing. There is something familiar about her. I keep coming back to this fact. It’s like there is something tugging at the back of my brain, like something that I just can’t remember.

“Yes?” I say.

She stops a few feet away from me, opening and closing her hands into fists. Even though I think she’s angry with me, she doesn’t look mad. Mostly she just looks sad and frustrated.

“You aren’t serious, are you?” she asks.

“About what? The food poisoning?” I take a step back toward her.

“Yes, the food poisoning,” she repeats, the irritation evident in her tone.

“I was just delivering the message,” I reply. If I’m honest, I think my father is being absurd. For someone to sabotage our restaurant would take a lot of planning and effort. Little Italy just catered a massive event a few days ago. It seems highly unlikely that they also had the time to carry out some food poisoning scheme.

“I’m sorry that your restaurant isn’t good enough not to have cases of food poisoning, but what evidence do you have that it’s us?” she asks.

I hold my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I am just delivering a message from my father.”

“I could tell you a thing or two to take back to your father,” Marissa snaps. Then she takes a deep breath and I can see her struggle to compose herself. “But I won’t, because unlike your family, I was taught not to be rude. Even to competitors.”

“Now wait a second,” I say. “That actually is pretty rude.”

“No, it’s not,” Marissa says, annoyance flashing in her eyes again.

“Actually, it is,” I say. “Just because you do it in a backhanded way, doesn’t mean that you aren’t being rude.”

---