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“What’s he doing?”
The Wheelhouse Bakery & Deli is not a huge place. If he’s standing across from her, she can probably see what he’s doing.
“He’s buying bagels, I think.”
My heart pounds in my chest. Do I turn around? Pretend I don’t know he’s here? Just keep eating?
“So he’s not staying?” I hiss in an undertone.
“No, I don’t think so.”
My internal freak-out kicks up a notch, and part of me wants to spring up from my chair and drag him over. To force him to stay.
Get a grip, Chari. Two days ago, Enzo DeLuca was as far from your mind as warm weather is from Bridgewater.
But now, after his sudden appearance last night . . .
“We meet again.”
Lisa looks like she’s going to spit out her coffee. But she doesn’t, thank God. The last thing I need is for him to guess we’ve been talking about him. I remind myself to keep it cool in the face of . . . what? Enzo isn’t a dating prospect. He’s Devon’s friend. A total big shot.
And he’s standing beside our table.
“Morning, Enzo,” I say, matching his cool tone.
“Still eating eggs with ketchup?”
Still breaking girls’ hearts?I want to ask.
Literally every woman in the place—young, old, doesn’t matter—is staring at him. Oh God, my view is exactly in line with the bulge in his jeans. Look up, Chari. I hone in on his Steelers sweatshirt instead. I’ve seen plenty of televised interviews of Enzo, and he’s always wearing a suit—the complete opposite of the casual attire he has on now. Both looks are equally as sexy, but this one doesn’t mark him as a multi-bazillionaire. It makes him more approachable, somehow.
“Still waving that terrible towel? I’d have thought you’d be a Giants or Jets fan by now. New Yorker and all.”
“Are you kidding?” he says with a grin. “A DeLuca never changes teams. Loyalty, girl.”
I swallow.
“Sorry. Woman. You’re certainly no longer a girl, Chari.”
His words send a rush of heat through me, but he has already moved on to greeting Lisa, as polite and charming as if he’d taken etiquette classes his whole life. “Good morning, Lisa.”
“Hi, Enzo. Good to see you.”
“Same to you.”
He glances back at me. “Gotta get these bagels back to the shop. You coming tonight?”
He means the soft opening of his brother’s restaurant, DeLuca’s II. Unlike the original shop that his dad owns, which only has three tables and does mostly takeout, DeLuca’s II is a straight-up Italian restaurant. On the casual side, but very much an upgrade on the original. With prime real estate right on the lake.
Tristano DeLuca has been talking about it for years. It was rumored Enzo gave him the building for Christmas. But when I asked Devon if it were true, he responded with, “No comment.” I had to wrest it from him later that Enzo did indeed buy Tris the building.
“I heard the guest list is small. A very private affair.”
Enzo opens his mouth ever so slightly, making it impossible not to stare at his lips. “You heard correctly.”
As a long-time family friend, I was invited, but my flirting skills are subpar at best, and I find myself saying, “But since you invited me . . .”
His brows rise in a perfect imitation of some old-time Hollywood actor. “Did I, now?”
