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Luke picked up his phone for the . . . he lost track of how many times it had been—checking for a message. Still nothing.
Nico said he was only working four hours. His shift should have ended three hours ago, so where was he? Damn, Luke hated not being able to read Nico better.
“Stop.” He exhaled slowly.
They were roommates and friends, not boyfriends. Nico didn’t need to check in with him. Moreover, Nico wouldn’t think Luke expected that. Because he shouldn’t. They. Were. Friends.
Luke glanced at the table, set for two. So much for surprising Nico with lunch. Probably too much anyway.
Whatever he didn’t eat, he could take for lunch tomorrow.
Mrs. R had recommended the deli two blocks over. They had the best Italian hoagie with the works in walking distance. Evidently if one wanted to drive, better could be had, but these were plenty good enough. She didn’t seem the type to do much walking, so he bought an extra one and dropped it off on his way upstairs.
Just like Nico would have done.
The door opened behind him, and he swiveled around.
Nico entered the room, gaze sweeping from him to the table. He halted abruptly.
Luke’s palms sweated.
“Oh. Are you expecting company?” Nico shifted the bag in his left hand, his shoulders seemingly deflating. “Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll, ah, get out of your way.”
“What? No, wait!” Luke quick-stepped across the room.
Nico froze as his eyes darted from the table to Luke, and he shrank back from him. “Yes?”
“I thought I’d surprise you with lunch after your first day at the bakery. Kinda like you made me dinner after my first day of work.”
A cautious frown broke over Nico’s expression, growing deeper as he looked from Luke to the table and back again.
Luke shifted, jamming his hands into his pockets. “You already ate, right?”
“Actually, no,” Nico said slowly. “I ended up staying later because the person who was supposed to replace me didn’t show.” He held up the bag. “A thank-you gift from Rocco.”
“I hope he also paid you money for the extra hours.”
That comment kicked Nico out of whatever wary thoughts he’d been having. “Of course. I don’t work for cannolis. Even as kids, Nonno paid us when we helped at the shop.”
“That’s good. That you got paid.”
Luke stumbled for what to say. Clearly Nico seemed apprehensive about the lunch.
Was Nico worrying Luke was coming on to him?
Of course he was.
How could he not after the way they’d woken this morning?
“It’s just lunch,” Luke said, when Nico stared at the table again.
Nico snapped toward him. “Right. Sure. Just lunch. That you waited until”—he tapped the screen of his watch—“three thirty-five for me to eat?”
Luke cursed himself for foisting an uncomfortable situation on Nico. He tried shrugging it off. “Like you say, it’s no fun to eat alone.”
It’s no fun to eat alone?
That’s what Luke went with?
He was an idiot.
He bowed his head as Nico put the bag in the kitchen. Then Nico brushed past, hesitated, and whispered a kiss over Luke’s cheek. “Let me clean up, and I’ll be right back.”
Nico beelined to their bedroom, and Luke’s hand drifted to his cheek.
What did that mean?
Luke and Nico played a game of gaze-tag over lunch. Taking turns catching the other looking and hurriedly refocusing on their hoagies.
Luke didn’t bring up the kiss to his cheek, or last night, but the weight of it grew with every bite.
When they finished their sandwiches, they looked longingly at their empty plates.
“That was so good,” Nico said energetically. As if to break the tension. “Great call by Mrs. R.”
“I was worried it wouldn’t live up to your New York standards.”
Nico finished his water and reached for the pitcher. “Truth? Delis don’t make their own prosciutto, capicola, salami, or provolone. They all buy from the same places. So long as they use quality meats and good bread—and this place does—they’re all going to taste about the same.”
Luke smiled at the slight hesitation in Nico’s voice when he pronounced “prosciutto.” “Yeah, but since New York delis used gabagool and brahjzoot, I was worried these would be disappointing.”
Glass to his lips, Nico spit-laughed. Water came out his nose, and he coughed so hard he put a hand on the table to brace himself.
“Look up.” Luke pointed to the ceiling, smiling. “I have it on good authority that works.”
Nico tilted his head back and slowly gained control. When he stopped coughing, he looked into his glass and frowned. “Well, I’m not drinking that.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be, that was hilarious.” Nico grabbed a clean glass and snatched the dish towel from the rack. “Next time warn me when you’re going to toss my idiosyncrasies back at me.”
“That would ruin the effect.”
“Brat.” Nico refilled both their glasses and took his seat. “Let’s have dessert.”
Nico pulled two cannolis from the white wax-treated bag and put one each on two plates. “These are a rare treat.”
