Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Did I lie to you?” Luigi asked.
I shook my head, covering my mouth with a hand as I chewed. “It’s amazing. That caramel.”
“Mario makes our caramel fresh every morning. Best in the world.”
“Wow. I thought I made good brownies, but that one puts me to shame.”
Luigi put his arms up in a what can I say motion. “Let us make your brownies from now on.”
I resisted the urge to pop the rest of the brownie into my mouth immediately. “I’ll definitely be buying some of those.”
He gave me a stern look. “You gonna try and pass them off as yours?”
I laughed, and he grinned in response.
“If I thought I could get away with it, I totally would,” I admitted. “But I’m making dinner for my brother and one of his friends, and if they ask me to make them again…”
“You just come right back to Morelli Brothers,” he said. “We’re open six days a week.”
“Noted.” I scanned the case again. “I was kind of hoping for something that I could use to make Italian beef sandwiches.”
“You can’t go wrong with our French bread,” he said.
“Crusty rolls!” a male voice called out.
Luigi waved the voice off. “Don’t listen to him.”
A head popped up from beneath the counter. I recognized him from the photo—it was Mario, a thinner, balder version of Luigi, and he seemed to be repairing something.
“Are you using au jus?” Mario asked.
One of his dark, bushy eyebrows was covered in flour, making it white. I smiled and nodded.
“What’s an Italian beef without au jus?” I asked.
He yelled out his approval, pumping his fist. “She knows her Italian beef! And trust me, you need a good sturdy bread to soak up all that juice.”
“You just made the case for French bread!” Luigi cried, throwing his arms in the air. “Juice rolls right off a crusty roll.”
Mario stood, meeting his brother’s gaze. “Did you just get off the boat from Italy? You have to let it soak.”
“It could soak for eighteen years and it still wouldn’t taste as good as my French bread.”
Mario gave him a disgusted look, waving him off. “This is why Nonna gave me her hot cross bun recipe.”
Luigi lowered his brows, pointing at his brother’s chest. “You got that recipe for one reason and one reason alone. You’re a butt-kisser and everyone knows it.”
A woman who looked about my age approached the counter, rolling her eyes and smiling slightly. “Don’t mind these two. We have some great hoagies that just came out of the oven. I think you’d be really happy with them for Italian beef sandwiches.”
I gave her a grateful look, because I didn’t want to choose between the recommendations of the two owners.
“Yeah, don’t mind us,” Mario said, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “We’re just passionate about our baking.”
“I understand.”
“What else can we get you?” Luigi asked, the argument already forgotten.
“I’ll take six of those brownies and ten hoagie rolls.”
A line had formed behind me, so the woman asked the next customer for their order and Luigi sent another employee to get my hoagie rolls.
“So, this friend of your brother,” he said as he put my brownies into a plastic container. “Is he someone you’re trying to impress?”
My cheeks warmed as I considered his question. I mean…I wasn’t not trying to impress him, but it felt weird to admit it out loud. Especially when I’d just ended a relationship. I was here to get Sawyer back on his feet and then I was relocating to a new place for a fresh start. Not just because I wanted to, but because I had to.
“I always try to impress with my cooking,” I said, winking at Luigi.
“What’s your name?”
“Lucy.”
He looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “Lucy, any guy who gets to eat your homemade Italian beef needs to work hard for you, understand?”
He reminded me of my grandpa, and I felt a sudden pang of sadness. I missed him. “I do.”
“Good.” He closed the plastic container. “You make him wine and dine you, and if he makes one wrong move, send him packing.”
I nodded. “I’ll remember that.”
He grabbed the container of hoagie rolls from the employee who had gotten them from the back, then put both containers into a paper bag. When he passed it to me, I asked, “How much do I owe you?”
He shook his head. “No charge for first-timers. You just come back and tell us how dinner goes, okay, Lucy?”
I pushed my wallet back into my purse, touched by his generosity and kindness. “I definitely will. Thanks, Luigi.”
It was snowing harder when I walked out the door, but I didn’t feel the cold. There were still good people in this world. Wherever I ended up, though I wouldn’t know a soul, I hoped I met people as nice as Luigi Morelli.