Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Mateo
Can you believe this? Haverton’s football hero is opening a bagel shop next to my pizzeria and he’s selling—wait for it—pizza bagels. The nerve!
And this guy isn’t above using his fame to attract clients. It’s annoying and yes, I’m feeling a little crusty about the situation. My temper has gotten me into a few binds, but a pizza bagel war? This is a first.
I’m gonna crush him.
Rob
After years of playing in the pros, I’m beat. All I want is to open a bagel shop in the town that gave me a shot at the big time. I’d love some peace and quiet too, however, I won’t be getting that with Mateo Cavaretti next door.
Geez, I can’t believe I had a crush on that guy in college. Sure, he’s still incredibly good-looking, but he’s a grouch. And while I like my business partner’s idea to settle our dispute with a classic bake-off, Mateo and I can’t be in the same room without fireworks going off.
Okay, some of those fireworks are extra sexy and that might be a problem.
Or is all truly fair in love and pizza…and bagels?
All’s Fair in Love and Pizza is an MM grumpy/sunshine, small-town romance featuring former teammates, a culinary challenge, and a HEA worth fighting for.
*A portion of All's Fair in Love and Pizza was originally included in the Delicious Anthology. This new version has doubled in size to 40k words and a whole lot of bake-off shenanigans!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MATEO
“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”— Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Boardwalk Pizza’s lunchtime rush was the usual medley of starry-eyed tourists, loyal locals, and a smattering of students and faculty from the nearby college. Like now.
A family of five sporting sweatshirts advertising the roller coaster at the pier studied the menu on the wall behind the register while an old man with a newspaper folded under his arm and an unlit pipe in hand chatted with the professor of humanities. A gaggle of female students huddled at the end of the line, gazes locked on their cellular devices.
The family was currently vacillating between the extra-large meat lover’s pizza and my cousin Sal’s special with double pepperoni. They couldn’t decide which sounded better, which meant they’d probably drag me into the decision-making process. I’d happily push the meat lover’s, but I was feeling a little stabby that I was running the register at all. I was supposed to be in the office, finalizing tomorrow’s grocery list. This was Giovanni’s job.
Where the hell was he?
“Everything just looks so good. What would you suggest?” the middle-aged mom asked, fluttering mega lashes at me.
See, I told you so.
“The meat lover’s. Hands down, my favorite.” I flashed a flirty smile, ignoring Mr. Smith’s eye roll. The old geezer got testy when forced to wait too long for his daily slice of ’za and a side salad…hold the onions.
“Sold!” the woman twittered. Thankfully she and the rest of her family knew what they wanted to drink.
I rang her card and slid a plastic marker across the battered wood counter. “Thank you. Here’s your number. Your pizza should be out in ten minutes or less.”
Mr. Smith toddled forward, his signature deadpan expression in place. He stuffed his newspaper into the front pocket of his tweed coat and tapped his pipe on his thumb. “I’ll have the usual.”
“You got it.” I narrowed my eyes mischievously. “You sure you don’t want to try Sal’s special?”
“The last time I tried Sal’s special, I had heartburn for three days. No, I’ll stick to the usual.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “Keep the change.”
Our prices had gone up a couple of times since the older man had last bothered checking—however, no one corrected him. Mr. Smith had been a regular for forty-or-so years, which meant that other than on my days off and during my short stint after college playing pro football, I’d seen this man more often than I saw some family members. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, but he’d played poker with my grandpa and had coached Little League with my uncle once upon a time, so yeah…I wasn’t about to let him know he owed me an extra five bucks on the daily.
“Thanks, Mr. S.” I held my hand up for a fist bump, chuckling when he raised his brow and shuffled off.
The college girls were next. No problem. I locked and loaded my most charming smile just as Vanni rushed in, tying a marinara-stained apron around his slim waist.
“Sorry about that. I had some snoopin’ to do. You’re not gonna believe who’s moving in next door, Cuz.” Vanni bumped my elbow and grinned like a fool at the pretty girls waiting at the counter.
My cousin was a little scatterbrained. However, he was great with customers. I let him take over, hanging the new orders on the line for Sal and Jimmy in the kitchen. I should have ducked out and made a beeline for the office, but I poured drinks instead. Yeah, I was curious.
“Who?” I asked, arranging a tray of drinks.
Vanni closed the register, waiting for the counter area to clear before he replied, “A football buddy of yours.”
“Really? From Haverton?”
“Yeah, a big guy—a linebacker, I think. Rob something or other? He was standing outside with an inspector, talking about permits. I said hello, all friendly like. Introduced myself. He says, ‘Nice to meet ya. I’m opening a bagel shop.’ ”
“Rob? I don’t know who—oh, Rob Vilmer?”
Vanni snapped his fingers. “That’s the guy. Rob’s makin’ bagels. Not regular bagels, either. Savory ones. Whatever the fuck that means. Heya, Mrs. Sanders. What can we get started for you today?”
Rob Vilmer. Huh.
Talk about a blast from the past.
I delivered the drinks to table fourteen, pausing to inquire about their meals. How was the pepperoni today? Do you need any parmesan? That kind of thing. I made my rounds, strategically stopping near the entrance with the tray tucked under my arm to open the door for a group of students, then sneaked outside to peek at the flurry of action at the neighboring store.
The former owners had operated a candy emporium for decades. You know, the kind with big barrels of saltwater taffy and walls filled with classic treats—Pop Rocks, Abba-Zabas, and Sugar Babies. It had been a staple of my childhood, and my cousins and I had been sad to see it go.