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)
The Corcorans had given us first right of refusal three years ago, and though I’d appreciated the gesture, we hadn’t been in a position to buy them out. My dad had just passed away, and keeping the pizza parlor afloat with my cousins had seemed daunting as fuck at the time.
It made me sad knowing that Dad had always wanted to expand, but paying our employees had been the number one goal that first year after he was gone. We’d been in mourning, and taking on additional debt had been the last thing on anyone’s minds. The pressure had eased a bit in recent months, and that For Sale or Lease sign had taunted me.
Seriously. Just last month, I’d worked on a spreadsheet and outlined a proposal for expansion. My cousins—Sal, Vanni, and Jimmy—were interested too, and that had me fired up. This could be real. After three years of sadness and nonstop struggle, we might actually do something positive.
We’d talked about tinkering with the menu, tearing the wall down, and modernizing the space. The old, pockmarked linoleum floors, seventies’ paneling, and dull lighting could make room for fancy tiles, leather booths, and contemporary accents.
Or not.
The agent had regretfully informed me that the property was off the market. Okay, that was a bummer, but I figured it might be the universe’s way of letting me know the timing wasn’t right. I had to hold on, be patient. Trust me, that was easier said than done lately. It pissed me off knowing we’d never get a chance like the one we’d just missed out on again.
All because of…bagels.
And Rob Vilmer.
We’d never been friends. Not really. Just teammates. I hadn’t seen Rob since graduation.
Okay, not true. I’d seen plenty of him on TV during football season.
He’d been drafted and had played pro for a few years, and now he was back in Haverton…selling bagels. Color me curious.
I peered through the window at the cavernous space with a brick façade on one side, black-and-white tiled flooring furnished with nothing but a cardboard table littered with rolls of design plans. Two men stood in the center: A shorter, balding guy pointed at the ceilings while a tall, massive dude with shaggy brown hair nodded, his arm draped over the shoulders of a woman with bouncy blond curls.
“Mateo, honey. Are you lost?”
I pivoted, rolling my eyes at the stout older woman with a jet-black bob who was decked out in her signature gold chains, hoop earrings, and leopard-print pantsuit. I kid you not.
“Hi, Aunt Sylvie.” I kissed her on each cheek and tried not to wince when she reached up to smooth my wild hair into place, her bangles smacking my temple. “We have a new neighbor.”
“Oh, go say hello.” She shooed me with a red manicured hand toward the door and held up a pastry bag before hurrying to the pizzeria. “I brought cannolis for you boys. Better hurry, or they’ll be gone.”
“Thanks, I—”
“Mateo Cavaretti. Is that you?” The shaggy-haired bear of a man had moved into the doorway, his arms crossed and his head cocked inquisitively.
Well, I was stuck now.
I transferred the tray to my left hand and offered my right. “Yeah, that’s me. Rob, right?”
He shook my hand, nodding. “How’ve you been, man?”
“Uh…good. You’re back in Haverton?” Captain Obvious. I know.
Rob smiled and damn, he had a nice smile. It met his twinkling blue eyes and gave him a warm, welcoming aura. “Yeah, I’m in the midst of a career change. Football to bagels. I guess we’re neighbors.”
I nodded, letting my gaze wander over his massive shoulders and thick chest. His navy sweater stretched at the seams around his biceps. He’d definitely grown since college. His face had matured too. Baby fat and wispy facial hair had given way to sharp cheekbones and a beard Paul Bunyan would be proud of. Rob looked like what he was…a newly retired professional athlete in great shape, probably with plenty of money in the bank.
And in my red-checked shirt and stained apron while wielding a tray like a shield, it was fairly obvious that the past eight years hadn’t been as kind to me. Don’t get me wrong, I was proud to carry on the family business. I just hadn’t intended this to be my whole fucking life.
Bitter much? Damn, that wasn’t a good look.
“I guess so,” I agreed. “Why bagels?”
“My grandfather had a bagel business in Philly. I loved that place. I have these amazing memories of shaping the dough and watching it rise in boiling water. He had classic flavors…plain, sesame, everything—and he made these incredible breakfast sandwiches. I was thinking about investing in someone else’s business, but when I heard about the candy shop closing, it was like a sign from above.” Rob grinned. “College kids love bagels. And pizza. I bet they’d love pizza bagels.”