Chapter 53: Until the Work is Done

Alexander had known about Ysabella’s Steak House for some time.

Matteo’s, however, was new.

Or perhaps not new at all.

Apparently, Giovanni had simply never thought it necessary to mention that he owned another restaurant, this one smaller and far less formal, with pastries displayed beside sandwiches, pasta, steak, coffee, and enough other things on the menu to send Rosalie home talking about opening a bakery of her own.

Alexander learned all of this through his parents.

Which was mildly irritating.

"You ate at Matteo’s?"

Alejandro looked up from the preliminary figures he’d been preparing for Rosalie’s proposed bakery.

"Yes."

"You had steak."

"Also yes."

"At a café."

His father frowned. "It was very good steak."

"That’s not the point."

Rosalie glanced between them.

"What exactly is the point?"

Alexander considered that.

He wasn’t entirely sure.

Perhaps it was simply strange that Giovanni had opened another place named after one of his parents and somehow never mentioned it. He’d taken Alexander to Ysabella’s himself, yet Matteo’s had never come up.

Rosalie turned another page of the sample menu she’d brought home.

"I liked the concept. Not everything has to be pastries. We could have a few simple meals too."

Alejandro nodded. "Provided we keep the menu manageable."

"We haven’t even found a location yet, and you’re already limiting my menu."

"I’m preventing future suffering."

"Whose?"

"Mine."

Rosalie gave him a look.

Alexander almost smiled.

Something unexpectedly reassuring about watching the two of them argue over bread, rental spaces, equipment costs, and whether a small bakery genuinely needed six different kinds of pie.

A few months earlier, his father had barely cared whether the ancestral home’s curtains were straight. Now Alejandro had spreadsheets, Rosalie had recipes, and the notebook between them was already crowded with enough plans to suggest neither intended to let the idea disappear after a week.

Their family wasn’t suddenly fixed.

Alexander knew better than that.

But at least it was moving again.

Strangely enough, Giovanni had something to do with that.

The repaired roof had given Alejandro something to fuss over before Rosalie returned, while Matteo’s had given his mother an idea for something she might build for herself. Even seeing what Giovanni had managed to create after losing both his parents seemed to have reminded Alejandro that retirement didn’t have to mean sitting around waiting for the rest of life to happen.

Later that evening, Alexander messaged Giovanni.

Apparently my parents have discovered Matteo’s.

The reply came a few minutes later.

My condolences.

Alexander stared at it.

My mother wants to open a bakery now.

This time, Giovanni took slightly longer.

That’s considerably more dangerous.

Alexander laughed.

Dad is handling the numbers.

Then she might survive.

You never told me about Matteo’s.

A pause followed before the next message appeared.

You never asked.

Alexander frowned at the screen.

Of course that would be his answer.

You showed me Ysabella’s.

You were hungry.

That wasn’t my point.

I know.

Alexander continued staring at the phone until another message appeared.

I’ll take you sometime.

That was better.

Fine.

Then, after considering it, he added:

My parents liked it.

Giovanni replied simply:

I’m glad.

Alexander had no way of knowing that Giovanni sat looking at those words longer than necessary.

Matteo’s had been difficult for reasons that had very little to do with business.

After his father’s death, Giovanni could’ve simply carried on with the construction company Matteo had left behind. Instead, he found himself thinking about the few things his father had known how to cook particularly well.

Matteo had never possessed Ysabella’s instinct in the kitchen. He wasn’t the kind of man who could look at a nearly empty pantry and somehow turn it into dinner.

But he made excellent beef stew, knew how to grill meat properly, and had one bread recipe he stubbornly insisted came from his grandfather, even though nobody could confirm it.

Those recipes became the beginning of Matteo’s.

Not because Giovanni believed opening a restaurant could fix grief.

It couldn’t.

But grief had already taken enough from him. He saw no reason to let it take the memories too.

Several days later, Giovanni stood in his kitchen before sunrise wearing an apron.

This would’ve shocked considerably more people than his answering Alexander’s call during a meeting.

Fortunately, nobody from Mercer Group was present to witness it.

He rolled the dough with practiced movements, then shaped the loaves and placed them in the oven.

Giovanni had learned to bake partly from his mother and partly from necessity. During college, knowing how to turn inexpensive ingredients into something edible had been financially useful, and over time the habit simply stayed with him.

That morning, however, he had a practical reason.

The bridge project was nearing completion, and enough workers were still finishing minor details that bringing food seemed reasonable.

At least, that was what Giovanni told himself.

Alexander’s presence at the inspection had absolutely nothing to do with how much bread he made.

Probably.

By seven, several warm loaves had been packed into containers.

Giovanni looked at them for a moment, then added butter.

After another thought, he packed jam, too.

There was no point bringing bread without anything to put on it.

That would simply be poor planning.

Alexander had apparently been planning too.

Joe discovered this when he opened the trunk and found a large cooler waiting beside the usual work equipment.

He looked toward his employer.

"Sir?"

"Drinks."

"I can see that."

Fresh fruit had been blended earlier that morning and poured into individual plastic containers, each one sealed and labeled in permanent marker.

Mango.

Pineapple.

Watermelon.

One questionable combination was simply marked TRY FIRST.

Joe lifted the cooler and paused.

"Sir."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Alexander immediately looked suspicious.

Joe wisely started walking.

Internally, he was considerably less restrained.

At this rate, he was going to gain weight simply from being assigned to the project. Breakfast had somehow become bread, pastries from nearby shops whenever someone felt generous, and now fresh fruit drinks.

Apparently, bridge rehabilitation came with catering.

When they arrived, Giovanni was already there.

Alexander noticed the containers almost immediately.

"What’s that?"

"Bread."

"You bought breakfast?"

"I made it."

Alexander looked at him.

Giovanni looked back.

"You bake?"

"Occasionally."

"Why didn’t I know this?"

"You apparently have a growing list of complaints regarding things I haven’t told you."

"Matteo’s."

"Yes."

"Baking."

"Apparently."

"What else?"

Giovanni considered it.

"I can repair a bicycle."

Alexander stared.

"I knew that."

"Then the list is getting shorter."

One of the engineers nearby suddenly became very interested in a set of documents.

Alexander opened the cooler.

"I brought drinks."

Giovanni glanced inside.

"You made these?"

"Yes."

"What’s ’try first’?"

"A mistake that may have worked."

Giovanni picked it up.

Alexander immediately looked alarmed.

"You’re actually drinking it?"

"You brought it."

"That’s not a defense."

Giovanni opened the container anyway.

It turned out to be surprisingly good.

He took another sip.

"What is it?"

"Orange, pineapple, cucumber, and mint."

Giovanni looked at the handwritten label again.

"You should’ve written that."

"I wasn’t sure it deserved a permanent name."

"It does."

Alexander looked far too pleased with that assessment.

The inspection proceeded normally after breakfast.

They reviewed the remaining concrete work, checked the railings and drainage, went over road markings and safety barriers, then listened as the engineers walked them through the latest load assessments.

The list was noticeably shorter than it had been only a few weeks earlier.

By noon, Alexander and Giovanni were standing near the middle of the bridge while an engineer explained the final schedule.

"If there are no issues after the last inspection, reopening stays on schedule for next week."

Alexander nodded.

"And the remaining workers?"

"Most contracts conclude after turnover. A smaller crew stays through final cleanup."

Giovanni looked down the length of the bridge.

One week.

That was all.

Neither man commented on it.

They had always known the project would end. That had been the entire point. Repair the bridge, reopen it, and move on.

Somewhere along the way, however, the work had become convenient.

It gave them a reason to meet without either having to ask.

There were inspections to attend, materials to argue over, schedules to review, and lunches that somehow became easier whenever the other happened to be there.

Now even those excuses were running out.

Alexander folded the report in his hands.

"So that’s it."

The engineer smiled.

"If everything goes well."

"Good."

Giovanni nodded.

"Good."

They both sounded remarkably unenthusiastic for two executives whose project was almost complete.

Neither of them mentioned that either.