Marco stood at the window of Bellamy's Table, a wine glass hanging forgotten in his hand.
He hadn't meant to notice.
Not really.
But when Rowan left Honey & Heat just after midnight—and Elena followed ten minutes later, cheeks flushed and curls mussed—something in Marco's chest tensed.
Possession.Curiosity.A dash of jealousy, stirred slow and deep.
He hated how it felt.
He poured another glass of wine and tried to shake it off. She was new to Rosehill.
She could taste what she wanted.
Still.
When Elena arrived the next afternoon, a basket of herbs tucked under her arm and a smirk on her lips, Marco watched her from across the bar.
Noticed the way she paused when she caught his gaze. How her breath hitched, just slightly.
"Rough night?" he asked, voice smooth but cool.
She slid onto a stool.
"Delicious."
"Glad to hear it."
Silence bloomed between them.
Warm.
A little electric.
She tilted her head. "You're upset."
"I'm curious," Marco said. "There's a difference."
Elena leaned in, fingers trailing across the counter. "About what?"
He didn't blink. "About what Rowan and Talia offered you.
And what you accepted."
Elena's lips curled. "You mean their baking lesson?"
Marco gave a dry laugh.
"That what they're calling it these days?"
She laughed too—soft and unashamed.
"They were generous teachers."
His jaw flexed.
Elena watched him, eyes dancing.
"Why? Are you... disappointed?"
Marco leaned in, close enough to taste the lavender on her skin.
"I don't like sharing my best ingredients."
Her breath caught. "Am I one of those?"
"The moment you walked through that door," he said, "you became the rarest flavor in this place."
Elena's cheeks flushed, but she didn't back down.
"Then do something about it."
Marco reached over the bar, his fingers brushing hers—slow, deliberate, sparking heat that pulsed between them.
"I intend to," he said.
That night, she returned to Bellamy's for a private tasting.
And Marco?He brought fire to the kitchen like no one else.