On a Roll by Beth Bolden (best historical biographies TXT) 📕

“Gabriel,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s Gabriel Moretti. You know, the guy you copied.”

“I didn’t copy anyone,” Sean said, seemingly still unconcerned. “You just changed your name, which you failed to mention last time we spoke, by the way, and I’m brand new. It’s just . . . a rather unfortunate coincidence.”

“Rather unfortunate?” Gabriel thought it was a hell of a lot worse than that.

But Sean just shrugged. “We’re serving such different things. Does it really matter?”

“Yes, it matters!” Gabriel said, trying very hard not to explode. “I’ve got a reputation, and I’ve worked hard for it and . . .”

“And you don’t want me borrowing it just because we have the same name.” Sean gave a sharp nod. “I understand. Except that I work plenty hard too, and maybe, in a few weeks, or a month, it’ll be you trading on my name.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Gabriel scoffed.

“Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll have to stay tuned to find out,” Sean said lightly. He turned to go back into the truck.

“That’s not . . . no,” Gabriel said, and before he could stop himself, he reached out to catch Sean’s arm.

Sean shrugged it off easily, even though he was a few inches shorter, and definitely didn’t seem to have the same muscular bulk that Gabriel prided himself on. “I’m afraid,” Sean said with complete disdain, “you don’t get a vote here. Not at my truck. And not in my life.”

———

Okay, so that confrontation had not gone quite as Gabriel had expected.

He had also not expected to return to his own food truck, and after making about a thousand meatballs, check his phone only to realize that Sean had followed him back.

He’d also had the nerve to tweet, “Looking to stay on track with your new beach body? Make sure you visit the other On a Roll for more diet-friendly options.”

Gabriel couldn’t pretend it was insulting—he made zero apologies for his meatball subs. They were delicious but that was because they were full of carbs and cheese and meat with a high fat content. Still, it was annoying to see that Sean had already picked up a way he could market his own truck more effectively.

“You’re glaring again,” Ren said as Gabriel formed meatballs with an ice cream scoop, setting them in long rows on the baking tray.

“I’m not glaring,” Gabriel said. But he was. And he knew exactly why.

“Is it because of that cute guy?”

“The cute . . . what?” Gabriel exclaimed.

Ren rolled his eyes. “You know he’s cute. I’ve seen you staring at him. You know, when it doesn’t look like you’d like to punch him in the face.”

“No.” Gabriel shook his head vehemently.

“I’m just saying. So he’s got the same name as you. This is a big city. Lots of food trucks. You guys could co-exist peacefully, if you wanted to. But clearly you want to get under his skin.”

“He got under mine first,” Gabriel insisted. Did he completely believe that? Well, mostly. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Sean that he was worried about the problems of having the same name. It would have been so much easier if Sean had just recognized that right off the bat, and agreed to change his.

But he hadn’t, and he clearly had no intention of changing his mind.

Gabriel was just going to have to change it for him.

Right after the lunch rush, he enacted the first step of his plan. He pulled out his phone, quickly composing a tweet, challenging the food truck community to vote on which On a Roll truck was better.

Maybe, Gabriel thought, it was a low blow. He was going to get more votes, because it was his account, and because he’d spent so much longer in the community. He was well-known, even if most of that reputation had been earned when he was Nonna’s Kitchen on Wheels. Sean was brand new.

Maybe it was time to remind Sean that he was brand new.

Almost immediately, as he settled down outside, on one of the tables set in the festival clearing, to eat his plate of meatballs—yes, even he avoided carbs sometimes—he started seeing retweets and replies, and just like he’d expected, every single comment sided with him.

And maybe he stoked the fire a bit higher by responding to some of them, agreeing with a lot of the comments, often giving a whole string of praise emojis after. He loved his customers. They were so fucking loyal, Gabriel was touched by it. This was the kind of thing that Sean needed to see so he’d understand that this battle wasn’t one he could win.

Gabriel was always going to come out on top.

And maybe he got carried away and tagged Sean on a few of the replies. Maybe he shouldn’t have called him an imposter.

His finger hovered over the tweet, wondering if he should actually delete that one. But before he could, a shadow crossed over his vision, blocking the bright California sunshine.

Gabriel glanced up and supposed that he shouldn’t be so surprised to see Sean standing there, a tight-lipped glare on his face, his arms crossed over that perfectly pristine white apron.

He wanted to mess up that apron.

He wanted to take it and tie Sean up with it and defile it.

Maybe Ren was right after all. This guy had really gotten under his skin. Maybe if Gabriel hadn’t been so attracted to him, he could’ve let the name thing go.

But probably not.

Gabriel already knew he was the kind of guy who didn’t “let things go.” It was the Italian in him.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Sean said, gesturing towards Gabriel’s phone. “Couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”

“No?” It was like this guy didn’t know Gabriel at all; and then it occurred to Gabriel that he really didn’t. “Listen,” Gabe said. “I’m Italian. I’m loud. I’m obnoxious. I’m passionate about stuff I care about. I definitely am not good at compartmentalizing shit.”

“And?” Sean said.

“What I mean is that I was here first.