Chapter 8 #3
“Yesterday all you ate at work was the chocolate cake. The day before, two cups of coffee. You need to eat.”
He’d made her lunch.
No one ever made her lunch. Sometimes, when she remembered, she grabbed one of the staff sandwiches from the fridge in the kitchen, but usually she was too busy rushing from one task to the next. No one noticed. But Luca had noticed.
The gesture made her feel ridiculously emotional. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“What would you have eaten if I hadn’t?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t thought about it. A chocolate bar?”
Luca looked pained. “And where’s the nutrition in that?”
“I was going more for comfort and energy than nutrition.”
“Sit down—” He gestured to the small table in the corner of her office where she sometimes held meetings.
“Luca, this is kind of you, but you really didn’t have to—”
“Five minutes. That’s all it will take to eat what I’ve made you and you’ll thank me.”
She eyed the stack of messages on her desk. “I really should—”
“Consider it work. It’s a sample of our new afternoon tea menu which I’d like you to approve.
I’ve kept it fairly traditional because that’s what my research suggests people want.
Mini quiches, smoked salmon on freshly baked rye bread, chicken and tarragon—have a taste.
Also, I have included my special cannoli for you to try.
I thought it would be fun to add a Sicilian twist to your traditional afternoon tea. I’d appreciate your feedback.”
“Is that true? Or do you just want me to eat?”
“Both.” He smiled, and she felt emotion threaten to swamp her.
She had to pull herself together. It was a bit unsettling that all it took for her to feel like sobbing was for someone to be kind enough to make her a sandwich. What was wrong with her? Was she really that close to the edge? She needed to pull herself together.
She sat down at the table and reached for a sandwich. “Thanks, Luca. I’m starving.” She’d left the house without eating breakfast and she hadn’t given a thought to lunch. “They’re a work of art. How do you do that?”
“It’s my job. Appearance matters, but taste is more important. So taste it.”
She reached out and selected chicken, feeling self-conscious. “I feel weird eating alone with you watching.”
“In that case, how does seven thirty tomorrow work for you?” She glanced up at him. “For what?”
“Eating together. I’ve booked a table. There’s a restaurant half an hour from here I’d like to try.
Here’s the address.” He put a piece of paper in front of her.
“You’ll probably want to drive separately to reduce the chance of gossip.
I know you hate that, and I don’t want to make things difficult for you. ”
She put the sandwich down untouched. There was a strange fluttering in her stomach. “Are you asking me to dinner?”
“I didn’t make that clear?”
A date. He was asking her on a date. “Are you sure?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure. Why would you doubt it?”
“Oh, you know—” she was flustered “—because there are a million reasons why that would be a bad idea.”
“Unless one of those reasons is ‘I don’t like you, Luca, and the last thing I want to do is spend an evening with you’, I’m going to object to your reasons.”
“That’s because you’re new around here and you don’t know how things work. Whichever restaurant we choose, someone will see us.”
“And that matters because?”
He had no idea. And why would he? “You’re relaxed about it now, but that’s because you haven’t been on the sharp end of gossip and speculation.
” She could imagine what would happen if they were seen out together.
Donna would be booking the church and buying a hat.
“If we go out to dinner together you won’t be able to walk through the village without people nudging, winking, and asking you inappropriate and probing questions.
Pretty soon you’ll wish you’d never asked me, and then you’ll start avoiding me, which will be awkward for both of us.
Trust me, it’s not worth it.” She’d been there.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He sat down opposite her, his gaze fixed on her face. “I wouldn’t have come to a small town if I couldn’t handle gossip and speculation. It doesn’t worry me. I was raised in a village in Sicily where the local community look out for each other.”
“There’s a difference between people looking out for you and people looking at you.”
“So? If it bothers you, we’ll tell them we were scoping out the competition. That’s if anyone sees us. Which I doubt they will.”
She wished she could be as relaxed. “It isn’t only other people that are the problem. We’re colleagues. It could be awkward.”
“We work in the same hotel, but not the same area. Technically we’re separate. I don’t see how it will be awkward. If it turns out we bore each other, it’s not going to affect our work. Enough excuses. Try the sandwich. You’re hungry. No one can make good decisions when they’re hungry.”
She bit into the chicken and closed her eyes. Everything he made tasted better than the last thing. “This is incredible.”
“I know. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. It has a secret ingredient. Say yes to dinner and I’ll consider sharing the secret with you.”
“I’d rather you made it for me.” She finished the sandwich and immediately ate another. “Your grandmother taught you to cook?”
She realised she knew virtually nothing about him apart from his professional credentials.
He smiled and stood up. “I only answer personal questions away from the workplace. I’ll see you at seven thirty tomorrow.” He said it as if it was a sure thing and she felt her willpower melt away under the warmth of his gaze. “All right. But just this once. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His smile widened. “Life is no fun if you don’t take a few risks.
It’s important to live in the moment. And talking of moments, try the prawn and lemon next.
” He pushed the plate closer to her and his fingertips brushed hers.
“You can let me know what you think tomorrow night. Seven thirty. Don’t be late, and don’t waste the rest of the day thinking of reasons why you should cancel because I’m going to be there anyway, and you don’t want to stand me up. ”
She watched him go, rubbed the edge of her fingertips where he’d touched them, and then ate the prawn and lemon. It was every bit as delicious as the chicken.
What did she think? That the man was a genius in the kitchen.
Also fun. And cute, obviously. That part went without saying.
And she wasn’t going to deny there was chemistry, although if Donna or Mandy had been standing in the room she absolutely would have denied it, just as she would have denied the fact that she felt all fluttery inside when he smiled at her.
Tomorrow she was having dinner with Luca, and tonight she was going for a run with Abby.
She ate the last sandwich and reached for the cannoli.
A new friend and a flirtation. Maybe life was looking up.