Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Valentina
I overslept the next morning.
Plus, I started my period, which meant cramps all day on top of a failing restaurant. Why was the universe piling it on right now? Haven’t I endured enough?
Around nine o’clock I dragged my ass into the Leaning Tower of Pastries, my usual stop on the way to the restaurant. There were a few people occupying tables at the cafe, typing on laptops, but the counter was free. This meant that Bev, the owner, saw me as soon as I walked in. “Hey, Val,” she called. “What’s up?”
I propped my sunglasses on my head and approached the counter. Bev’s granddaughter, Sam, one of my good friends, helped Bev run the bakery. They were both staring at me curiously as I approached. “Morning. Can I get the usual?”
Sam’s eyebrows raised as she looked me over. “You okay? You’re looking a little rough this morning, girl.”
“Bad night, bad morning. I’ll be fine.”
Sam turned to start making my double-shot oat milk iced mocha latte, but Bev lingered, her mouth pinched. “Does this have anything to do with the handsome gentleman handing out money like it was mints in your place last night?”
Shit. Has everyone heard about that?
“Yes, everyone’s heard about it,” Sam called over the noise of the espresso machine. “You know how Paesano is.”
Yes, I did. I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. My abdomen was killing me. “Then you also heard everyone quit on me.”
Bev waved her hand. “You’re better off. Tony’s food was terrible, honey. You’ll find someone else.”
I wished I shared her optimism. “Know any Italian chefs you can recommend?”
“What about Mr. Hundred Dollar Bills? Is he a chef?”
“Not a chef, unfortunately.” Though that pasta dish was amazing. And he’d managed it so quickly.
Sam drizzled extra chocolate syrup on top of my drink, then put on a lid. “That’s probably for the best. Anyone carrying that much money is bad news.”
“He’s Italian,” I said, like it explained having that much cash.
Bev reached into the case and wrapped up a chocolate croissant for me. “Honey, we’re all Italian.”
“No, I mean he, like, lives in Italy. Thick accent. The whole thing.”
“Ohhhh.” Sam slid my drink over. “And did you spend a lot of time talking to Mr. Italy?”
Before I could answer, Bev put the croissant on the counter. “He must be the man who rented the Portofino McMansion.”
I paused, the coffee drink halfway to my mouth. That house was the biggest in Paesano, owned by a family with reported mob ties. With seven or eight bedrooms, the place was straight out of a BBC Jane Austen adaptation dipped in gold leaf. “He said he rented a place on the river. ”
“Bingo.” Bev rang up my total on the register. “I heard he made the Portofinos an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
“Stop. Next you’ll say there was a horse’s head in the bed.” I paid with my phone and grabbed my croissant. “You’re leaping to conclusions.”
“Not a very big leap, Val. You should keep away from him. Your mom?—”
When Bev bit off what she was about to say, I prompted, “My mom, what?”
Bev patted my free hand where it rested on the counter. “Your mom wouldn’t want you messing around with those kinds of men.”
Mom and Bev had been good friends, playing in a cutthroat mahjong group every week until Mom grew too sick. Since my mom died, Bev had watched over me, almost like a grandma.
Sam spoke up. “Gram, stop scaring her. You know Val doesn’t have time for dating.”
Guilt washed over Bev’s expression. “I’m sorry, Val. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate these last few years.”
An understatement. There hadn’t been time for romance or even hookups. My mother got sick when I was sixteen, and all my time after that had been split between school, her care, and the restaurant. Now, five years later, I was an overworked, exhausted virgin, which was so embarrassing. Most girls my age were finishing college, having fun, while my nights were spent arguing with servers and chefs. And any man I’d even remotely tried to flirt with had quickly lost interest when they heard my schedule.
Sorry, I work every night. Maybe we could have a morning coffee date if it’s before nine o’clock?
I was cursed. Sad and angry and cursed.
I finished paying and took my things. “Speaking of, I need to get over there. This situation isn’t going to un-fuck itself.”
“Wait,” Sam said, heading for the edge of the counter. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Okay. Bye, Bev!” I lifted the hand holding the coffee in farewell and went to wait for Sam. When my friend joined me, we slowly made our way to the door.
“Don’t let Bev scare you away,” Sam said quietly. “She worries, that’s all.”
“I know. It’s all right.”
She elbowed me. “So, tell me about him. What happened after he handed out money and you closed up?”
“How do you know something happened?”
“I don’t, but the way you’re turning red right now is a pretty big clue. You look like that time in high school when our chemistry teacher told you to stop staring at Joey Brooks.”
I bit my lip. “I swear, that boy was so fine.”
“Agreed. Now, back to Mr. Hundred Dollar Bills, please.”
“Not you, too. Ugh.” Sometimes Sam and Bev were far too alike. “And there’s not much to tell. He made me dinner and then?—”
“He made you dinner?” Her voice was a screech that gained the attention of everyone in the room.
I wanted to crawl under a table. “Do you mind? I don’t need the entire town to find out.”
“Sorry. Oops, sorry.” She took my elbow and led me outside onto the walk. “Wait, I need details.”
I couldn’t hold it in. I spilled about my stomach growling, the pasta dinner, how charming Luca had been.
“Oh, my god. You have a crush on him.”
“Stop it. He’s a stranger. And too old for me.”
“How old is old?”
“Sam,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Can this grilling wait? I haven’t even had coffee yet.”
“Too bad, Montella. Answer the question.”
“He’s late thirties, I think.”
“That’s not too old!” She clapped her hands. “I like this for you. I think you should make him some chicken parm as a thank you.”
“You know I can’t cook. And I have no staff. How am I supposed to make that happen?”
“I don’t know, but I have some free time this afternoon.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer.” And I did. Sam was one of the kindest, big-hearted people I knew. She baked a custom cake for each of her friends on their birthday. Mine was a limoncello cake with mascarpone frosting and white chocolate shavings. I looked forward to it all year. “See you guys later.”
The drive to the restaurant only took a few minutes. I’d kept the dependable blue minivan my mom bought years ago to drive me around to softball and soccer when I was a pimply faced tween. I could still picture her behind the wheel, making me listen to the boy bands of her youth. Maybe that was why I didn’t want to get rid of it.
When I pulled up to Trattoria Rustico, there were two men waiting outside the front door. One was wearing a white chef’s coat, holding a tiny case. The other man was wearing a nice double-breasted suit and carrying a leather portfolio.
What the hell?
I parked and got out, then walked around to the front instead of going in the back door. “Hello?” I called. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed this week.”
The men turned to face me. They both looked as tired as I felt. The one wearing a suit said, “We are here to apply for jobs, signorina.”
Another Italian. What was in the water these days? “I haven’t posted any job listings.”
“May we come in and talk with you?”
This was weird, but also serendipitous? I mean, I did need to hire a chef. And at least one server. Were they here for those jobs? If so, I couldn’t really afford to turn them away. “Sure. Let me unlock the door.”
I put my key in and opened the door. I went through first and flicked on the lights, illuminating the empty dining room. No one else was here, which was eerie. Normally, the kitchen staff would already be in to prepare for lunch.
I didn’t want to think about all the money I was losing .
“Have a seat.” I gestured to the tables. “Let me put my things in the office and I’ll be right back.”
I flicked on the lights in the kitchen and went to the tiny office. The stacks of papers and bills awaiting me made my stomach hurt even worse. I put everything down except my coffee and returned to the dining room. The two men were seated at the same table. I could see resumes on the white linen.
Taking a seat, I placed my coffee on the table. “I’m Val Montella.” I offered my hand to each of them.
“Signorina Montella, a pleasure. I am Roberto Ferrara,” the man in the suit said, shaking my hand.
“Giovanni Peruzzi,” chef coat said as he shook my hand. “Signorina.”
The chef also spoke with an Italian accent. Alarm bells started going off in my head.
Roberto slid over the two resumes. “We are here to work at your restaurant, signorina. You will see we are very qualified.”
“Yes, but how did you know of the openings?” Did Luca have something to do with this?
“A friend said you needed help with your restaurant,” Roberto said by way of an answer.
Yep, definitely Luca. I sighed. Did I want to take more help from him? Could I afford not to? I was skating by as it was, and closing this week would seriously hurt my ability to stay afloat. The sooner I could reopen, the sooner we could earn revenue.
“I do need help,” I admitted as I lifted the first resume. It was Giovanni’s, and it wasn’t very long. He’d worked in a total of one restaurant, but he was there for more than fifteen years. I kept reading. The restaurant was in Rome and had a Michelin star. Holy shit!
Jaw falling open, I glanced up at him. “Why in the world would you want to work here ?”
“I was the sous chef. Working here would allow me to have my own kitchen.”
I couldn’t process this. My mind tripped over itself in disbelief. “ You realize where you are, right? A small town in New York State? We’re not in Manhattan.”
The edge of his mouth curled through his thin layer of scruff. “I understand, signorina.”
I grabbed my coffee and sucked a big mouthful through the straw. Maybe I was still dreaming? I set Giovanni’s resume aside and started reading Roberto’s. His was longer, but as I started reading, I could tell he’d worked as a ma?tre d’ in some very prestigious restaurants. I recognized some of the names from social media. “You’re a ma?tre d’.”
Roberto nodded once. “I am the front of the house, sì. But I can do almost anything you need, signorina. Balance books, oversee the staff, place food orders, greet customers. I am very experienced.”
I didn’t doubt it, based on his resume, but this was too good to be true. Employees like this didn’t drop out of the sky, not in Paesano. There had to be a catch. “This friend, the one that told you to come here this morning. Do you have a way to reach him?”
The two men visibly paled as they exchanged a look. “Signorina,” Roberto said. “We are happy to help. No one has forced us to come here.”
What an odd thing to say.
Now I was even more eager to speak to Luca. “I’m sure that’s true, but I’d like to speak with him anyway.”
Roberto licked his lips. “I will call him for you. I will ask if he is available.”
“Please do that.”
Roberto stood from the table and walked a good distance away before pulling out his phone. He spoke quietly to whoever picked up on the other end. After a moment, he carried his phone over to me. “Mr. DiMarco, signorina.”
I accepted the phone and put it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Ciao, Valentina.”
Those two words, spoken in his deep-accented voice . . . holy Christmas. I stood up and walked to the other side of the room. “What have you done? ”
“ Che cosa ? What do you mean?”
“Luca, these men are way overqualified to work here. I’m not sure I can even afford them. Did you force them to come?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I heard the clink of porcelain, like he was setting a cup down on a saucer. “You need employees and I found you the best. They jumped at the opportunity. Do not sell yourself short, bella.”
I wasn’t stupid. No one was jumping at the opportunity to work in my restaurant. “This is insane. You are insane. I mean, we just met. Why would you help me like this?”
“Because I can. I know people in the restaurant business looking for work, so I decided to help them and you. Do not make it more complicated than that.”
I stared at the faded wallpaper behind the server station. Was I crazy for complaining? Luca was presenting me with a solution to my problems, so maybe I should accept it and stop looking for ulterior motives.
But I wasn’t used to someone taking over like this. I supposed, if I dipped into Mom’s life insurance fund, I could pay them a little more than their predecessors. And if we reopened quickly, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. I am happy to help.”
“Out of the goodness of your heart.”
He gave a soft chuckle that warmed my insides. “Sì, signorina. Out of the goodness of my heart.”
I sighed, too hungover to think about this clearly. But I didn’t want to accept, either. It felt wrong, like someone was taking away my choices.
“Valentina,” he said quietly into the phone. “You have been doing this alone for a very long time. It is admirable. But there is no shame in accepting help from others when you need it. Capisce? ”
I swallowed hard. He was right, of course. It had been forever since anyone offered any help. I knew it couldn’t last, but maybe it would give me time to find proper replacements. “Okay. Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“You are welcome.”
We sat there, seconds ticking by, neither of us speaking. It was weird, but not uncomfortable. I could hear the wind slightly on his end, so I assumed he was sitting outside. Suddenly, I wished I could see him. He was probably wearing silk pajamas, like some fancy designer brand I’d never heard of.
I blurted, “You’ll come in for dinner when we reopen?”
There was a pause before he said, “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Then I guess I should officially hire my new employees.”
“Va bene. A presto , Valentina.” Then he hung up.