Under The Tuscan Sun.... Michelle Douglas

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       CHAPTER SEVEN

      WHEN DANI ENTERED the restaurant on Wednesday ten minutes before the start of her shift, Rafe stood by the bar, near the kitchen. As if he’d sensed her arrival, he turned. Their gazes caught. Dani’s heart about pounded its way out of her chest. She reminded herself that though they’d spent an enjoyable evening together playing darts at the tavern, for him it had been about becoming friends. He hadn’t made any passes at her—though he’d had plenty of chances—and he’d made a very good argument for why being friends was a wise move for them.

      Still, when he walked toward her, her heart leaped. But he passed the podium to unlock the front door. As he turned to return to the kitchen, he said, “Good morning.”

      She cleared her throat, hoping to rid it of the fluttery feeling floating through her at being in the same room with him. Especially since they were supposed to be friends now. Nothing more. “Good morning.”

      “How did your search go for your foster mother’s relatives yesterday?”

      She shook her head. “Still haven’t found them, but I got lots of information from people who had been their neighbors. Most believe they moved to Rome.”

      “Rome?” He shook his head. “No kidding.”

      “Their former neighbors said something about one of their kids getting a job there and the whole family wanting to stay together.”

      “Nice. Family should stay together.”

      “I agree.”

      She turned to the podium. He walked to the kitchen. But she couldn’t help thinking that while Paul hadn’t said a word about her quest for Rosa’s family, Rafe had immediately asked. Like someone who cared about her versus someone who didn’t.

      She squeezed her eyes shut and told herself not to think like that. They were friends. Only friends.

      But all day, she was acutely aware of him. Anytime she retrieved him to escort him to a table, she felt him all around her. Her skin tingled. Everything inside her turned soft and feminine.

      At the end of the night, the waitstaff and kitchen help disappeared like rats on a sinking ship. Rafe ambled to the bar, pulled a bottle of wine from the rack behind it.

      The Chianti. The wine he’d ordered for them at the tavern.

      Her heart trembled. She’d told him she liked that wine.

      Was he asking her to stay now? To share another bottle of the wine she’d said she liked?

      Longing filled her and she paused by the podium. When he didn’t even look in her direction, she shuffled a bit, hoping the movement would cause him to see her and invite her to stay.

      He kept his gaze on a piece of paper sitting on the bar in front of him. Still, she noticed a second glass by the bottle. He had poured wine in one glass but the other was empty—yet available.

      She bit her lip. Was that glass an accident? An oversight? Or was that glass her invitation?

      She didn’t know. And things were going so well between them professionally that she didn’t want to make a mistake that took them back to an uncomfortable place.

      Still, they’d decided to be friends. Wouldn’t a friend want another friend to share a glass of wine at the end of the night?

      She drew in a slow breath. She had one final way to get him to notice her and potentially invite her to sit with him. If he didn’t take this hint, then she would leave.

      Slowly, cautiously, she called, “Good night.”

      He looked over. He hesitated a second, but only a second, before he said, “Good night.”

      Disappointment stopped her breathing. Nonetheless, she smiled and headed for the door. She walked to Louisa’s beat-up old car, got in, slid the key in the ignition...

      And lowered her head to the steering wheel.

      She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to tell him about the countryside she’d seen as she looked for Rosa’s relatives. She longed to tell him about the meals she’d eaten. She yearned to ask him how the restaurant had been the two days she was gone. She needed to get not just the cursory answers he’d given her but the real in-depth stuff. Like a friend.

      But she also couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted that crazy feeling he inspired in her. Lust or love, hormones or genuine attraction, she had missed that feeling. She’d missed him. No matter how much she told herself she just wanted to be his friend, it was a lie.

      A light tapping on her window had her head snapping up.

      Rafe.

      She quickly lowered the window to see what he wanted.

      “Are you okay?”

      Her heart swelled, then shrank and swelled again. Everything he did confused her. Everything she felt around him confused her even more.

      “Are you ill?”

      She shook her head.

      Damn it. She squeezed her eyes shut and decided to just go with the truth. “I saw you with the wine and thought I should have joined you.” She caught the gaze of his smoky-gray eyes. “You said we were going to be friends. And I was hoping you sitting at the bar with a bottle of wine was an invitation.”

      He stepped back. She’d never particularly thought of a chef’s uniform as being sexy, but he’d taken off the jacket, revealing a white T-shirt that outlined muscles and a flat stomach. Undoubtedly hot from working in the kitchen, he didn’t seem bothered by the cold night air.

      “I always have a glass of wine at the end of the night.”

      So, her instincts had been wrong. If she’d just started her car and driven off, she wouldn’t be embarrassed right now. “Okay. Good.”

      He glanced down into the car at her. “But I wouldn’t have minded company.”

      Embarrassment began to slide away, only to be replaced by the damnable confusion. “Oh.”

      “I simply don’t steal women who belong to other men.”

      “It wouldn’t be stealing if we were talking about work, becoming friends like you said we should.”

      “That night was a one-time thing. A way to get to know each other so we could stop aggravating each other.”

      “So we’re really not friends?”

      He laughed and glanced away at the beautiful starlit sky. “We’re now friendly enough to work together. Men only try to become ‘real’ friends so that they can ultimately become lovers.”

      The СКАЧАТЬ