The Vineyards Of Calanetti

She took a sip of the wine. “Maybe not a right. But it’s kind of hard not to have an opinion.”

He leaned against the smooth wooden surface between them, unintentionally getting closer, then finding that he liked it there because he could smell the hint of her perfume or shampoo. “Perhaps. But a smart employee learns to stifle them.”

“As you said, I’m chatty.”

“Do it anyway.”

She sucked in a breath, pulling back slightly as if trying to put space between them. “Okay.”

He laughed. “Okay? My chatty hostess is just saying okay?”

“It’s your restaurant.”

He saluted her with his wineglass. “At least we agree on something.”

But when she set her glass on the bar, slid off the stool and headed for the door, his heart sank.

He shook his head, grabbed the open bottle of wine and went in the other direction, walking toward the kitchen where he would check the next day’s menu. It was silly, foolish to be disappointed she was leaving. Not only did he barely know the woman, but he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend. His instincts might be thinking of things like kissing, but he hadn’t dated in four years. He had affairs and one-night stands. And a smart employer didn’t have a one-night stand with an employee. Unless he wanted trouble. And he did not.

He’d already had one relationship that had almost destroyed his dream. He’d fallen so hard for Kamila Troccoli that when she wasn’t able to handle the demands of his schedule, he’d pared it back. Desperate to keep her, he’d refused plum apprenticeships, basically giving up his goal of being a master chef and owning a chain of restaurants.

But she’d left him anyway. After a year of building his life around her, he’d awakened one morning to find she’d simply gone. It had taken four weeks before he could go back to work, but his broken heart hadn’t healed until he’d realized relationships were for other men. He had a dream that a romance had nearly stolen from him. A wise man didn’t forget hard lessons, or throw them away because of a pretty girl.

Almost at the kitchen door, he stopped. “And, Daniella?”

She faced him.

“No jeans tomorrow. Black trousers and a white shirt.”

* * *

Daniella raced to her car, her heart thumping in her chest. Having Rafe lean across the bar, so close to her, had been the oddest thing. Her blood pressure had risen. Her breathing had gone funny. And damned if she didn’t want to run her fingers through his wavy hair. Unbound, it had fallen to his shoulders, giving him the look of a sexy pirate.

The desire to touch him had been so strong, she would have agreed to anything to be able to get away from him so she could sort this out.

And just when she’d thought she was free, he’d said her name. Daniella. The way it had rolled off his tongue had been so sexy, she’d shuddered.

Calling herself every kind of crazy, she got into Louisa’s old car and headed home. A mile up the country road, she pulled through the opening in the stone wall that allowed entry to Monte Calanetti. Driving along the cobblestone street, lit only by streetlights, she marveled at the way her heart warmed at the quaint small town. She’d never felt so at peace as she did in Italy, and she couldn’t wait to meet her foster mother’s relatives. Positive they’d make a connection, she could see herself coming to Italy every year to visit them.

She followed the curve around the statue in the town square before she made the turn onto the lane for Palazzo di Comparino. She knew Louisa saw only decay and damage when she looked at the crumbling villa, but in her mind’s eye Dani could see it as it was in its glory days. Vines heavy with grapes. The compound filled with happy employees. The owner, a proud man.

A lot like Rafe.

She squeezed her eyes shut when the familiar warmth whooshed through her at just the thought of his name. What was it about that guy that got to her? Sure, he was sexy. Really sexy. But she’d met sexy men before. Why did this one affect her like this?

Louisa was asleep, so she didn’t have anyone to talk with about her strange feelings. But the next morning over tea, she told Louisa everything that had happened at the restaurant, especially her unwanted urge to touch Rafe when he leaned across the bar and was so close to her, and Louisa—again—laughed.

“This is Italy. Why are you so surprised you’re feeling everything a hundred times more passionately?”

Dani’s eyes narrowed. Remembering her thoughts about Monte Calanetti, the way she loved the quaint cobblestone streets, the statue fountain in the middle of the square, the happy, bustling people, she realized she did feel everything more powerfully in Italy.

“Do you think that’s all it is?”

“Oh, sweetie, this is the land of passion. It’s in the air. The water. Something. As long as you recognize what it is, you’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.” She rose from the table. “I also hope there’s a thrift shop in town. I have to find black trousers and a white blouse. Rafe doesn’t like my jeans.”

Louisa laughed as she, too, rose from the table. “I’ll bet he likes your jeans just fine.”

Daniella frowned.

Louisa slid her arm across her shoulder. “Your butt looks amazing in jeans.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Louisa gave her a confused look, then shook her head. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe you’re both reacting extremely to each other. That it’s not just you feeling everything, and that’s why it’s so hard to ignore?”

“You think he’s attracted to me?”

“Maybe. Dani, you’re pretty and sexy.” She laughed. “And Italian men like blondes.”

Daniella frowned. “Oh, boy. That just makes things worse.”

“Or more fun.”

“No! I have a fiancé. Well, not a fiancé. My boyfriend asked me to marry him right before I left.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

She winced. “Yeah.”

“And he proposed right before you left?”

“Yes.”

Louisa sighed. “I guess that rules out an affair with your sexy Italian boss.”

Daniella’s eyes widened. “I can’t have an affair!”

“I know.” Louisa laughed. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and see what’s in my suitcases. I have to unpack anyway. I’m sure I have black pants and a white shirt.”

“Okay.”

Glad the subject had changed, Daniella walked with Louisa through the massive downstairs to the masterpiece stairway.

Louisa lovingly caressed the old, worn banister. “I feel like this should be my first project. Sort of like a symbol that I intend to bring this place back to life.”

“Other people might give the kitchen or bathrooms a priority.”

Louisa shook her head. “The foyer is the first thing everyone sees when they walk in. I want people to know I’m committed and I’m staying.”

“I get it.”

It took ten minutes to find the black pants and white shirt in Louisa’s suitcase, but Dani remained with Louisa another hour to sort through her clothes and hang them in the closet.

When it was time to leave, she said goodbye to Louisa and headed to the restaurant for the lunch crowd. She stashed her purse on the little shelf of the podium and waited for someone to unlock the door to customers so she could begin seating everyone.

Rafe himself came out. As he walked to the door, his gaze skimmed over her. Pinpricks of awareness rained down on her. Louisa’s suggestion that he was attracted to her tiptoed into her brain. What would it be like to have this sexy, passionate man attracted to her?

She shook her head. What the heck was she thinking? He was only looking at her to make sure she had dressed appropriately. He was not attracted to her. Good grief. All they ever did was snipe at each other. That was not attraction.

Although, standing up to him did warm her blood...

After opening the door, Rafe strode away without even saying good morning, proving, at least to Dani, that he wasn’t attracted to her. As she seated her first customers, he walked to the windows at the back of the old farmhouse and opened the wooden shutters, revealing the picturesque countryside.

The odd feeling of destiny brought Daniella up short again. This time she told herself it was simply an acknowledgment that the day was beautiful, the view perfect. There was no such thing as someone “belonging” somewhere. There was only hard work and planning.

An hour into the lunch shift, a customer called her over and asked to speak with the chef. Fear shuddered through her.

“Rafe?”

The older man nodded. “If he’s the chef, yes.”

She couldn’t even picture the scene if she called Rafe out and this man, a sweet old man with gray hair, blue eyes and a cute little dimple, complained about the food. So she smiled. “Maybe I can help you?”

“Perhaps. But I would like to speak with the chef.”

Officially out of options, she smiled and said, “Absolutely.”

She turned to find Rafe only a few steps away, his eyes narrowed, his lips thin.

She made her smile as big as she could. “Chef Rafe...” She motioned him over. When he reached her, she politely said, “This gentleman would like to speak with you.”

The dining room suddenly grew quiet. It seemed that everyone, including Daniella, held their breath.

Rafe addressed the man. “Yes? What can I do for you? I’m always happy to hear from my customers.”

His voice wasn’t just calm. It was warm. Dani took a step back. She’d expected him to bark. Instead, he was charming and receptive.

“This is the best ravioli I’ve ever eaten.” The customer smiled broadly. “I wanted to convey my compliments to the chef personally.”

Rafe put his hands together as if praying and bowed slightly. “Grazie.”

“How did you come to pick such a lovely place for a restaurant?”

“The views mostly,” Rafe said, smiling, and Dani stared at him. Those crazy feelings rolled through her again. When it came to his customers he was humble, genuine. And very, very likable.

He turned to her and nodded toward the door. “Customers, Daniella?”

“Yes! Of course!” She pivoted and hurried away to seat the people at the door, her heart thrumming, her nerve endings shimmering. Telling herself she was simply responding to the happy way he chatted with a customer, glad he hadn’t yelled at the poor man and glad everything was going so well, she refused to even consider that her appreciation of his good looks was tipping over into a genuine attraction.

She was so busy she didn’t hear the rest of Rafe’s conversation with the older couple. When they left, Rafe returned to the kitchen and Daniella went about her work. People arrived, she seated them, the staff served them and Rafe milled about the dining room, talking with customers. They gushed over the scene visible through the back windows. And he laughed.

He laughed. And the warmth of his love for his customers filled her. But that still didn’t mean she was attracted to him. She appreciated him, yes. Respected him? Absolutely. But even though he was gorgeous, she refused to be attracted to him. Except maybe physically...the man was gorgeous. And having a boyfriend didn’t mean she couldn’t notice good-looking men... Did it?

When the lunch crowd emptied, and Gio and Zola left, Daniella turned to help Allegra tidy the dining room, but Rafe caught her arm. “Not so fast.”

The touch of his hand on her biceps sent electricity straight to her heart. Which speeded up and sent a whoosh of heat through her blood.

Darn it. She was attracted to him.

But physically. Just physically.

She turned slowly.

Bright with anger, his gaze bored into her. “What in the hell did you think you were doing?”

With electricity careening through her, she pulled in a shaky breath. “When?”

“When the customer asked to speak with me!” He threw his hands in the air. “Did you think I did not see? I see everything! I heard that man ask to speak with me and heard you suggest that he talk to you.”

She sucked in a breath to steady herself. “I was trying to head off a disaster.”

“A disaster? He wanted to compliment the chef and you tried to dissuade him. Did you want the compliment for yourself?”

She gasped. “No! I was worried he was going to complain about the food.” She took a step closer, now every bit as angry as he was. He was so concerned about his own agenda, he couldn’t even tell when somebody was trying to save his sorry butt. “And that you’d scream at him and the whole dining room would hear.”

He matched the step she took. “Oh, really? You saw how I spoke to him. I love my customers.”

She held her ground. Her gaze narrowed on him. Her heart raced. “Yeah, well I know that now, but I didn’t know it when he asked to speak with you.”

“You overstepped your boundaries.” He took another step, and put them so close her whole body felt energized—

Oh, no.

Now she knew what was going on. She didn’t just think Rafe was handsome. She wasn’t just physically attracted to him. She was completely attracted to him. And she wasn’t yelling at him because she was defending herself. She was yelling because it was how he communicated with her. Because he was a stubborn, passionate man, was this how she flirted with him?

Not at all happy with these feelings, she stepped away from him. Softening her voice, she said, “It won’t happen again.”

He laughed. “What? You suddenly back down?”

She peered over at him. Why hadn’t he simply said, “Thank you,” and walked away? That’s what he usually did.

Unless Louisa was right and he was attracted to her, too?

The mere thought made her breathless. She sneaked a peek at him—he was distinguished looking with his long hair tied back and his white smock still crisp and clean after hours of work. The memory of his laughter with the customer fluttered through her, stealing her breath again. He was a handsome man, very, very good at what he did and dedicated to his customers. He could have his pick of women. And he was attracted to her?

Preposterous. She didn’t for a second believe it, but she was definitely attracted to him. And she was going to have to watch her step.

She cleared her throat. “Unless you want me to hang out until the dinner crowd, I’ll be going home now.”

He shook his head. “Do not overstep your boundaries again.”

She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Oh, believe me, I’ll be very, very careful from here on out.”

* * *

Rafe watched her walk away. His racing heart had stilled. The fire in his blood had fizzled. Disappointment rattled through him. He shook his head and walked back into the kitchen.

“Done yelling at Daniella?”

Rafe scowled at Emory. “She oversteps her place.”

“She’s trying to keep the peace. To keep the customers happy. And, in case you haven’t noticed, they are happy. Today they were particularly happy.”

He sniffed in disdain. “I opened the dining room to the view from the back windows.”

Emory laughed. “Seriously? You’re going with that?”

“All right! So customers like her.”

“And no one seems to be hanging around hoping you’ll lose your temper.”

He scowled.

“She did exactly what we needed to have done. She shifted the temperament in the dining room. Customers are enjoying your food. You should be thrilled to have her around.”

Rafe turned away with a “Bah.” But deep down inside he was thrilled to have her around.

And maybe that wasn’t as much of a good thing as Emory thought it was. Because the whole time he was yelling at her, he could also picture himself kissing her.

Worse, the part of him that usually toed the line wasn’t behaving. That part kept reminding him she was temporary. She might be an employee, but she wasn’t staying forever. He could have an affair with this beautiful, passionate woman and not have to worry about repercussions because in a few weeks, she’d be gone. No scene. No broken heart. No expectations. They could have a delicious affair.

CHAPTER FOUR

DANIELLA RETURNED HOME that night exhausted. Louisa hadn’t waited up for her, but from the open cabinet doors and trash bags sitting by the door, it was apparent she’d begun cleaning the kitchen.

She dragged herself up the stairs, showered and crawled into bed, refusing to think about the possibility that Rafe might be attracted to her. Not only did she have a marriage proposal waiting at home, but, seriously? Her with Rafe? Mr. Unstable with the former foster child who needed stability? That was insanity.

She woke early the next morning and, after breakfast, she and Louisa loaded outdated food from the pantry into even more trash bags.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Louisa shook her head at the bag of garbage she’d just hauled to the growing pile by the door. “We don’t even know what day to set out the trash.”

Busy sweeping the now-empty pantry, Dani said, “You could always ask Nico.”

Louisa rolled her eyes. “I’m not tromping over to his villa to ask about trash.”

“You could call him. I have his card.” She frowned. “Or Rafe has his card. I could ask for it back tonight.”

“No, thanks. I’ll figure this out.”

“Or maybe I could ask the girls at the restaurant? Given that we’re so close to Monte Calanetti, one of them probably lives in the village. She’ll know what day the trash truck comes by.”

Louisa brightened. “Yes. Thank you. That would be great.”

But Dani frowned as she swept the last of the dirt onto her dustpan. Louisa’s refusal to have anything to do with Nico had gone from unusual to impractical. Still, it wasn’t her place to say anything.

She dressed for work in the dark trousers and white shirt Rafe required and drove to the restaurant. Walking in, she noticed that two of the chefs were different, and two of the chefs she was accustomed to seeing weren’t there. The same was true in the dining room. Allegra was nowhere to be seen and in her place was a tall, slim waitress named Mila, short for Milana, who told Daniella it was simply Allegra’s day off and probably the chefs’, too.

“Did you think they’d been fired?” Mila asked with a laugh.

Dani shrugged. “With our boss, you never know.”

Mila laughed again. “Only Chef Rafe works twelve hours a day, seven days a week.”

“I guess I should ask for a schedule, then.”

She turned toward the kitchen but Mila stopped her. “Do yourself a favor and ask Emory about it.”

Thinking that sounded like good advice, she nodded and walked into the kitchen. Emory stood at a stainless-steel prep table in the back of the huge, noisy, delicious-smelling room. Grateful that Rafe wasn’t anywhere in sight, she approached the sous-chef.

“Cara!” he said, opening his arms. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if there was a schedule.”

The short, bald man smiled. “Schedule?”

“I’m never really sure when I’m supposed to come in.”

“A maître d’ works all shifts.”

At the sound of Rafe’s voice behind her, she winced, sucked in a breath and faced him. “I can’t work seven days a week, twelve hours a day. I want this month to do some sightseeing. Otherwise, I could have just gone back to New York City.”

He smiled and said, “Ah.”

And Daniella’s heart about tripped over itself in her chest. He had the most beautiful, sexy smile she had ever seen. Directed at her, it stole her breath, weakened her knees, scared her silly.

“You are correct. Emory will create a schedule.”

Surprised at how easy that had been, and not about to hang around when his smile was bringing out feelings she knew were all wrong, she scampered out of the kitchen. Within minutes, Rafe came into the dining room to open Mancini’s doors. As he passed her, he smiled at her again.

When he disappeared behind the kitchen doors, she blew out her breath and collapsed against the podium. What was he doing smiling at her? Dear God, was Louisa right? Was he interested in her?

She paused. No. Rafe was too business oriented to be attracted to an employee. This wasn’t about attraction. It was about her finally finding her footing with him. He hadn’t argued about getting her a schedule. He’d smiled because they were beginning to get along as employer and employee.

Guests began arriving and she went to work. There were enough customers that the restaurant felt busy, but not nearly as busy as they were for dinner. She seated an American couple and walked away but even before she reached the podium, they waved her back.

She smiled. “Having trouble with the Italian?”

The short dark-haired man laughed. “My wife teaches Italian at university. We actually visit every other year. Though this is our first time at Mancini’s.”

“Well, a very special welcome to you, then. What can I help you with?”

He winced. “Actually, we were kind of hoping to just have soup or a salad, but all you have is a full menu.”

“Yes. The chef loves his drama.”

The man’s wife reached over and touched his arm. “I am sort of hungry for this delicious-sounding spaghetti. Maybe we can eat our big meal now and eat light at dinner.”

Her husband laughed. “Fine by me.”

Dani waved Gio over to take their orders, but a few minutes later, she had a similar conversation with a group of tourists who had reservations that night at a restaurant in Florence. They’d stopped at Mancini’s looking for something light, but Rafe’s menu only offered full-course meals.

With the lunchtime crowd thinned and two of the three waitresses gone until dinner, Dani stared at the kitchen door. If she and Rafe really had established a proper working relationship, shouldn’t she tell him what customers told her?

Of course, she should. She shouldn’t be afraid. She should be a good employee.

She headed for the kitchen. “May I speak with you, Chef Rafe?”

His silver-gray eyes met hers. “Yes?”

She swallowed. It was just plain impossible not to be attracted to this guy. “It’s... I... Do you want to hear the things the customers tell me?”

Leaning against his prep table behind him, holding her gaze, he said, “Yes. I always want the opinions of customers.”

She drank in a long breath. The soft, seductive tone of his voice, the way he wouldn’t release her gaze, all reminded her of Louisa’s contention that he was attracted to her. The prospect tied her tongue until she reminded herself that they were at work. And he was dedicated to his diners. In this kitchen, that was all that mattered.

“Okay. Today, I spoke with a couple from the US and a group of tourists, both of whom only wanted soup or salad for lunch.”

“We serve soup and salad.”

“As part of a meal.”

“So they should eat a meal.”

“That was actually their point. They didn’t want a whole meal. Just soup and salad.”

Rafe turned to Emory, his hands raised in question as if he didn’t understand what she was saying.

She tried again. “Look. You want people to come in for both lunch and dinner but you only offer dinners on the menu. Who wants a five-course meal for lunch?”

The silver shimmer in Rafe’s eyes disappeared and he gaped at her. “Any Italian.”

“All right.” So much for thinking he was attracted to her. The tone of his voice was now definitely all business and when it came to his business, he was clearly on a different page than she was. But this time she knew she was right. “Maybe Italians do like to eat that way. But half your patrons are tourists. If they want a big meal, they’ll come at dinnertime. If they just want to experience the joy that is Mancini’s, they’ll be here for lunch. And they’ll probably only want a salad. Or maybe a burger.”

“A burger?” He whispered the word as if it were blasphemy.

“Sure. If they like it, they’ll be back for dinner.”

The kitchen suddenly got very quiet. Every chef in the room and both busboys had turned to face her.