Diet Coke and she emceed the animal shelter’s annual dog fashion show.
“Was she a cook, too?” Grace asked.
“She certainly was.”
“And she taught you everything she knew?”
“Yes.” Nico had perfected Mama Lina’s meatball recipe by the time he was eight, her lasagna at nine, and he began inventing different kinds of ravioli fillings by the time he was ten. “Her lasagna and her meatballs are on the menu. Have you tried them?”
“The lasagna. It was delicious.” He watched her try to wiggle her toes and wince. “We were here for Patsy’s birthday in October. You made tiramisu, and we had a cake.”
“There was a lot of wine poured that night.” He remembered Grace’s short black dress. She’d worn pumpkin earrings that dangled to her shoulders and threatened to tangle in her blond curls. He’d asked her to go out with him—dinner and a movie—and she’d very politely refused. “Was that the first time I asked you out?”
“I don’t remember.”
“No.” He pretended to think about it. “I believe I invited you for a drink the day I was hired. I should apologize for that.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“But I embarrassed you, I think. And gave you the wrong impression. I was ecstatic that day,” he admitted. “It took two months to talk the owners into hiring me.” At her incredulous expression, he added, “They didn’t want to risk hiring someone who wasn’t going to make a real commitment.”
“I can certainly understand that,” she huffed. “But I would have expected them to jump at the chance to have you.”
“Not exactly,” Nico drawled.
“We heard you cost a fortune.” She smiled. “We thought you’d bring your movie-star girlfriends and illegitimate children with you.”
Well, that was irritating. “Do you always believe everything you read at the grocery store? There was no pregnancy. I never even had a date with Scarlet, and the woman who was on the cover of that stupid magazine? She’s a friend of mine who happens to be gay.”
“Lake Placid must seem very tame compared to LA.”
“If you knew my family, and there are a lot of them, you wouldn’t say that.” He thought of his mother’s dismay over that particular magazine headline. Theresa Vitelli had not been pleased. And his sisters had been horrified. There had been so many texts and voice mails the day the magazine hit newsstands that Nico had ended up tossing his phone to the floor and stomping on it.
Not one of his finer moments. Nico took a deep breath.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you that evening,” he continued. “But you were walking by the bar just as I finished signing the contracts and you looked friendly. You had a clipboard, which seemed charmingly old-fashioned, and I saw you comforting a young girl, a Girl Scout, I think.” He didn’t tell her the weepy Girl Scout had been his niece. “You seemed nice. And I just wanted to celebrate.” He didn’t mention that she’d looked like a curvy golden goddess, and he was so nervous about talking to her that his tongue had dried up in his mouth.
“I don’t have drinks with men I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry if I was rude. The Girl Scouts had organized a dinner for their parents in Wildwood and I was really busy.”
“You were perfectly polite, but you broke my heart.” No lie. He hadn’t been that disappointed since Sharon Winn turned down his invitation to the junior prom.
“I’m sure it healed itself after a few minutes.”
Nico chuckled. “You’re right. The bartender bought me a scotch and welcomed me back to Mirror Lake. We played basketball together in high school.”
He lifted the makeshift ice pack and studied her swollen foot. It didn’t look good, but he didn’t want to worry her. “I think it’s time you got that ankle checked out.”
“I don’t—”
“Let’s get you back to your office and see if there’s a doctor in the house.” He grinned. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“You’re sure you can leave your ravioli? And your wine?”
“They’ll keep,” he said. “We can always have supper later on, if you’re up to it.”
“There’s an eightieth birthday party at seven and I have to make sure that the entertainment arrives. It’s a surprise.”
“In the ballroom, yes. It’s a seven-course dinner for fifty-one people. What’s the entertainment?” Nico handed the ice to an intern, preparing to carry Grace from the kitchen. He knew she would protest unless he kept her talking. She was trying to wiggle her toes again, but pain flickered across her face as she stretched out her leg.
“A polka band. The guest of honor loves to polka, so his children organized a little dance. We’re having the party in the ballroom because, according to the kids, the polka takes up a lot of room and their father can be quite exuberant when he dances.”
“Anything else?”
“A fund-raiser in the bar, but I don’t have to do anything for that. The tour group is all set, I think. You’re offering hot buttered rum and dessert after the sleigh ride?”
“Absolutely. They’ll be available in the lobby when the guests come staggering in, frozen from the cold and thrilled with the moonlight.” He bent over and lifted her into his arms. She let out a little squeak of protest, but her arms curved naturally around his neck as he headed toward the door.
“Michael!” His second in command looked up from the pasta machine.
“Yes, Chef?”
“You’re in charge.”
Michael winked at him and gave him a thumbs-up. “Absolutely, Chef. You take all the time you need.”
Nico stifled a smile. He had no qualms about leaving the kitchen to the staff. He’d trained them well these past four months, had hired and fired until he was satisfied that he had the best team possible. He handed her the ice pack to take with her. She was going to need it in the next few hours because that foot sure as hell wasn’t going to get better anytime soon.
“I’ve never done the polka,” he said. “Have you?”
“No.” She sighed. “I was looking forward to it, too, if I got the chance. This is so embarrassing.”
The handful of diners looked up curiously as Nico made his way through the dining room with Grace in his arms.
“You’re enjoying this,” she said, her hair tickling his chin.
“I am not,” he said, chuckling. “I hate having a beautiful woman in my arms. I would rather be rolling out pasta dough and scolding the interns. I would rather be scrubbing saucepans and cleaning ovens.”
“You’re
