I don’t wear stuff like this!” It was true. Tiffany was more likely to be found in cotton tops and jeans.
“You will in Rome. Who knows? You might star in your own Kiki series and become a rich man’s wifey.”
“Who’s Kiki?”
“Kiki Swinson.”
“Is that somebody at Randall’s job?”
“Fool, this woman is far from working at UPS with my husband. She’s a bestselling author!”
“Oh, please, you and your book addiction. Those fairy-tale endings only happen in fiction.”
“And sometimes life imitates art,” Joy fired back.
“Well, even if Kiki writes about a rich man who works in a kitchen, I’m sure my story’s ending will differ from the one you read.”
“No, you’ll have to navigate the world of thugs and drugs to be in her story.”
“Like I said, fiction isn’t fact.” Tiffany dangled the shoes in front of her, turning them this way and that, frowning as if what she held were foreign objects. “You need to take these shoes and stuff back to the store and get a refund,” she said somberly.
“Tiffany, you’re my best friend in the world, but as God is my witness, I’m going to beat your ass with those stilettos if you don’t stop acting ungrateful!”
The women laughed and continued joking around as Tiffany tried on the outfit and modeled it for Joy. Her friend’s taste was excellent and the choices spot on. The dress, which stopped a couple inches above the knee, spotlighted Tiffany’s assets and hit her curves in all the right places. The sandals not only gave Tiffany height, but accented surprisingly long legs for someone so short. Tiffany looked gorgeous in the outfit.
Nick felt Tiffany’s eyes on him and turned slowly, the words he was about to say to one of his partners dying on his lips. His eyes narrowed as he gazed upon the vision in front of him.
“Nick? Buddy, are you still there?”
“Let’s touch base tomorrow,” Nick said into the phone. He disconnected the call without waiting for a reply.
Tiffany’s nerves increased under his intense perusal. Had she chosen the wrong outfit? Was this too dressy for where they were going? Was it too much, did it suggest something that she hadn’t intended? Why does he keep staring at me without saying anything?
“I can change if this isn’t appropriate,” she blurted, suddenly feeling like the little girl who’d chagrined her father, which, with her choices, had often been the case.
“It’s perfect,” Nick breathed. He was trying to rein in feelings and emotions that had no place in this room, in this city, with this woman. It had been easier with the teddy-bear clutching girl in jeans; the task would be much harder with this sexy vixen with the hourglass figure he wanted to sculpt with his hands.
Once they were settled in the town car, Nick forced his thoughts away from how good Tiffany looked in the satiny dress she wore and turned them toward those good for casual conversation. After all, it would be another fifteen minutes before they reached their destination.
“I know this is your first trip to Europe, but have you ever been out of the States?”
Tiffany nodded. “If you count Mexico…Cabo San Lucas.”
“I see.”
Tiffany glanced over at Nick, who observed her thoughtfully while rubbing his mustache, something she deduced was an unconscious habit.
“Why Rome?” he asked.
Tiffany smiled, thankful for the familiar territory they were entering. “I’m studying to be a chef.”
Nick’s brows rose. “Really?”
“Yes. I just graduated from culinary school and am here to train under a master of Italian cuisine.”
Nick’s interest piqued, and he turned to face Tiffany. “Who?”
“You probably don’t know him; he’s famous in cooking circles, but not a name often heard in the outside world.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be Emilio Riatoli, would it?”
Tiffany’s mouth opened in shock. “You’ve heard of him?”
Again, Nick blessed Tiffany with the deep, throaty laugh that made her love lair tingle. His eyes sparkled as he answered. “I’ve heard of him, yes.”
Tiffany looked at Nick with new appreciation. Anyone who was enthusiastic for, let alone knowledgeable about anything or anyone in the culinary world gained credence in her eyes. “How do you know of Chef Riatoli?”
“This is one of my favorite cities, remember?” His smile deepened, but he said nothing further.
“He was on tour in the States and conducted a class at our school,” Tiffany continued. “It was mainly on sauces, but he also demonstrated a couple dishes from another of his areas of expertise…seafood. He’s a genius at what he does,” she added, with more than a little admiration in her voice. “My dream is to open a restaurant in LA, one with cuisine similar to Chef Riatoli’s specialties—but with my own interpretation, of course.”
Nick’s interest in and appreciation for Tiffany grew. Here was a woman after his own heart, with dreams that complemented the future he visualized.
“What types of specialties would your restaurant serve?”
Tiffany sighed and sat back, at ease when talking about her ultimate life goal. It was the first time she’d felt totally comfortable with Nick since they met.
“I’d have several scallop-based appetizers,” she began. “Served in various sauces, richly embodied yet never overpowering the fish’s delicate taste. I love working with asparagus, especially white asparagus, and it’s a perfect complement to this seafood. Chef Riatoli makes a dish that is amazing.” Tiffany’s mouth watered of its own accord as she remembered the dish Chef had prepared in their classroom kitchen.
I pettini al pomodoro e l’asparago, Nick thought. Emilio’s simple yet succulent pairing of scallops with asparagus was his singularly favorite appetizer in all of Italy.
“What about salads,” he prompted after Tiffany had reeled off several more variations on her scallop ideas.
“Simple, clean,” she answered easily. “Too often, cooks make the mistake of putting too many ingredients into their salad creations. Chef Riatoli teaches that less is often more when it comes to marrying flavors. I’ve been playing around with an arugula salad that is nothing but greens, thin slices of fennel and tomato, with a basic vinaigrette that contains—” Tiffany stopped, realizing she was about to divulge a secret ingredient. “That contains a little something extra,” she finished, her mouth pursing with the effort of not blurting out the very essences this man reminded her so much of—maple syrup with a hint of wasabi—sweet and hot.
The car turned the corner and entered
