href="#u4ea22dee-60a3-51d6-8ab0-46a3a67b8795">CHAPTER THREE
AT THE END of the night, when the prep tables were spotless, the kitchen staff raced out the back door. Rafe ambled into the dining room as the waitresses headed for the front door, Daniella in their ranks.
Stopping behind the bar, he called, “No. No. You...Daniella. You and I need to talk.”
Her steps faltered and she paused. Eventually, she turned around. “Sure. Great.”
Allegra and Gio tossed looks of sympathy at her as the door closed softly behind them.
Her shoulders straightened and she walked over to him. “What is it?”
“You are chatty.”
She burst out laughing. “I know.” As comfortable as an old friend, she slid onto a bar stool across from him. “Got myself into a lot of trouble in school for that.”
“Then you will not be offended if I ask you to project a more professional demeanor with the customers?”
“Heck, no. I’m not offended. I think you’re crazy for telling me not to be friendly. But I’m not offended.”
Heat surged through Rafe’s blood, the way it had when she’d nibbled the ravioli from his fork and called him amazing. But this time he was prepared for it. He didn’t know what it was about this woman that got him going, why their arguments fired his blood and their pleasant encounters made him want to kiss her, but he did know he had to control it.
He pulled a bottle of wine from the rack beneath the bar and poured two glasses. Handing one of the glasses to her, he asked, “Do you think it’s funny to argue with your boss?”
“I’m not arguing with you. I’m giving you my opinion.”
He stayed behind the bar, across from her so he could see her face, her expressive blue eyes. “Ah. So, now I understand. You believe you have a right to an opinion.”
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
