“Your tartufo is excellent, son, but I called you out here because I had a bite of my wife’s dessert, too.” He pointed to her plate. “This is the best damn cannoli I’ve had in years.” His eyes were bright and shrewd in a face that I estimated was pushing eighty pretty hard. “Reminds me of my own mother’s, may God rest her soul.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s quite a compliment.” I smiled, some of my irritation dissipating. This wasn’t some idiot trying to look like a big shot by calling out the chef. This was someone who’d truly enjoyed my work, and I had no problem with that.
“How long have you worked here?” The man glanced around the dining room. “Nice place, but it seems a little out of the way for someone with your talent.”
“This is my family’s place,” I admitted. “It’s the only restaurant I’ve worked in, except for during culinary school, when I interned at a bakery in Ocean City.”
He fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. “My name’s Peter Romano. I own a boutique hotel in Philly. We have a small restaurant there—nothing flashy, but we do okay. If you ever think about making a move, give me a call. I’d like to talk with you.”
I took the card, glanced at it, and tucked it into my wallet. “Thanks. I don’t have any plans to make a change, though. Like I said, this is my family’s business. I’ve never thought of working anywhere else.”
Mr. Romano nodded. “I understand. My place is family-run, too. Our daughter handles the hotel part, our son is the head chef in the restaurant . . . and Midge and I oversee them.”
His wife beamed at me. “Come see us the next time you’re in town. Even if you don’t want a job, we’d love to show you around and let you see what we do.”
I’d nodded, smiled and thanked them before making my way back to the kitchen. My dad had looked up as I came in.
“Another satisfied customer?” He’d patted my arm. “Nice work, son. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”
I’d grunted, feeling unreasonably guilty about Peter Romano’s card in my pocket.
Since that night, I’d taken out the card and looked at it more often than I cared to admit. I’d done some on-line research on the Romanos, too; after all, being Italian myself, I wasn’t stupid about what people could be involved in. But everything I saw looked like it was on the up-and-up, and the hotel, located in a desirable area between Chestnut and Sansom, had glowing reviews. It was clearly a business that had been around for a long time, and its reputation was well-established.
Still, I didn’t call. I didn’t dump the card, I didn’t throw it away or forget about it, but I didn’t call, either. The card burned a hole in my pocket while I worked in the kitchen at Cucina Felice, when my mother drove me crazy, when my brother shouted at me, or when my dad told me that we were behind on orders.
On the other hand, its presence did serve to distract me from the annoying memories of Amanda, so there was that.
The door swung open again, and Ma poked her head into the kitchen.
“Vincent! Mrs. Shepherd called. She’s bringing in her granddaughter tonight, for her thirteenth birthday. It’s last minute, but you know the Shepherds. They’ve been coming here for years. I told her you’d make a special birthday cake. The granddaughter likes chocolate.”
Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes as my hand wandered to my back pocket and touched the pocket where Peter Romano’s card lay. Maybe change wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe I should investigate all my options.
And the fact that Amanda Simmons lived in the city where one of those options lay . . . well, maybe that was just a happy coincidence.
Or maybe not.
I was never the kind of girl who cried at weddings, but even I had to admit that watching Liam, whom I’d known since we were in grade school, marry the woman who had changed his life made me a little misty-eyed. The way they looked at each as they spoke those familiar words . . . a lump rose in my throat, and I wondered what it would be like to have someone look at me that way—as though I was his whole world.
Next to me, my mom reached for my hand and gave it a quick squeeze. My dad had gotten hung up with some project for a museum in England, and so both generations of Simmons women were flying solo tonight. I was grateful for her company, even as it felt a little ridiculous to be attending a wedding with my mother as my date.
And then there was the Vincent factor. Giff had let it slip nonchalantly—though I didn’t think it was quite as innocent as he pretended—that Vincent wasn’t bringing a date to the wedding. Although I hadn’t admitted it even to myself, that nugget of information had taken off the pressure I’d felt to find a plus-one. I’d spent the past week sternly lecturing myself about how to act when I saw him again.
I couldn’t be too excited—I had to play it cool. But I couldn’t be too aloof, or he’d think I was mad about something to do with our night together—that I’d had second thoughts about the whole no-strings aspect. To my own mortification, I practiced the smile I wanted to wear when he saw me the first time. It had to say what a great time we had without veering into let’s do it again territory.
Because if there was one thing I knew for sure, I wasn’t going down that path again with Vincent. I’d had a wonderful time, yes—but the unexpected pain that had dogged me afterward wasn’t worth it. I didn’t refer to that hurt as getting over him, even if deep down, I knew that was what it was. I only acknowledged that I couldn’t afford to let it happen again. Vincent DiMartino might have been the sexiest, hottest and yummiest man I’d ever met, but he was definitely dangerous to my well-being.
I hadn’t seen him until he’d walked down the aisle with Mrs. Bailey on his arm. I’d shrunk down, leaning against the back of the wooden pew, until the two had passed, but it didn’t matter, because he’d never looked my way. I’d been able to check him out at my leisure, to take in the way he looked in his dark gray suit, the way the jacket strained over those wide shoulders and tapered to his narrow waist. His hair was a little longer than it had been this summer, and to my surprise, he had a closely trimmed beard now, the dark hair covering his jaw and upper lip. While I wasn’t usually a fan of facial hair, on Vincent it was undeniably hot.
Once he’d seated Liam’s mom, he’d moved to his own spot, which happened to be about six rows directly in front of me. I had a perfect view of the back of his head, which shouldn’t have been a big deal, except that I kept remembering how the hair felt between my fingers as he’d licked me and—
“Amanda, are you all right?” My mother was eyeing me, concern on her face. “You’re fidgeting.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. “Just restless, I guess.”
“It’s nearly over. Once the bride presents the bouquet to the Virgin Mary, they just do the pronunciation and then everyone walks back up the aisle.”
Mom was right. Within seconds, the priest was blessing the new Mr. and Mrs. Liam Bailey, and everyone was walking toward us. Liam shot me a triumphant grin as he and Ava passed, and I felt his jubilation. Julia and Giff came behind them, followed by Carl and Angela and then Ava’s little niece Frankie and the rest of the families. I moved a little behind my mother as Vincent approached, walking by himself, but I knew the minute he spotted me. Heat rose up from my chest, flooding my face. It felt like every spot on my body that he’d touched was suddenly on fire again.
His eyes widened a little, and his step stuttered, to the point that I thought he might stop to speak to me. But he didn’t; whether it was by choice or whether the tide of people in the aisle simply carried him on, I didn’t know.
My mother glanced at me over her shoulder, one brow arched. I pretended not to notice.
When it was our row’s turn to file down and go through the receiving line, my heart thudded against my chest. I smiled automatically and offered my hand to Ava’s parents, kissed Mrs. Bailey’s cheek and gave the Senator a stiff hug. Liam’s embrace was much more genuine, and Ava squealed a little when she saw me.
Next to the bride an
d groom were Julia, Giff, Carl and Angela, but Vincent was nowhere to be seen. I wondered where he’d gone.
“Don’t you look gorgeous, gorgeous.” Giff smacked a kiss on my cheek and then held me at arm’s length to check me out. “Super sexy.” He tugged me close for a hug, taking the opportunity to whisper into my ear.
“Vincent went on ahead to the restaurant to oversee the set up. Don’t worry, cookie. He’ll be there when you show up.”
I pushed back and frowned at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Giff rolled his eyes. “Fine. Play it that way. But let me tell you, he might not say it in so many words, but Vincent was looking forward to seeing you again.”
I walked on then, my mother nudging me from behind, but not before I wondered what ‘not saying it in so many words’ meant in Giff-speak. It could be anything from a look on Vincent’s face to something my friend had interpreted to mean what he wanted it to mean. It wasn’t anything that should make me feel hopeful or eager to get to the reception. Not when I knew that I had no intention of indulging in a reprisal of that particular show.
“You have the directions to the restaurant?” Mom clicked the key fob to unlock the doors to her sedan.
“Yep.” I slid into the passenger seat. “It’s not very far.”
“It was a beautiful ceremony.” She glanced at me out of the side of her eye as we turned out of the church’s parking lot. “It’s so nice to see Liam happy, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” I repeated. “He and Ava are perfect together.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” my mother countered. “Every couple has their issues, Amanda. The ones who seem to have the least usually have the most.” She paused. “Not that I expect Liam and Ava to be unhappy, mind you. I have a feeling that between the solid base of her family and the example his parents set of how not to act, they should be fine. But never think anyone has it all together, honey.”
“Okay.” I stared out the window into the darkness. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, though, Mom. Are you trying to tell me something about you and Daddy?”
“No, not at all. We’re fine, thank you very much. But you know, we had our growing pains, too. When we met, it felt like we were complete opposites. I was outgoing and ambitious, and your father was quiet and shy—an introvert who’d rather talk about people who’d lived three hundred years ago than to actually talk to people living now.”
“You’re describing Daddy exactly as he is now.” I adored my father, but he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly.
“Ha! You have no idea, sweetie. He’s positively talkative now compared to how he was when we met. The day I brought him home to meet my parents, my mother took me aside and told me that we didn’t stand a chance. She predicted that if we got married, we’d be divorced in a year.”
“But she was wrong.” I smiled. I pretended to be embarrassed by my parents’ devotion to each other, but it was a wonderfully secure feeling to know that they still loved each other today as much as they had when they’d met.
“She was. Still, we had to learn how to adjust to each other. I thought I wanted your father to change, to become someone who would fit better with my life and my friends, but pretty soon, I realized I didn’t want that. I learned that your dad is restful for me—he’s a safe place, where I can be me. I can be quiet with him, or I can be silly and loud, but he loves me either way.”
“That’s so sweet. I love you both, just how you are. But I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this. Oh, make a left up here, at this four way stop.”
“Thanks. No particular reason. I was just thinking about marriage and couples and relationships, I guess. Having a child who’s the age you are now makes me wonder if I did a good enough job showing you all the possibilities in life. I’d never want you to think that you have to end up with someone just like you.”
I sighed. “Your subtlety is incredible, Mom. Please don’t make a big deal about . . . anything tonight, okay? Just be cool. Make a right up here in about half a mile, then the restaurant is a mile down on the left.”
“I’m always cool. I don’t intend to make a big deal about anything or anyone.” She cast me a knowing smile. “I don’t think I’ll have to do a thing. I think that sexy guy who looked at you the way a cat looks at a bowl of cream is going to be the one making a big deal. But I don’t want you to run the other way because you’re afraid of something silly like being too different.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” My answer was a knee-jerk reaction. “And I’m definitely not afraid of—him. Of any man.”
We pulled into the restaurant’s lot and found a place to park. Mom turned off the car, and as we walked toward the front entrance, she drew me along her for a quick side hug.
“I’ve always been proud of your fearlessness, Amanda. You don’t let anything slow you down. You never have. Just be honest with yourself and open your eyes to what could be meant for you, rather than looking at what might not be perfect.”
It wasn’t at all surprising that the food at Cucina Felice was delicious. The whole place was tastefully decorated and welcoming, filled with so much joy that it was practically contagious. I saw all of Ava’s relatives greeting one another with hugs and loud cries, as if it had been decades since their last meeting. Ava and Liam walked among the guests, relaxed and happy, and all of the DiMartinos seemed to be involved with keeping everything running smoothly.
Mom and I were sitting at a table with Giff, Jeff, Laura Bailey and her new boyfriend, Alec. It was the first time I’d met the guy I’d assumed was Mrs. B’s boy toy, and he’d actually turned out to be funny and kind of sweet. He and Mrs. Bailey were adorable together; she was definitely happier than I’d ever seen her. I had a feeling that she was finally finding a remedy for the unhappiness her ex-husband had brought her.
We’d chatted with Ava’s parents, and I’d had a short conversation with her brother Carl and his wife, admiring their baby son. I didn’t miss the way Angela smirked at me or the way Carl pretended not to do the same. Clearly, they both knew something about Vincent and me. I hoped my face wasn’t burning with embarrassment.
I’d seen him striding around the dining room, and there was something undeniably sexy about watching him here, in his obvious element. He stopped servers to point out tables that needed attention, he pitched in to help bus tables, delivered cups of coffee to his older relatives and generally took care of all of the guests.
And he avoided me.
I hadn’t realized it at first. But the more aware I became of him, the more certain I was. Servers stopped by frequently to deliver anything we might need, and other members of Ava’s family paused to make sure we were all right, but Vincent did not.
For some reason, that pissed me off. It was one thing to know that we weren’t revisiting our sexy times, but it was another for him to pretend as though I didn’t even exist. I wanted to walk up and stand in front of him until he couldn’t deny my presence. I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and smile sweetly, asking if he remembered me.
We’d finished the main course, and I was just working myself up into a decent mad about Vincent when I heard a familiar voice behind me and felt a hand on the back of my chair.
“Hey, Mrs. Bailey. Guys. How are you doing over here?”
I sat completely still, my heartbeat going crazy. He was so close, and I could feel his solid presence behind me. I’d half-convinced myself that the attraction between us had been a one-time fluke, but I knew now that was bullshit. If it was possible, I was even more drawn to him now than I had been at the engagement party.
“Vincent, do you know my friend Daria Simmons? She’s known Liam since he was a little boy. Oh, and I think you’ve met her daughter, Amanda.”
My face was definitely red now. I shifted in my seat, wearing my pleasant social smile as I finally looked up at Vincent.
He was still holding onto my chair, leaning over to shake my mother’s hand. “Mrs. Simmons, goo
d to meet you. Hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight.” His eyes moved from my mom to me. “Amanda.” His voice softened. “It’s good to see you again. You look beautiful.”
And just like that, I was a goner. All of the shit I’d been feeding myself about why a second hook-up with Vincent would be disastrous no longer made sense. I wanted him. I couldn’t deny it. If there’d been a graceful way to drag him back to some quiet nook and let him pound me senseless, I’d have already been on my way there.
I became aware that I was gawking up at him, and everyone was waiting for me to respond to what he’d said. I cleared my throat.
“Thanks. Nice to see you again, too.” I gazed up into his eyes. “Everything is amazing tonight. The food is incredible.”
He grinned. “Did you like my cookies?”
Before I could stop to think about it, I blurted out an answer. “I love your cookies.”
Across the table, Giff choked on his wine, and Jeff pounded him on the back. I closed my eyes, wishing that I could suck the words back into my mouth.
My mother, that wonderful woman, held it together and swooped in to save me. “They’re exquisite. I have to admit, I’ve had bad imitations of Italian cookies, and they tasted like sawdust. Yours are full of flavor, and the texture is divine.”
Vincent lifted his hands. “I think I’m in love. Mrs. Simmons, would you be willing to sit in the kitchen with me every day and say that when my mother comes in and tells me what’s wrong with my desserts? I could use you to defend my fragile ego.”
I’d recovered sufficiently to snort at those words. “Fragile ego, my ass.”
Vincent swung his gaze back to me. “Did you have a—what do they call it on the legal shows? A dissenting opinion?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Look at you, speaking the legalese. And yes, in fact, I do have a dissenting opinion. I don’t think your ego is in any danger of being crushed. You’re one of the cockiest men I’ve ever met.”
Just Roll With It (Perfect Dish Romances Book 4) Page 9
