Just Add Spice (The Spice Series Book 1)

by Calista Fox

  “Ten-fifty-seven.”

  “Excellent. Three minutes to spare.” She dropped a couple of large bundles in front of him. Both were wrapped in brown paper and secured with long strands of ragged twine. “Finding a decent parking spot in this town is right up there with locating the Holy Grail. I was damn lucky last night. This morning? Not so much.”

  Rafe chuckled. “I warned you about that years ago.”

  “Apparently, I’m not a quick study.”

  “And you call me hard-headed.”

  “I believe the term I’ve always used is thick-skulled,” she reminded him.

  “There’s a difference?”

  She smiled, a sassy grin that made desire flare within him.

  His gaze slid over her from head to toe as she divested herself of the winter-white, full-length coat and draped the garment over the other stool at his table. Beneath the overcoat, she wore an emerald-green, satiny dress that rested slightly off her slender shoulders and molded perfectly to her trim, yet curvy-in-all-the-right places body. Her long legs were tanned and bare, her feet tucked into suede pumps that matched her dress in color and sported a good four-inch heel.

  Her raven hair held fat, loose curls that she’d secured at the nape of her neck. The low ponytail was pulled over one shoulder. The ends of the lush strands brushed the tops of her breasts, which barely crested the bodice of her dress. A respectable amount of cleavage, he decided. Enticing without being excessive. Leaving enough to the imagination to make him hungry for more.

  Keep it clean, buddy.

  Impossible.

  Jenna pushed her long sleeves up her forearms before she reached for the twine on the packages she’d brought in.

  Rafe asked, “Have you ever been late a day in your life?”

  She glanced up at him. Her crimson lips twisted in contemplation before she said, “I don’t think so.” Working on the bundles she’d laid on the table, she spread the paper wide and said, “Ta-da!” with great panache.

  “Whatcha got there?” he asked as he eyed her bounty.

  She gave him a flirty look. “They call these flowers, Rafe.”

  He’d always liked how she said his name, her tone dropping a notch when the word slipped from her lips. Rafe also enjoyed the casual banter they engaged in.

  “For the tables,” she explained.

  He stood and came around to her side of the high top. “What I was wondering was, why aren’t they pink roses?”

  “These Gerbera daisies are much livelier and will really perk up the dining room. Plus, they’re less expensive, less formal. More vibrant and inviting.”

  They were in shades of bright yellow, orange, red, fuchsia and green.

  “Huh. We’ve always had pink roses on the tables.”

  “What’d you say about the Chianti?” she further challenged.

  “That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “And what’s my stance on that particular excuse?”

  He grinned. Little spitfire. “If that’s the best answer I can give you, there’s no reason not to change it.”

  “Exactly!” She gripped his upper arm with both hands, her fingers wrapping around his thick biceps as she leaned in close and said, “You are easily my favorite client!”

  He crooked a brow as he stared down at her. “Smartass.” He flexed his arm, making the muscles bulge beneath her touch.

  “Oh!” The word seemed to tumble from her mouth, unbidden. Excitement lit her eyes. One hand splayed over her stomach for a moment, as though it fluttered with exhilaration.

  Ha. Feel my endless arousal, babe!

  “Impressive,” she mumbled. “Still dedicated to the gym, I see.”

  “You didn’t notice last night?” he countered. Because he knew she had.

  “I—um… Let’s move on, shall we?” Despite her words, fire blazed in her eyes. That turned him on even more.

  Oh, hell, who was he kidding?

  She didn’t have to be all worked up over him—or even in the same room—for Rafe to get hard. He had plenty of memories of her to stimulate the senses and get his adrenaline pumping.

  She returned her attention to the flowers, but Rafe noted her chest rose and fell a bit faster. He didn’t bother biting back his grin of satisfaction. He might be head over heels for his sexy and savvy ex, but he clearly got her juices flowing as well.

  She was a bit breathy as she told him, “The daisies don’t create the same distraction as long-stemmed roses. I’m going to cut them down so diners can see over the blooms, instead of having to look around them as they converse. Or stare into each other’s eyes.”

  Admittedly, he’d never given much thought to the floral selection. The grower’s assistant delivered fresh roses twice a week, no questions asked. Jenna must have canceled today’s order, since she knew the routine around the restaurant.

  “You’re the expert.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but you’re the proprietor. Do you like them?”

  “Sure. I mean, they’re…flowers, Jen.”

  Her pale-green eyes sparkled as she said, “You’re such a guy.”

  “Indeed.” He stifled a Tarzan-like grunt as his groin tightened further.

  She lifted the packages of daisies into her arms and turned away, saying over her shoulder, “I’ve got to get these in water. And I suggest ordering more stylish vases than the dainty white porcelain ones. We can sell those on eBay. The owner of a frilly Victorian inn will love them.”

  He watched her saunter out of his kitchen as saucily as she’d sauntered in, swaying her shapely hips, holding his attention hostage.

  “Excuse me, Rafe?” Tonio caustically inquired in his Italian accent. Though he had dual citizenship, he’d spent most of his life in Florence. Until Rafe had asked him to work at Sampogna’s a decade ago.

  “Yeah?”

  “I was just wondering…are we planning on serving food today, or should we all go home while you flirt with our pretty new hostess?”

  “Shut up,” he said with another grin and a shake of his head at his own idiocy. He was already in his black executive chef jacket and ready to start the lunch service. He just needed to clear his thoughts of the scintillating body he yearned to feel pressed against his.

  Tonio ribbed him further. “I can see how those long legs might distract you. I have trouble keeping my eyes off them too.”

  “Don’t let your wife hear you say that.”

  “Dio mio!” his cousin exclaimed as he thrust a metal spoon in the air for added emphasis. “She’d spit-roast me like a pig at a luau!”

  Everyone in the kitchen laughed. Tonio’s wife, Lucy, was from the Hawaiian Islands and liked to hint at how handy she was with sharp objects whenever her husband’s eye wandered. Though it was only ever his eyes… Tonio was hopelessly devoted to the mother of his new twins. As loyal to his family as he was to Rafe and Sampogna’s.

  “Let’s get to work,” Rafe said, though he shot one more look at the pass-through door. Yeah, he liked Jenna’s legs. And everything else about her, including today’s flower choices.

  Now, if he could just channel his recently resuscitated sexual energy into culinary creativity—spice things up in the kitchen the way his ex-wife spiced up his libido—he just might bring his very traditional restaurant into the new millennium and keep his ass in business a while longer.

  * * *

  Jenna pushed a four-top table against another one and sat a group of six friends, who’d arrived at the same time, though they’d not intentionally planned to dine together until she’d made the suggestion. They ordered bottles of award-winning Chilean Carménère and Pinot Noir from the Willamette Valley, based on the wine pairings Jenna had printed and distributed. They immediately dove into conversation, chatting excitedly in a mixture of English and Italian. She couldn’t fully decipher the latter, but got the gist of the dialogue, all about cruise ships.

  She placed the drink order with Gio, Rafe’s very attractive, younger cousin.


  He said, “Give me a minute and I’ll aerate and decant the reds for you. I need to grab a jar of olives from the back. I used the last ones in these martinis.” He nodded toward the tray that held four glasses, which a server retrieved for her customers.

  “I’ll take care of the olives if you’ll serve the wine,” Jenna said. “Since you’re the resident sommelier.” She knew Gio had been formally trained.

  “’Bout time someone noticed.” He flashed a pearly white grin as he visibly perked up. Serving Chianti the majority of the time had no doubt dampened his professional spirits, given his expertise.

  “You need to talk up the cellar more, Gio. Your selections are incredible, and I’d like to see you really push these wines. I about fell out of my chair when I read some of the rare vintages you’d purchased—and for such great prices.”

  “Yeah, I think we’ve all fallen into the same shit, different day mentality. I gave up making suggestions long ago. But seeing the pairings on paper at each table… That’s hugely helpful, Jen.” He gave her a quick hug. “It’s great to have you back.”

  “It’s good to be here.” She squirmed a little in his loose, friendly embrace. Her entire life she’d had difficulty with affection. It was easier not to get close to people—because she always left them. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with the olives.”

  Unnerved by Gio’s hug, she headed into the kitchen, striving for her usual composure. Jenna rounded the corner to the short hallway that led to the storage room.

  And ran smack into Rafe.

  “Oof!” she cried out as her body bounced off his tall, hunky one.

  She stumbled backward, but he was quick to reach for her, dropping a package of fresh towels on the floor as his arms shot out. His large hands gripped her waist and he pulled her toward him, so she could brace herself against him and regain her footing.

  “Steady there, sweetheart.”

  Her palms splayed over his wide chest. Miraculously, she managed to not curl her fingers around his chef’s jacket and pull his body even closer to hers.

  He bent his head and added, “This intersection could use a traffic light.” His tone was husky, even sexier than usual, sending a shiver along her spine.

  Stepping away from him—needing some physical distance for mental clarity—she lifted a hand from his chest and pointed to the corner of the L-shaped hallway. “Install a mirror up there so people can see each other coming and going.”

  Funny how her own voice sounded different too. Sultry and breathy. She cleared her throat in hopes of returning her tone to a more businesslike one.

  The corner of Rafe’s tempting mouth lifted at her suggestion—or her innate, inescapable response to him. She refused to consider which was more likely.

  “Good idea,” he said. “Need something from the supply room?”

  Jenna’s brow furrowed. “I, uh, came in here for…something.” She wracked her brain for what that something was. But her mind had gone blank at the feel of Rafe’s body pressed to hers, his hands on her waist, his warm breath on her cheek. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered, embarrassed by her mental lapse.

  Rafe chuckled, low and deep. A sound that reverberated within her.

  “Olives!” she suddenly recalled and snapped her fingers. “Gio needs olives.”

  “I’ll get them for you.”

  “No, no,” she was quick to say as she moved around him. “You do whatever it was you were doing before I ran into your brick wall of a chest.”

  She turned the corner and entered the storage room, happy for the reprieve from those ocean-blue eyes she nearly drowned in. Grabbing a jar of olives from a wire rack with supplies neatly arranged on the shelves, she headed back out. Rafe scooped up the towels as she rounded the bend and they returned to the kitchen together. Jenna pushed open the door leading to the dining room, a wave of animated conversation crashing in on the normal commotion going on in the kitchen.

  “What’s that noise?” Rafe asked her.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Your dining room. Come see.”

  He gave her a curious look before he followed. “I haven’t heard that much chatter at lunchtime in—whoa!”

  He drew up beside her. Two large groups congregated in the center of the room, enjoying the quaff and nosh with enthusiasm. Laughter filled the air, along with an occasional toast or cheerful outburst.

  Studying the scene before him, Rafe said, “What the hell? The Carlisles always take a window table because they like to watch people passing by on the sidewalk. And the Luongos prefer that quiet corner in the back.”

  “Yes, well,” she said. “The Carlisles are going on a cruise and, apparently, the Luongos just returned from one, so I suggested they sit together and compare notes. Then the Santinis decided to join the party, since they’d just taken an Alaskan cruise and had plenty to add to the conversation.”

  Another impromptu group of eight had come in, and Jenna suspected they’d been enticed inside when they’d seen, from the street, the friendly dining arrangement in the middle of the room. A server must have seated them while Jenna was in the back, and had already efficiently delivered parmesan-coated breadsticks with sides of marinara sauce, melted garlic butter and olive oil and balsamic-rosemary vinegar for dipping.

  Rafe was quiet a moment. Jenna watched him as he took in the lively scene. She’d dimmed the lights in the room earlier, helping to make it less stark with all the white linen tablecloths and matching napkins. Unfortunately, the three walls without windows didn’t aid the ambience. The demure butter color could use an invigorating infusion of warmth and vibrancy. Not to mention, the old, lightly scarred bar appeared drab now that Jenna had added the colorful daisies to the tables.

  “This is the way the restaurant should be,” Rafe mused. “Group gatherings, toasts, laughter. With some quiet corners for couples.”

  “I agree. But let’s face it, Rafe. The atmosphere in here has always been intimidating. You have all those windows to showcase your dining room from the street, but when people look in, they see glaring formality. It looks too expensive and they bypass the menu, not even rounding the corner to the lovely courtyard and, subsequently, the entrance. I’ve been watching them. If they’re not familiar with the restaurant, particularly if they’re tourists who’ve been out and about all day, they likely think they’re underdressed or need a reservation. So they keep walking.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Sampogna’s needs an image makeover.”

  “Well. Yes, actually.”

  He stared at the dining room as she gazed at him. Then he shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Jen. What if I invested tens of thousands of dollars into a redecoration and still didn’t pull in a larger crowd? I’d be royally screwed. Flat busted.”

  Ignoring the consternation in his tone, she eyed him speculatively. “You’d seriously consider a remodel?”

  Without missing a beat, he said, “I’d seriously consider anything that’ll keep my doors open.”

  “Hmm.”

  His gaze flashed to her and he pinned her with an intense look. “Would it?”

  “I haven’t let anyone down yet, Rafe. That’s why a major network gave me a TV show.”

  “Oh, no.” His eyes narrowed on her. “I don’t want a camera crew in here, Jen. It’s too disruptive. Too invasive.”

  Her mind worked quickly and she asked, “If you don’t want to be part of an episode, would you at least consider letting me post before and after shots on my website? Pictures that I take with my own camera…no professional crew barging in? It’ll actually be extremely personal—a fantastic angle for me.”

  He looked around and apparently liked what he saw with the two groups entertaining themselves over his food and wine.

  “Yeah, that’d be okay,” he told her.

  Jenna more boldly queried, “What if I pay for the remodel? I get huge discounts from my colleagues for projects I highlight on the website, because of the free advertising they receive
. And this would be an ideal makeover to cover, even if it’s just with stills and some videos I shoot.”

  Rafe shook his head. “Why on earth would I let you pay to redecorate my restaurant?”

  “Gee, I don’t know,” she said. “Because I can afford it? Because I make a ton of money and don’t do anything with it, just put it into stocks, investments and charities? Because I’d like to do something nice for you? Because this restaurant means something to me too, since you put your heart and soul into it? Take your pick…”

  He rubbed his jaw with his thumb. “You’re not offering out of guilt?”

  Okay, yeah. There was that. A little.

  She said, “Look, what happened between us is primarily my fault. I’ve always felt bad about that and you know it. But I’m not trying to buy back your respect, Rafe. This is something I can easily do for you, and I want to do it. I mean, do you have any idea how many restaurateurs contact me every day to revamp their business models and interiors, as well as breathe new life into their menus? This is what I do, Rafe. Take advantage of my expertise. Please.”

  He hedged.

  She confidently told him, “I have statistics to prove that I can make this a warm, inviting restaurant—and I swear to God you’ll see a huge boost in revenue.”

  “It’d be a lot of work and money, Jen.”

  “Rafe, I have the time. And the money. I don’t own anything!”

  It was the first time she’d ever said those words out loud. And not only did they startle her, they also seemed to shock Rafe.

  “That’s always been your choice,” he said in a somewhat edgy voice.

  Composing herself, Jenna told him, “I haven’t built the kind of life you’ve built for yourself. That’s true. But…this is who I am.”

  He opened his mouth to speak. She cut him off.

  “I have the means and the resources to assist you. Let me, Rafe. This is what I do for a living and I am damn good at it. Just say yes.”

  Another shake of his head. “It’s too much, sweetheart.”

  “Really?” she challenged. “Complete strangers email and call me, begging me to save their restaurants or cafes. You and I were married. I would be thrilled to do this for you. And besides, there’s so much to work with here. It’s not going to put me out, Rafe. I have the crew to pull off a makeover in two weeks. Less than that, once I pinpoint the changes necessary.”