A Maverick's Christmas Homecoming. Teresa Southwick
Читать онлайн книгу.
You’re one of my best waitresses. Thanks for all your hard work. I appreciate it very much.”
“No problem. It’s what you pay me for but it’s nice to hear you say it.” Gianna backed up a little more. “I’ll just be going now.”
No, he thought. Her dazzle kept the dark away and he wasn’t ready for it to come back yet. He wanted her to stay. Saying that straight out might make her nervous, think he was hitting on her. That wasn’t his intention. The pleasure of her company was his only goal; the question was how to achieve it.
All Shane could come up with was a delaying tactic. “Did you want something?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You came in the kitchen.”
“Oh, that. It’s just, you know—” Her shrug did interesting things to her breasts. “Tonight’s special looked and smelled amazing so …”
“You’re hungry.” Of course. What other reason would she have for coming here when her shift was over. After a mental forehead slap, he said, “Doing the work of two people didn’t leave time for a dinner break.”
“It’s my own fault. I missed the staff meal before service started. I’ll just grab something on the way home.”
“No.” He stood and walked over to her. “The least I can do is feed you. And there will be a glass of wine involved.”
“Don’t make a mess on my account. The dishwasher and prep crew already cleaned up.”
“But I’m the boss. I have a nice Pino Grigio already uncorked and it pairs well with the spinach and crab ravioli.” He led her to the stool he’d just vacated then pressed gently on her shoulders, urging her to sit. The slight touch ignited a need in his belly and the instinct to pull her against him was unexpectedly powerful.
It was his business to notice workflow in the restaurant and he had. Just because it wasn’t his job to be attracted to someone working the flow didn’t make the attraction any less real. But he still wasn’t hitting on her. This was just a gesture. A happy staff didn’t quit and contented workers kept things running smoothly. Training a new waitress was time consuming and costly.
“I was going to have something myself. Please join me.”
“Okay, then. Thanks.” She rested her heel on the metal rung of the stool and crossed one leg over the other.
The movement was graceful, sexy, and it was an effort to pull his gaze away. On his first day at The Gallatin Room, Gianna Garrison had caught his eye, but for professional and personal reasons he’d resisted the impulse to act on the temptation. Until tonight.
Just before Thanksgiving he’d received conclusive proof that Arthur Swinton, the most hated man in Thunder Canyon, was his biological father. The information had weighed on him over the last couple of days and he was low on willpower. That was the best explanation he could come up with for this lapse in professional judgment. It was time to do his chef thing and take his mind off other things.
While he worked assembling plates, warming food, pouring wine, Gianna chattered away. He let her, liking the sound of her voice, the warm honey with just a hint of gravel. Then something she said tapped into his dark mood again.
“The Thanksgiving dinner you prepared last week for military families was amazing. Everyone in town is talking about it. Angie Anderson and Forrest Traub told me how thrilled the families were, how special and appreciated they felt for their loved ones’ sacrifices.”
He’d been more preoccupied than usual since that night. People had looked at him like he walked on water and he felt like a fraud. How could he be a walk on water type when Arthur Swinton was his biological father? The man had been convicted and sent to jail for embezzling public funds. Not only that, he’d perpetrated a conspiracy to ruin the Traubs, one of the most prominent families in town. If there was someone who didn’t hate Swinton, Shane hadn’t met them yet.
Gianna smiled at him. “They said it really helped because of missing their loved ones overseas so much, especially around the holidays.”
“I know something about missing family,” Shane whispered.
“What’s that?” she asked.
He slid hot food onto two plates, then looked over his shoulder. “You’re missing something if you don’t eat this while it’s hot.”
“It looks wonderful and smells even better.”
He put the two steaming plates on the stainless-steel countertop, then pulled up another stool and sat at a right angle to her. “Dig in.”
“Okay.” After she did, her gaze met his. “This is sinfully good. I don’t even want to think about the calories.”
“It’s a little-known fact that when you do the work of two people calories don’t count.”
“Thank goodness. Because this tastes even better than it smells and it smells very fattening.” She licked a drop of white wine sauce from her lower lip.
For a second, Shane thought he was going to choke on his own food. The look on her face was the most unconsciously erotic thing he’d ever seen.
A sip of wine kick-started his brain again and he managed to say, “I’m glad you like it.”
The words almost made him wince. He had a reputation for being charming but tonight he wouldn’t win any awards for witty repartee. It was a miracle that she didn’t make an excuse and run for the hills.
“How do you like Thunder Canyon?” She took another bite and chewed.
“Actually, I love it.”
“Seriously?” She stared at him as if he had two heads.
“Cross my heart. If it’s not at the top of my list, it’s very close.”
“But you’ve been all over the world, no?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go to culinary school?”
“CIA.”
“Does that mean you could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” The corners of her full mouth turned up.
“The Culinary Institute of America. Hyde Park, New York. About two hours from Manhattan.”
“Convenient.”
He nodded. “I got a degree in Culinary Arts management because I always wanted to open my own restaurant. But I went to Paris to learn baking and pastry arts. I’ve traveled to Italy and Greece to experience various cooking techniques like liquid nitrogen chilling, and experience different cuisines. CIA also has a campus in Napa where they specialize in a different area of food preparation and wine pairing.”
“So you’ve got a well-rounded culinary education.”
“Yes. My parents are well-to-do. I didn’t have to worry about student loans and could indulge every aspect of my curiosity about business trends and cutting-edge themes in the food-service industry.”
Her eyes filled with a little wonder and a lot of envy. “That sounds so exciting. How can the town square in Thunder Canyon, Montana, compare to the Eiffel Tower? The Louvre? The—everything—of France?”
“Paris is something to see. No question. But it’s not fair to compare places in the world. The favorites just speak to your heart.”
“And Thunder Canyon speaks to yours?”
“Yes.” It was true, but she probably thought he was a poetic idiot.
He didn’t understand his instant connection to this small town in Montana so far off the beaten path. It crossed his mind that the answer could be in his DNA, but that didn’t make sense. Not really. Arthur Swinton was a greedy opportunist who only cared about himself and that had nothing to do with the place that