Marriage Made In Monte Calanetti. SUSAN MEIER
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“Yes, Rafe and I decided that while I’m in town, it would be fun to work together again. With two master chefs, this place will shine. I start tomorrow.”
Lily held back a gasp. Working with Mic? Seeing him eight or ten hours a day for weeks? She’d never survive.
Still, if she gave him even the slightest inkling of how difficult it was to see him, he’d take advantage and push for answers about their breakup. Answers she wasn’t prepared to give and he wouldn’t be happy to hear.
“That’s fine. I’m fine with you being here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He gave her a confused look that quickly turned into a look of condemnation, but he said nothing, only turned and walked away.
Lily deflated. The man hated her. How was she going to work with someone who hated her?
The next day, she prepared herself before she walked into Mancini’s. No matter what Mic said or did, she could not react. She had to get through these few weeks.
But after the first hour of ignoring her, Mic slowly came around. At first, it was a simple “you’re welcome” when she said “thank you”. Then he handed her orders across the stainless steel shelf. Soon they were working together normally.
She would have breathed a sigh of relief, except the next time she came into the kitchen she caught him staring at her.
A shiver ran up her spine. Not the shivers of fear, but the shivers of memory. That look he gave her was the same one he had every time she’d undressed for him.
The very thought made her breath catch, as memory after memory flooded her, and she knew she had to get away from him.
With the night ending and the crowd dwindling, she stood at the Maître D podium with Gino Scarpetti, the tall, stiff man who seated guests at Mancini’s.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to close down for the night?” Gino asked, one eyebrow quirking.
“Si.”
“Why aren’t you?”
Before she could answer, Mic came out of the kitchen. He walked to the bar and reached for a bottle of wine—undoubtedly wine for him and Rafe to drink as they closed the kitchen. But when he turned from getting the wine, his eyes met hers.
Their gazes caught and held. He couldn’t hide the look of longing and she couldn’t seem to turn away. She’d pined for him for years, unable to move on, unable to forget the man she’d let go, even though she knew he probably hated her.
Mic blinked and turned to return to the kitchen.
Gino said, “You two knew each other before, didn’t you?”
Her heart thundering in her chest, Lily said, “We dated.”
“From the way he looks at you, I think our Mic might like to start things up again.”
Lily’s heart wanted to say, “Really?” But her head was too smart. Mic was a proud man and she’d hurt him. There was no way he’d want anything to do with her.
“I think if you strolled into that kitchen right now and asked him out, he’d be putty in your hands.”
Oh how she wished she could do that. But she’d had one shot with him and she’d given him up. Sacrificed their love for his success. There was no turning back now …
Was there?
Three days later, with beautiful Lily with her long black hair, dark, dark eyes and lush figure only inches away from his itchy fingers every day, Mic wondered if fate wasn’t trying to drive him insane.
She cheerfully walked into the kitchen for a pickup. In the dark pants and white blouses required by Rafe, the other waitresses looked plain. But not Lily. Her curves made the simple garments a treat for the eyes, as her perpetual smile lit up the restaurant.
“Be careful with that butter.”
Mic shook his head and ripped his gaze away from Lily as she exited the kitchen. The butter in the frying pan spit and sputtered. He whipped the pan off the stove. Rafe frowned. “Your mind wanders.”
“A fluke.”
“I think it is more that you can’t keep your eyes off my waitress.”
Mic laughed. “You’re just worried about competition. Afraid your customers will miss me when I’m gone.” But even as he said the words, Lily returned. He took in the thick hair he had at one time run his fingers through and her breasts filling out the plain white blouse. Today she looked every bit as perfect as he remembered her to be.
“You are gone again.”
Mic almost cursed. The woman had spent an entire summer with him. She’d warmed his bed, but then she’d dumped him. Cruelly. How could he still find her enticing?
He shouldn’t.
He refused.
She came bouncing into the kitchen again, her ponytail bobbing.
He slid a warm plate to the stainless steel shelf between them. “Tortellini?”
The smile in her eyes caught him off guard. “Si. Grazie.” Taking the plate, she spun away and raced out of the kitchen.
Mic’s pulse scrambled and his heart kicked against his ribs. Her body might tempt him, but that smile brought back memories far more dangerous than the lure of her body. He’d helped her get beyond the loss of her parents. She’d been his biggest cheerleader. In his mind, their relationship had been as happy as their chemistry had been blistering hot.
But those wonderful memories might be the problem. Because he hadn’t had another serious relationship since the one he had with her, he kept remembering things as if they were perfect. Clearly, they hadn’t been.
At the end of the night, he sat at the bar with Rafe, helping with the next day’s menu, as he surreptitiously watched the waitresses clear the dining room.
Halfway through a suggestion for a tangier sauce, his brain stalled. This time Rafe only sighed. But Mic had had enough.
No one could be as perfect as he remembered Lily to be. Yet, he couldn’t seem to convince himself of that with simple words. Mostly because he was curious.
He’d loved her enough at one time to want to marry her. She’d broken his heart. And now here she was, a waitress. Somehow he’d always believed she’d left him for something more. Something better.
So why was she still here in Monte Calanetti?
The next day, Lily placed her order for a latte and scone at the coffeehouse. But before she could pay, a hand came from behind, giving the money to the cashier.
She spun around. Mic.
Her heart speeded up and her stomach plummeted. She’d hoped her time off would be her chance to get away from his probing eyes. The day before, he’d done nothing but stare at her. She’d expected anger. Maybe a little bit of resentment. But curiosity? What if he asked her how she’d spent the last eight years? How sad would it be to have to admit she and her sister would have been destitute had it not been for Signor Bartolini, owner of Palazzo di Comparino, giving them a place to live when she took the job as his maid?
“I can afford my own coffee now.”
He