Under The Tuscan Sun.... Michelle Douglas
Читать онлайн книгу.
a very special welcome to you, then. What can I help you with?”
He winced. “Actually, we were kind of hoping to just have soup or a salad, but all you have is a full menu.”
“Yes. The chef loves his drama.”
The man’s wife reached over and touched his arm. “I am sort of hungry for this delicious-sounding spaghetti. Maybe we can eat our big meal now and eat light at dinner.”
Her husband laughed. “Fine by me.”
Dani waved Gio over to take their orders, but a few minutes later, she had a similar conversation with a group of tourists who had reservations that night at a restaurant in Florence. They’d stopped at Mancini’s looking for something light, but Rafe’s menu only offered full-course meals.
With the lunchtime crowd thinned and two of the three waitresses gone until dinner, Dani stared at the kitchen door. If she and Rafe really had established a proper working relationship, shouldn’t she tell him what customers told her?
Of course, she should. She shouldn’t be afraid. She should be a good employee.
She headed for the kitchen. “May I speak with you, Chef Rafe?”
His silver-gray eyes met hers. “Yes?”
She swallowed. It was just plain impossible not to be attracted to this guy. “It’s... I... Do you want to hear the things the customers tell me?”
Leaning against his prep table behind him, holding her gaze, he said, “Yes. I always want the opinions of customers.”
She drank in a long breath. The soft, seductive tone of his voice, the way he wouldn’t release her gaze, all reminded her of Louisa’s contention that he was attracted to her. The prospect tied her tongue until she reminded herself that they were at work. And he was dedicated to his diners. In this kitchen, that was all that mattered.
“Okay. Today, I spoke with a couple from the US and a group of tourists, both of whom only wanted soup or salad for lunch.”
“We serve soup and salad.”
“As part of a meal.”
“So they should eat a meal.”
“That was actually their point. They didn’t want a whole meal. Just soup and salad.”
Rafe turned to Emory, his hands raised in question as if he didn’t understand what she was saying.
She tried again. “Look. You want people to come in for both lunch and dinner but you only offer dinners on the menu. Who wants a five-course meal for lunch?”
The silver shimmer in Rafe’s eyes disappeared and he gaped at her. “Any Italian.”
“All right.” So much for thinking he was attracted to her. The tone of his voice was now definitely all business and when it came to his business, he was clearly on a different page than she was. But this time she knew she was right. “Maybe Italians do like to eat that way. But half your patrons are tourists. If they want a big meal, they’ll come at dinnertime. If they just want to experience the joy that is Mancini’s, they’ll be here for lunch. And they’ll probably only want a salad. Or maybe a burger.”
“A burger?” He whispered the word as if it were blasphemy.
“Sure. If they like it, they’ll be back for dinner.”
The kitchen suddenly got very quiet. Every chef in the room and both busboys had turned to face her.
Rafe quietly said, “This is Italy. Tourists want to experience the culture.”
“Yes. You are correct. They do want to experience the culture. But that’s only part of why tourists are here. Most tourists don’t eat two huge meals a day. It couldn’t hurt to put simple salads on the lunch menu, just in case a tourist or two doesn’t want to eat five courses.”
His gray eyes flared. When he spoke, it was slowly, deliberately. “Miss Daniella, you are a tourist playing hostess. I am a world-renowned chef.”
This time the softness of his voice wasn’t seductive. It was insulting and her defenses rose. “I know. But I’m the one in the dining room, talking with your customers—”
His eyes narrowed with anger and she stepped back, suddenly wondering what the hell she was doing. He was her boss. As he’d said, a world-renowned chef. Yet here she was questioning him. She couldn’t seem to turn off the self-defense mechanisms she’d developed to protect herself in middle school when she was constantly teased about not having a home or questioned because her classmates thought being a foster kid meant she was stupid.
She sucked in a long, shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I pushed.”
He gave her a nod that more or less dismissed her and she raced out of the kitchen. But two minutes later a customer asked to speak with Rafe. Considering this her opportunity to be respectful to him, so hopefully they could both forget about their soup and salad disagreement, she walked into the kitchen.
But she didn’t see Rafe.
She turned to a busboy. “Excuse me. Where’s Chef Rafe?”
The young kid pointed at a closed door. “In the office with Emory.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
She headed for the door. Just when she would have pushed it open, she heard Emory’s voice.
“I’m not entirely sure why you argue with her.”
“I argue with her? I was nothing but nice to that girl and she comes into my kitchen and tells me I don’t know my own business.”
Dani winced, realizing they were talking about her.
Emory said, “We need her.”
And Rafe quickly countered with, “You are wrong. Had Nico not sent her, we would have hired someone else by now. Instead, because Nico told her I was desperate, we’re stuck with a woman who thinks we need her, and thinks that gives her the right to make suggestions. Not only do we not need her, but I do not want her here—”
The rest of what Rafe said was lost on Dani as she backed away from the door.
Rafe saying that she wasn’t wanted rolled through her, bringing up more of those memories from middle school before she’d found a permanent foster home with Rosa. The feeling of not being wanted, not having a home, rose in her as if she were still that teenage girl who’d been rejected so many times that her scars burrowed the whole way to her soul.
Tears welled in her eyes. But she fought them, telling herself he was right. She shouldn’t argue with him. But seriously, this time she’d thought she was giving a valuable suggestion. And she’d stopped when she realized she’d pushed too far.
She just couldn’t seem to get her bearings with this guy. And maybe it was time to realize this really wasn’t the job for her and leave.
She pivoted away from the door, raced out of the kitchen and over to Gio. “Um, the guy on table three would like to talk with Rafe. Would you mind getting him?”
Gio studied her face, undoubtedly saw the tears shimmering on her eyelids and smiled kindly. “Sure.”
Dani walked to the podium, intending to get her purse and her coat to leave, but a customer walked in.
* * *
Rafe shook his head as Emory left the office with a laugh. He’d needed to vent and Emory had listened for a few minutes, then he’d shut Rafe down. And that was good. He’d been annoyed that Dani challenged him in front of his staff. But venting to Emory was infinitely better than firing her. Especially since they did need her. He hadn’t even started interviewing for her replacement yet.
He walked into the kitchen at the same time that Gio did. “Chef Rafe, there’s a customer who would like to speak with you.”