Under The Tuscan Sun.... Michelle Douglas
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simply trying to point her in the direction of a new career when she returned to the United States?
The thought relieved her. Life was so much simpler when the sense of destiny was something normal, like an instinct for the restaurant business, rather than longing for her boss—a guy she shouldn’t even be flirting with when she had a marriage proposal waiting for her at home.
Emory came to the podium and interrupted her thoughts. “These are the employee phone numbers. Gio called off sick for tonight’s shift. I’d like you to call in a replacement.”
She glanced up at him. “Who should I call?”
He smiled. “Your choice. Being out here all the time, you know who works better with whom.”
After calling Zola, she walked back to the kitchen to return the list.
Emory shook his head. “This is your responsibility now. A new job for you, while you’re here, to make my life a little easier.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
Without looking at her, Rafe said, “We’d also like you to begin assigning tasks to the busboys. After you say goodbye to a guest, we’d like you to come in and get the busboys. That will free up the waitresses a bit.”
The feeling of destiny swelled in her again. The new tasks felt like a promotion, and there wasn’t a person in the world who didn’t like being promoted.
When Rafe refused to look at her, she winked at Emory. “Okay.”
Walking back to the dining room, she fought the feeling that her destiny, her gift, was for this particular restaurant. Especially since, when returning to New York, she’d start at the bottom of any dining establishment she chose to work, and that would be a problem since she’d only make minimum wage. At Mancini’s, she only needed to earn extra cash. In New York, would a job as a hostess support her?
The next day, Lazare, one of the busboys, called her “Miss Daniella.” The shift from Dani to Miss Daniella caught on in the kitchen and the show of respect had Daniella’s shoulders straightening with confidence. When she brought Rafe out for a compliment from a customer, even he said, “Thank you, Miss Daniella,” and her heart about popped out of her chest with pride.
That brought her back to the suspicion that her sense of destiny wasn’t for the restaurant business, but for this restaurant and these people. If she actually got a job at a restaurant in New York, she couldn’t expect the staff there to treat her this well.
Realizing all her good fortune would stop when she left Mancini’s, her feeling of the “destiny” of belonging in the restaurant business fizzled. She would go home to a tiny apartment, a man whose marriage proposal had scared her and a teaching position that suddenly felt boring.
“Miss Daniella,” Gio said as she approached the podium later that night. “The gentleman at table two would like to speak to the chef.”
She said it calmly, but there was an undercurrent in her voice, as if subtly telling Daniella that this was a problem situation, not a compliment.
She smiled and said, “Thank you, Gio. I’ll handle it.”
She walked over to the table.
The short, stout man didn’t wait for Dani to speak. He immediately said, “My manicotti was dry and tasteless.”
Daniella inclined her head in acknowledgment of his comment. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened. I’ll tell the kitchen staff.”
“I want to talk to the chef.”
His loud, obnoxious voice carried to the tables around him. Daniella peeked behind her at the kitchen door, then glanced at the man again. The restaurant had finally freed itself of people curious about Rafe’s temper. The seats had filled with customers eager to taste his food. She would not let his reputation be ruined by a beady-eyed little man who probably wanted a free dinner.
“We’re extremely busy tonight,” she told the gentleman as she looped her fingers around his biceps and gently urged him to stand. “So rather than a chat with the chef, what if I comp your dinner?”
His eyes widened, then returned to normal, as if he couldn’t believe he was getting what he wanted so easily. “You’ll pay my tab?”
She smiled. “The whole meal.” A quick glance at the table told her that would probably be the entire day’s wage, but it would be worth it to avoid a scene.
“I’d like dessert.”
“We’ll get it for you to go.” She nodded to Gio, who quickly put two slices of cake into a take-out container and within seconds the man and his companion were gone.
* * *
Rafe watched from the sliver of a crack he created when he pushed open the kitchen door a notch. He couldn’t hear what Dani said, but he could see her calm demeanor, her smiles, the gentle but effective way she removed the customer from Rafe’s dining room without the other patrons being any the wiser.
He laughed and Emory walked over.
“What’s funny?”
“Dani just kicked somebody out.”
Emory’s eyes widened. “We had a scene?”
“That’s the beauty of it. Even though he started off yelling, she got him out without causing even a ripple of trouble. I’ll bet the people at the adjoining tables weren’t even aware of what was happening beyond his initial grousing.”
“She is worth her weight in gold.”
Rafe pondered that. “Gio made the choice to get her rather than come to me.”
Emory said, “She trusts Dani.”
He walked away, leaving Rafe with that simple but loaded thought.
At the end of the night, the waitstaff quickly finished their cleanup and began leaving before the kitchen staff. Rafe glanced at the bar, thought about a glass of wine and decided against it. Instead, he walked to the podium as Dani collected her purse.
He waited for the waitresses on duty to leave before he faced Dani.
“You did very well tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“I saw you get rid of the irate customer.”
She winced. “I had to offer to pay for his meal.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
Her gaze met his, tripping the weird feeling in his chest again.
“Really?”
“Yes.” He sucked in a breath, reminding himself he didn’t want the emotions she inspired in him. He wanted a good hostess. He didn’t want a fling with another man’s woman.
“I trust your judgment. If not charging for his food avoided a scene, I’m happy to absorb the cost.”
“Thanks.”
He glanced away, then looked back at her. “Your duties just keep growing.”
“Is this your subtle way of telling me I overstepped?”
He shook his head. “You take work that Emory and I would have to do. Things we truly do not have time for.”
“Which is good?”
“Yes. Very good.” He gazed into her pretty blue eyes and fought the desire to kiss her that crept up before he could stop it. His restaurant was becoming exactly what he’d envisioned because of her. Because she knew how to direct diners’ attention and mood. It was as if they were partners in his venture and though the businessman in him desperately fought his feelings for her, the passionate part of him wanted to lift her off the ground, swing her around and kiss her ardently.
But that was wrong for so