Page 31 of Banter & Blushes

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head, “that’s where I draw the line. You’re not making me drink some weirdmixologistdisaster. I’m sticking toregulardrinks.”

“Iama professional,” I said, grinning. “And you know what? I think you’ll love my special ‘humiliation cocktail.’ It’s a classic.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “Humiliation cocktail, huh? I should’ve known better than to trust a chef to make something that doesn’t sound like it’s going to kill me.”

“Well, what can I say? You inspire me. And it won’tkillyou,” I said, leaning back against the counter. “But it might just make you forget how badly you tripped over a stoolandbroke my plates.”

“Okay,” she said with a half-smile, “now you’re just rubbing it in.”

“I’ll stop.Eventually,” I said with a wink.

All jokes aside—I really liked this. All of it. The food, the jokes, the awkwardness, theweirdenergy we had together. Becky was a mess. But she was my mess right now.

And somehow, I was okay with that.

AGE, BUT NOT THAT KIND OF AGE

REBECCA

The entire ride back to my hotel that afternoon was a blur of awkwardness, mostly because I kept replaying the last few hours in my head, trying to figure out how I’dsurvivedLuca’s kitchen without spontaneously combusting from sheer humiliation. I’d literally tripped over my own feet and somehow ended up in his arms more times than I could count. At this rate, I was pretty sure I was going to develop a reputation in this small town for being a walking disaster, which, let’s face it, was probably fair.

But as much as I wanted to crawl under a rock and pretend I’d never seen Luca or his ridiculously toned arms ever again, there was a small, insidious part of me thatdidn’t mindspending time with him. Not one bit.

By the time the taxi driver and I reached the hotel, I was so lost in my own thoughts that I nearly forgot I had a real, actualbest friendwho was probably going to want to hear all about my day. The second I stepped into the lobby, Maya popped up out of nowhere—probably because she had an uncanny ability to smell my nervous energy from a mile away.

"How was your day, Miss ‘I’m-Too-Cool-for-Awesome-Food-Places’?” Maya asked, grinning like she already knew the answer. She hadthatlook on her face, the one that screamed, “I already know I’m going to make fun of you for this, and I’m not even sorry.”

I sighed, trying to hide my discomfort. “Honestly, Maya,don’t even ask. I’m still processing the fact that I somehow tripped over a stool and ended up in Luca’s arms, and then knocked over a stack of plates...”

She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Wait, wait,Luca? Who’s Luca?” Her wrinkled brow immediately smoothed into a wide expression within seconds. “The chef? Theguywith the tattoos and the arms that are basically a work of art?”

I stared at her. “Yes, the Luca with the arms...”

“And youfell into his arms?” she asked, her voice inching into territory where I could already hear the teasing tone forming. “Rebecca, that’s like a rom-com plotlinein real life. I’m literally cringing for you right now.”

“Oh, don’t,” I said, running a hand through my wild curls. “I’m already cringing enough for both of us, thanks.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, putting her hands up in mock surrender. “But Ihaveto know. Was therechemistry? Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that youhatechemistry in the literal sense. But if it'sromanticchemistry? Well, honey, that’s a different story.”

I groaned, flopping down onto the nearest couch. “Can wenotdo this? I was a literal trainwreck in front of him. It was like I stepped into a disaster zone and he was just there, looking too perfect to be real. And the worst part? Ilikedbeing around him. But also, I’m definitely not looking for a fling, Maya. I’m, you know... a grown woman witha careerandplans.”

“Right, right,” she said, settling beside me and nudging me with her elbow. “A career.Plans. I get it. You’re not here for fun. Except... hmm... you were justfalling into his arms. And I’m pretty sure you had a whole conversation about ‘humiliation cocktails.’ Is that part of your ‘career plan’ too?”

I shot her a glare. How did she know? “Please, stop. You’re making me sound like I’m out here trying to getmyselfinto trouble.”

“Trouble?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Honey, youaretrouble. You can’t even walk through a kitchen without causing a catastrophe. But I’m not judging you. Not when you’ve got a hot chefpracticallycarrying you around the restaurant.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and I immediately regretted telling her anything.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling my stomach twist. “I think he’s... way too young for me.”

Maya blinked, clearly confused. “Wait. What?Too young? How old is he, like, 25?”

"I think he's 28," I muttered, staring at my shoes like they held the key to my existential crisis. I mean, he couldn’t be head chef at 20 or 25, could he? Unless he was trained by 16? But that didn’t add up. The only thing that made sense was that he was in his late 20s, though he definitely didn’t look 30.

“28?” Maya repeated, her voice getting louder and more incredulous with each word. “Becky, sweetie, I love you, but that’s like...barelyyounger than you. If you were, like, 45 or something, I’d be all ‘okay, I see where you're coming from,’but you’re38, not80.”

I groaned. “I’m 39, Maya.”

“Even better!” she said, clapping her hands together like she was encouraging me to do something wild. “You’re practicallyageless! The man is 28—youare in your prime, honey. It’s not like you’re a cougar or anything.”

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