Page 10 of Bella Rosa
"She said what?" I can’t keep the smile from my face.
"She said this was the best Italian food she’s ever had. She wanted me to send her compliments to the chef. She specifically said she could feel the heart behind the food. Whatever that means."
My head waiter seems confused, but I know exactly what she means. You can tell when someone actually thinks about what they cook instead of just following the standard recipe handed down from their grandmother. There’s nothing wrong with that, but if you want someone to stop and think about what makes your food different, then you have to step outside the box every now and then.
My feet are moving before I even have a say in the matter. "Sir, where are you going? We need to discuss the issue with the deliveries."
I hear him, but I don’t care. I just want to know why she said what she did. I burst through the kitchen door and startle at least half a dozen people. I make my way around to her table and she lets out a little gasp when she sees how worked up I am.
"Why did you say what you said?" I’m not sure why it matters so much to me. All I know is I have to know the answer.
"What?" She asks in a low voice, looking at me like I’m crazy.
I repeat her words. "Why did you say you can feel the heart behind the food?"
A small blush creeps on her cheeks. She looks down at her hands that are clasped in her lap and smiles. Her smile is soft. Not like the one from before that made my heart do that weird thing, but it’s there. "My father used to talk about how you can always tell if someone cares about what they cook. If they want to put their own stamp on it. I can tell your head chef cares a great deal. I'm sorry I made such a scene earlier. This is just such a big deal for me."
I pull out the chair across from her and sit down. "I’m the head chef." She looks at me with the cutest confused expression on her face. "I’m the owner actually. Co-owner specifically. My dad and I own the restaurant. Every night that I can I’m the acting head chef. On nights like tonight when I have admin things to do, my sous chef takes over for me."
She’s still looking at me like I grew two heads.
"Are you really writing an article for Foodie magazine?" There’s no way, right? That’s a crazy popular magazine in the food community. I can’t let myself get my hopes up about having an article with my restaurant in it.
My question about the article helps her find her words. "Yes. It’s actually like a trial period for me. If all goes well they will publish my article and I’ll become a full time writer and photographer for them."
Her small smile has returned, and so has mine. My restaurant could be in Foodie. That’s insane. I let out a loud laugh. "That’s incredible! I can’t believe you’re going to write about Moretti’s!"
She lets out a little gasp. "You have a wonderful laugh. Oh my gosh did I say that out loud?" She slaps a hand over her mouth so fast it makes a smacking noise.
We both start laughing so hard there are tears running down our faces by the time we realize the ruckus we’ve made. I reach over and catch a tear that’s falling down her cheek. She stops and stares at me with wide eyes, and I pull my hand back quickly. I don’t know what came over me. I’m acting like a fool. I clear my throat to try and regain some composure. "How long are you here for?" I must like to torture myself.
"Three weeks." Damn. That’s confirmation I shouldn’t get involved. I don’t think she’s the type of girl that would be okay with a quick fling, so there’s nothing for us.
I snag a waiter that is walking by. "Can you bring us some more wine?" I then direct my attention back to the dark haired beauty across from me. "What's your plan?"
She gets a furrow in her brow. "Excuse me?"
I lean back in my seat to give the waiter enough room to pour my wine. I hadn't realized I was leaning forward so much. "What's your plan for the rest of your stay? You have to have a plan, or you'll waste time."
She nods her head and starts digging through her massive purse. She hands me a crumpled up piece of paper that has a list of well known restaurants on it. "Right. My bed and breakfast host got her daughter to help me with a list of restaurants to check out."
I’m impressed. I pull a pen out of my pocket and start writing. "This is a good list. I know most of the owners. They would be very happy to have you come by. You'll want to make reservations for these as soon as possible. If you need help getting in, give them my name. That should secure you a good table."
She sighs and says, "That’s the problem. Most of them are too far for me to walk. I’ll have to drive, and I don’t even have an up-to-date drivers license. I live in New York. I only ever take the subway. Are there a lot of ride sharing options around here?"
"There are in the city, but not where some of these restaurants are." She slouches back in her seat looking defeated. Oh shit. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. "I could take you." Fuck.
Her face lights up as she shoots forward in her seat. "No way! Are you serious? Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?"
Oh it absolutely is, but I need to make sure there’s even an article for her to write if I want my restaurant to be in it. "It’s no trouble." I give her a small smile that she returns tenfold. That causes another flip flop in my chest. I add a few more names to the bottom of the list. "These restaurants will be having soft openings within the next couple of weeks. A soft opening is—"
"Like a trial run."
I look up to see her watching me intently. "Yes. Like a trail run."
She smiles as she picks up her wine glass. "This is kind of my job, remember?"
I can't help but smile at her. The little firecracker. "Right. My mistake." I shift my gaze back to the paper and I make a few more notes. "These are mostly open for lunch. You can easily walk to them though, so that shouldn't be a problem."
