She did not want him.
Really.
She needed somebody like Paul.
Though she knew that was true, it didn’t sit right. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he didn’t want to pick her up at the airport, how he’d barely had two minutes to talk to her and how he’d told her not to call again.
She tried to read, tried to chat with Louisa about the house, but in the end, she knew she needed to get herself out of the house or she’d make herself crazy.
She told Louisa she was going for a drive and headed into town.
* * *
Antsy, unable to focus, and afraid he was going to royally screw something up and disappoint a customer, Rafe turned Mancini’s over to Emory.
“It’s not like you to leave so early.”
“It’s already eight o’clock.” Rafe shrugged into his black wool coat. “Maybe too many back-to-back days have made me tired.”
Emory smiled. “Ah, so maybe like Dani, you need a day off?”
Buttoning his coat, he ignored the dig and walked to the back door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But as he was driving through town, he saw the ugly green car Dani drove sitting at the tavern again. The last time she’d been there had been the day he’d inadvertently insulted her. She didn’t seem like the type to frequent taverns, so what if she was upset again?
His heart gave a kick and he whipped his SUV into a parking place, raced across the quiet street and entered the tavern to find her at the same table she’d been at before.
He walked over. She glanced up.
Hungrier for the sight of her than was wise, he held her gaze as he slid onto the chair across from her. “So this is how you spend your precious time off.”
She shook her head. “Don’t start.”
He hadn’t meant to be argumentative. In fact that was part of their problem. There was no middle with them. They either argued or lusted after each other. Given that he was her boss and she was engaged, both were wrong.
The bartender ambled over. He set a coaster in front of Rafe with a sigh. “You want another bottle of that fancy wine?”
Rafe shook his head and named one of the beers on tap before he pointed to Dani’s glass. “And another of whatever she’s having.”
As the bartender walked away, she said, “You don’t have to buy me a beer.”
“I’m being friendly because I think we need to find some kind of balance.” He was tired of arguing, but he also couldn’t go on thinking about her all the time. The best way to handle both would be to classify their relationship as a friendship. Tonight, he could get some questions answered, get to know her and see that she was just like everybody else. Not somebody special. Then they could both go back to normal.
“Balance?”
He shrugged. Leaning back, he anchored his arm across the empty chair beside him. “We’re either confiding like people who want to become lovers, or we fight.”
She turned her beer glass nervously. “That’s true.”
“So, we drink a beer together. We talk about inconsequential things, and Wednesday when you return to Mancini’s, no one snipes.”
She laughed.
He smiled. “What did you do today?”
“I went to the town where my foster mother’s relatives lived.”
His beer arrived. Waiting for her to elaborate, he took a sip. Then another. When she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “So did you find them?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
Her smooth skin virtually glowed. Her blue eyes met his. Interest and longing swam through him. He ignored both in favor of what now seemed to be a good mission. Becoming friends. Finding a middle ground where they weren’t fighting or lusting, but a place where they could coexist.
“What did you do today?”
“Today I created a lasagna that should have made customers die from pleasure.”
She laughed. “Exaggerate much?”
He pointed a finger at her. “It’s not an exaggeration. It’s confidence.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t like confidence?”
She studied his face. “Maybe it’s more that I don’t trust it.”
“What’s to trust? I love to cook, to make people happy, to surprise them with something wonderful. But I didn’t just open a door to my kitchen and say, come eat this. I went to school. I did apprenticeships. My confidence is in my teachers’ ability to take me to the next level as much as it is in my ability to learn, and then do.”
Her head tilted. “So it’s not all about you.”
He laughed, shook his head. “Where do you get these ideas?”
“You’re kind of arrogant.”
He batted his hand. “Arrogant? Confident? Who cares as long as the end result is good?”
“I guess...”
“I know.” He took another sip of beer, watching as she slid her first drink—which he assumed was warm—aside and reached for the second glass he’d bought for her. “Not much of a drinker?”
“No.”
“So what are you?”
She laughed. “Is this how you become friends with someone?”
“Conversation is how everyone becomes friends.”
“I thought it was shared experience.”
“We don’t have time for shared experience. If we want to become friends by Wednesday we need to take shortcuts.”
She inclined her head as if agreeing.
He waited. When she said nothing, he reframed his question. “So you are happy teaching?”
“I’m a good teacher.”
“But you are not happy?”
“I’m just not sure people are supposed to be happy.”
He blinked. That was the very last thing he’d expected to hear from his bubbly hostess. “Seriously?”
She met his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’re meant to be content. I think we’re meant to find a spot and fill it. But happy? That’s reserved for big events or holidays.”
For thirty seconds, he wished she were staying in Italy. He wished he had time enough to show her the sights, teach her the basics of cooking, make her laugh, show her what happiness was. But that wasn’t the mission. The mission was to get to know her just enough that they would stop arguing.
“This from my happy, upbeat hostess?”
She met his gaze again. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about work.”
“We’re talking about you, not work.”
She picked up her beer glass. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about me.”
Which only filled him with a thousand questions. When she was at Mancini’s she was usually joyful. After a day off, she was as sad as the day he’d hurt her feelings? It made no sense...unless he believed that she loved working in his restaurant enough that it filled her with joy.
That made his pulse