Everybody loved her. In less than two weeks she had learnt the names of not just every member of staff, but the names of their husbands, wives, children, grandchildren, dogs, rabbits and goldfish. Wherever she went, people greeted her, stopped her. If she wasn’t discussing haircuts with Bella on reception, she was asking Mario about how his dog’s operation had gone or was admiring pictures of Maria’s newest grandchild.
Luca thought of himself as a hands-on, informal, friendly boss; he had known some of these people all his life. Yet Minty had discovered more about their lives, their worries, their joys, in days than he had in all that time.
Her ex was wrong, he thought. She would have made an excellent politician’s wife.
Even in the privacy of his office her name was brought up constantly. Everyone was delighted with her hard work, her enthusiasm, her attempts to speak Italian and her ideas. The staff of Di Tore Dolce were rapidly becoming fully paid-up members of the Minty Davenport fan club.
‘Luca!’ And here she was: in his thoughts, his dreams, his conversations, his home. And now in his office.
‘Buongiorno.’ He didn’t mean to sound so formal, so aloof, every time he spoke to her.
It just seemed safer. Twice she had got to him. Twice he had broken his resolve to keep clear, remember that she was unsafe, toxic.
Not that she seemed to notice. She was practically shaking with excitement as she danced up to his desk, a small paper cup in her hand.
‘Look what I did!’ She put the cup down on his desk and took a step backwards, beaming like a proud mother hen. ‘All by myself. Well, actually, with huge amounts of help and input and advice and supervision, but practically all by myself.’
Luca gave up. It was impossible to maintain a formal distance in the face of such all-consuming enthusiasm. ‘What is it?’ He peered into the cup. ‘It looks like gelato.’
‘Of course it’s gelato! You own a gelato factory, you noodle. What was I going to make, some sort of new dog food?’
With a smile, he conceded the point.
‘But this is my very own recipe, mixed by my very own hands. It’s for the autumn special-editions. Tomas said to let you try it. That’s good, right? It means it’s passed the first test?’ She bit down on her lower lip with suppressed excitement, drawing his attention to its fullness. ‘Do you want me to tell you what it is?’
Luca dragged his eyes away from her sparkling eyes and the sensual curve of her mouth. They were too distracting.
‘No, no, I’ll try it first.’
She was jigging from foot to foot in her excitement. ‘Go on, then!’
Some men were wine snobs, closing their eyes and inhaling before tasting. Luca enjoyed a fine wine but didn’t take it too seriously. After all, any local vineyard sold a decent table wine for just a few euros. Gelato, however; well, gelato he took very seriously, especially if it had his name on it.
He pulled the paper cup close, took the small tasting spoon and scooped a mouthful out of the cup, examining it closely. It was a pale, creamy colour, flecked with small biscuit-coloured chunks and a streak of clear fruit puree. Cautiously, he held it close to his nose and took a deep breath. Ah... Apple and cinnamon were the most pervasive flavours, instantly filling his nostrils with the scent of home baking, country kitchens. Autumn smells. He nodded slowly. So far, so good.
He brought the spoon to his mouth and carefully licked just a small portion of the ice cream, rolling the cold, creamy morsel round his mouth until he had savoured every flavour. The gelato base was creamier than usual; he would guess it had been made with a vanilla crème anglaise then swirled through with the apple puree and cinnamon. And the chunks...
He slid the rest of the portion off the spoon and into his mouth: a soft, crumbly, sweet texture. Sponge; apple, cinnamon, custard and sponge. It was delicious.
‘Well? What do you think?’
‘Very good indeed.’
‘Isn’t it? It came to me at the weekend, when I was working in the café. At first I was thinking of cupcakes but then I thought about the expansion and a way to corner the UK market. What better than English classic puds with an Italian gelato twist? Eve’s pudding—which is this one—crumbles, pies, even arctic roll? Of course,’ she added, ‘I might steal my own idea for cupcakes too. There’s no direct competition. Arctic roll cupcakes might be rather fun.’
Minty had perched on his desk, one long leg slung across the other, and her words were almost drowned out by the roaring in his ears. Mio Dio, did she have any idea of the effect she was having on him, sitting so close?
Today her formal office wear had been discarded and she was wearing a pretty summer dress in a deep sky-blue reminiscent of her eyes. Her legs were bare and far too close. Within touching distance. Her feet were clad in flimsy velvet flip-flops, her toenails painted to match her dress.
He really should say something about inappropriate footwear but all the breath had been sucked out of his chest.
Oblivious, she rattled on. ‘For all our sophistication, we are traditionalists at heart, especially with pudding. If you are going for a soft opening in the autumn, then this kind of stodgy comfort food might be the way forward.’
He could just put his hand out and touch her thigh, run his hand along those long, toned legs. Or put both hands on her waist and swivel her around. Pull her close to the end of the desk, down onto his lap, facing him.
Dear God, his mouth was dry. He stood up abruptly and skirted past her to the other end of the office, to the safety of his water cooler, to the safety of distance.
Luca took a sip of the ice-cold water, and then another, eyes focussed on the painting on the opposite wall, a vibrant abstract of the local countryside. But he wasn’t noticing the colours, the skilful brushstrokes, the stunning overall effect. He was trying to dampen down this sudden, fierce wave of desire that had swamped him.
What was wrong with him? So she had nice legs. So did hundreds of other women and he didn’t find himself wanting to stroke their thighs, thank goodness. That kind of behaviour could get a man into serious trouble. Blonde hair didn’t usually do it for him, either. That one night with Minty aside, his previous relationships had all been with brunettes.
Grimly he began to recite in his head all the reasons walking over to her and pulling her close were such a bad idea: she was working for him, she was practically family and she was a city girl with a life she was going to return to very, very soon.
The last time he’d given in to an urge to kiss her it had not ended well.
And, he told himself firmly, they had nothing in common. Oh, she was filled with excitement and passion for his business right now. That was because it was new and fun, different.
They both knew she wasn’t going to stick around.
But, a little insistent voice in his head pointed out, what did all that matter? Sure, Luca wanted a wife, a family, but it wasn’t as if he was dating anybody right now. Was he planning to live like a monk until he found the perfect candidate? Minty wasn’t actually working for him, she was playing at working. He wasn’t her boss; she could walk away any time.
She was no longer a girl. There was nothing wrong in wanting her now.
And she wanted him too. He’d seen it in those deep blue eyes as mysterious as the sea. He’d seen it in the flush of her cheeks, the curve of her lips. If he walked over there now and kissed her, she would respond. He knew that at some primeval level with utter certainty.
He just had to push that knowledge away. Far, far away.
* * *
‘So, next I’m spending some time in packaging and design and Tomas suggested that if you like the ice cream I could concentrate on the packaging for it. Not just for this, but for the concept. That’s if I’m staying.