Susan Meier - Marriage Made In Monte Calanetti

“Are you the chef?”

Rafe stopped at the question from the customer. Behind him, Mic stopped too.

“Si.”

The customer smiled. “Your spaghetti sucks.”

Rafe scoffed. “My spaghetti is superb. If you disagree, your palate … how you say? … Sucks?”

Rafe’s response didn’t surprise Mic. Rafe was so good at what he did that he sometimes couldn’t relate to ordinary people. What shocked Mic was the laughter that quietly rippled through the dining room.

Rafe moved on as if unconcerned, marching Mic to a table in the back as he waved over a waitress. “Tonight’s dinner is on me. Give me twenty minutes and I will make you the happiest man on earth.”

Watching Rafe leave, he didn’t see the waitress who’d appeared at the side of the table and slid a menu in front of him. He opened it as he glanced up with a smile, then his breathing and—he was sure—his heart stopped.

“Liliana?”

Her waitress smile faded. Her brown eyes darkened. “Mic?”

He tried to think of something clever to say, but words failed him. After two years of teaching himself to forget her and another six years of believing he had. Here she was.

The question was: could he be polite? Or should he demand the answers he should have gotten eight years ago?

Liliana Norelli’s breath froze. Her body swayed. Was gorgeous Mic—the only man she’d ever loved—really here?

She blinked once to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. When her eyes opened again, Michele’s surprising blue eyes still stared up at her. His full lips formed a thin, intolerant line.

That quickly brought her to her senses. She cleared her throat. “I don’t think Chef Rafe wants you to order. I only brought the menu so you could see what he offers.” She turned to walk away but he caught her hand. “This is all you have to say to me?”

Oh, there were a million things she wanted to say. A million questions she wanted to ask. She’d given him up eight years ago so he could pursue his dream. She longed to know her sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.

But with his fingers sliding across her sensitive skin and every nerve ending in her body tingling with the memory of those clever hands on her, she said nothing. They’d been so crazy in love that her refusal of his marriage proposal had devastated him. But she’d known the cost of supporting two people in Paris would have been nearly impossible. Adding her ten-year-old sister would have tipped the scales from nearly impossible to totally impossible. He would have killed himself trying to afford an apartment large enough for three, and in the end he would have lost his dream apprenticeship. So she’d pretended he had only been a fling for her and he’d gone to Paris hating her for making a fool of him.

So … no. She could not ask him how he was. She could not hug him because she was so happy to see him. She could not anything.

She pulled her arm away.

Totally oblivious, Rafe returned with a seafood platter antipasto with calamari, mussels, smoked salmon, tuna fish and olives.

Mic grinned. His short dark hair was far different than the long curls he’d worn eight years ago. His body had filled out. His shoulders had become broad. His arms were muscled. Memories of her happy time with him raced through her brain, warming her blood and saddening her soul.

Taking advantage of Rafe’s presence, Lily sped away.

But as the night drew to a close with her chef spoiling the only man she’d ever loved, she grew more and more tired. It had taken her years to get over him, but one night in the same space with him and everything she’d worked to forget came tumbling back. Long nights in bed. Shared lattes because they were too poor to buy more than one. How he’d always left the last sip for her.

All she wanted to do was go home and weep.

Mic said goodnight to Rafe and looked over at her. Held in the gaze of those striking blue eyes, her golden memories returned, along with the sense that her real life hadn’t begun until the moment she’d given herself to him.

Shrugging into his leather jacket—a sign of how successful he’d been, proving she’d made the right choice in letting him go—he walked over.

“I think things need to be resolved between us.”

Refusing to let him see her pain, she broke through her own sadness to smile. “Things are fine between us.”

“Fine enough for us to work together?”

Her eyes widened. “You are working here?”

“Yes, Rafe and I decided that while I’m in town, it would be fun to work together again. With two master chefs, this place will shine. I start tomorrow.”

Lily held back a gasp. Working with Mic? Seeing him eight or ten hours a day for weeks? She’d never survive.

Still, if she gave him even the slightest inkling of how difficult it was to see him, he’d take advantage and push for answers about their breakup. Answers she wasn’t prepared to give and he wouldn’t be happy to hear.

“That’s fine. I’m fine with you being here. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gave her a confused look that quickly turned into a look of condemnation, but he said nothing, only turned and walked away.

Lily deflated. The man hated her. How was she going to work with someone who hated her?

The next day, she prepared herself before she walked into Mancini’s. No matter what Mic said or did, she could not react. She had to get through these few weeks.

But after the first hour of ignoring her, Mic slowly came around. At first, it was a simple “you’re welcome” when she said “thank you”. Then he handed her orders across the stainless steel shelf. Soon they were working together normally.

She would have breathed a sigh of relief, except the next time she came into the kitchen she caught him staring at her.

A shiver ran up her spine. Not the shivers of fear, but the shivers of memory. That look he gave her was the same one he had every time she’d undressed for him.

The very thought made her breath catch, as memory after memory flooded her, and she knew she had to get away from him.

With the night ending and the crowd dwindling, she stood at the Maître D podium with Gino Scarpetti, the tall, stiff man who seated guests at Mancini’s.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to close down for the night?” Gino asked, one eyebrow quirking.

“Si.”

“Why aren’t you?”

Before she could answer, Mic came out of the kitchen. He walked to the bar and reached for a bottle of wine—undoubtedly wine for him and Rafe to drink as they closed the kitchen. But when he turned from getting the wine, his eyes met hers.

Their gazes caught and held. He couldn’t hide the look of longing and she couldn’t seem to turn away. She’d pined for him for years, unable to move on, unable to forget the man she’d let go, even though she knew he probably hated her.

Mic blinked and turned to return to the kitchen.

Gino said, “You two knew each other before, didn’t you?”

Her heart thundering in her chest, Lily said, “We dated.”

“From the way he looks at you, I think our Mic might like to start things up again.”

Lily’s heart wanted to say, “Really?” But her head was too smart. Mic was a proud man and she’d hurt him. There was no way he’d want anything to do with her.

“I think if you strolled into that kitchen right now and asked him out, he’d be putty in your hands.”

Oh how she wished she could do that. But she’d had one shot with him and she’d given him up. Sacrificed their love for his success. There was no turning back now …

Was there?