“Your parents never cooked?”
The dark memory stole across her joy for a moment. With effort, she pushed it back. “No, they weren’t around.”
He focused on her face and stripped away the barrier. “You never did speak about your past or upbringing,” he said softly. “Either way, I think you’re damn amazing.”
Pleasure surged but she reminded herself he was a man on a mission. “I’ve come a long way since my first column.”
“I remember. You wrote about the lure of the cheeseburger and gained a whole new audience.”
She looked up. “How did you know about that?”
“I read your work while I was away.”
She peered over her glasses, suspicious, but only met a naked hunger in those blue depths that rattled her to the core. She nervously dabbed the napkin at the corner of her lips and looked away. Time to change the subject. “Does your family enjoy having you home?”
“Sometimes.”
“Explain.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The biggest statistic for restaurant failure is money. I have plenty, so when Pop called me, I knew I’d be able to renovate the place and pour funds into marketing and advertising. Of course, my father doesn’t agree. He says the success of Mia Casa depends on heart.”
“I like your dad already.”
“Try working with him. My whole family is the poster image of Italian stubbornness. I tore up half the place to put in a new lounge and update the bar. They hate it. They drove out a celebrity chef and fight me on every change I institute. Sometimes I feel like I need to coax a rabbit from the damn Mad Hatter to win an argument.”
“Have you seen a difference from your investment yet?”
“New clientele are coming in. But not as much as I anticipated. Now, with a great review…”
“Keep dreaming.”
“Right. Well, maybe Gordon Ramsey will bail me out of the mess.”
She arched a brow. “You contacted Ramsey?”
Gavin shrugged. “Worth a try. I pulled in all my contacts and put in a request to get us featured on Kitchen Nightmares.”
“What in the world made you decide on that option?”
“A bottle of Johnny Walker.”
A laugh sputtered from her lips. She hated his wit and humor.
“Does Andy work with you?” he asked.
“He writes the lifestyle column. Exercise, health and diet are his main focus.”
“But he goes with you on reviews?”
“Yep.”
Gavin remained silent. His fishing expedition was obvious, but damned if she’d tell him straight out Andy and her were platonic. Let him stew.
“You’re close friends?”
“Yep.”
The chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. “And he has a kid.”
“Actually, he has two. Stephen and Laura. Laura was in dance class at the time.”
He tapped his shoe absently against the metal rung. “I see. You went to the opera together, which means you must be very close friends.”
“I said that already.”
“Right.”
The tapping grew more insistent. Miranda put down her fork and tried the small portion of linguini. A moan rose to her lips. Perfect. Al-dente, with just enough oil and garlic to make her taste buds sing. Fresh Roma tomatoes, basil…and was that thyme or rosemary? A mixture? Tarragon would be absolutely impossible, right?
“Miranda?”
“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
She choked and grabbed her napkin to keep the linguini from spilling out of her mouth. “What kind of question is that? It’s none of your business.”
He seemed to think it over. “Maybe not. You’ve already told me you think it’s too late for us, but I think you should know he’s one of the reasons I didn’t approach you sooner.”
“What do you mean?”
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the burnished strands. “I followed you a couple of times. I thought if we sat down and talked, I’d get a chance to tell you my side of the story. But you were with Andy, and you both seemed familiar. I decided to keep my distance.”
“You followed me?”
He nodded. “I knew I didn’t have the right to interfere if you were involved. God knows I wanted to, but I figured you’d kick me to the curb.”
“You would’ve been right.” She twirled her linguini around the fork. The idea that Gavin tracked her down made strange feelings stir to life. An inner voice warned her not to go down that yellow brick road, because it would never lead to the wizard. Ah, hell. “Andy is married.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Are you sleeping with him?”
Miranda gasped. “No! I’d never sleep with a married man. I’m good friends with Andy’s wife, Elaine. I babysit, and borrow Andy for reviews. I hate eating alone and can’t bring a date to a business meal.” She pushed her glasses firmly back up her nose. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
He grinned and his shoulders relaxed. “I know. I just wanted to make you mad. Your eyes flash and your cheeks get that flushed look to them. As if we were making—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Sorry.” He gestured toward the food. “Good?”
“It’s okay.” She avoided his knowing stare and concentrated on twirling. “Tell me why you’re back in New York working at the restaurant.”
“Mia Casa has been in the family for a very long time. It was passed on from my great-grandparents. I was trained since a toddler how to work in a restaurant, and everyone assumed that as the eldest son, I’d take over.”
“But you had different plans?”
He gazed off into the distance, as if fighting memories. “I wanted to travel and see new places. We had this customer who used to come in, and he’d always be jetting off to these exotic locations on business. When I told Pop about it he just laughed. Told me real values were based on family, children, and home. I imagined myself his age, doing the same thing day after day, and freaked out. That’s when I made the decision to do everything possible not to give my father what he wanted.”
She tilted her head. “It’s normal for a child to want the opposite of the parents. Especially when there’s a lot of pressure to fall into line.”
He shook his head. “Mia Casa became a trap for me. All I could see was my family struggling all the time to keep it going. We weren’t poor, Miranda. We just didn’t have many things. God knows, I wanted those things.”
“What happened when your parents found out you weren’t going to run the business?”
“First they threw a fit, but eventually they supported my decision. Pop told me I needed to find my own way to happiness.” He cleared his throat as if fighting emotion. “Also told me I’d realize the important things and eventually come home.”
She fiddled with the edge of the napkin. “So, when you got the European contract you felt like you’d achieved your dream.”
“Yes. At first I was happy, or so I told myself. Time blurred and I never questioned my decision. Until Pop called and said Mia Casa was in trouble. I left immediately and decided to stay until I get the restaurant afloat.”
“How long?”
He shifted his feet. “I took a three month leave of absence. I have two months left.”
She nodded. “Will that be enough time?”