Soft laughter drifted through the air. He paused before table nine and looked over. Fiery red hair burned across the room and framed a face that had haunted his dreams for three years. His gut twisted in emotion. She belonged to him again. The knowledge brought humility. Satisfaction. And a deep, wrenching fear.
He was in love with her. Always had been. Always would be.
“Gavin?”
He blinked and looked down at his customer. “Yes, Mrs. Deniston?”
The older couple shared a look of common understanding. “You got it bad, son.”
Gavin groaned. “Is it that obvious?”
“You’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes. You also look like you’ve been run over by a freight train. All the signs are there.” Mr. Deniston scooped up the bill and poked his finger in the air. “You’d better do something about it.”
Gavin watched as his brother placed his hand over Miranda’s. “Hmm, maybe you’re right.”
“Don’t screw up. The right one comes along but once in a lifetime.”
“Maybe it’s time I take that advice. Thanks, Mr. Deniston. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll try some damage control.”
Funny, the revelation he loved her came naturally, almost as if the knowledge was always there in his heart. He just needed the guts to finally admit it. He needed to tell her. More importantly, he had to find a way to make her come with him.
Or he could stay.
The constant battle warred and left a trail of unease. Yes, he realized he wasn’t as happy in his job, but maybe he’d be able to tweak his career to make it more user-friendly. Was he really ready to chuck years of sacrifice and work to run a restaurant he never wanted? Save it, yes. Be more involved with Mia Casa and his family, yes. Visit more, yes.
But drop his entire life to work day and night in the food industry?
He pushed his thoughts aside and joined Brando, who perched on the edge of his seat, and leaned close to Miranda. “I think my brother is seriously crushing on you, baby. He’s been dragging you for pizza a lot lately.”
Brando glared. “You know I’m in love with Tracey.”
A grin tugged at Gavin’s lips. “Sorry.”
Miranda turned to Brando. “Why don’t I come by tomorrow at lunch, and we’ll finish our conversation?”
Brando brightened. “Okay. Come on, Dominick, let’s finish up in the back.”
The three men trooped off, looking star-struck. Gavin shook his head.
“What?” she asked.
“Why do you have to smile at them like that?”
She laughed. “Hmm, you’re still the same possessive Italian from years ago. They’re your family, darling. Perfectly safe to flirt with.”
He grunted. “Did Helena of Troy say something like that before the Trojan War?”
She linked her fingers through his and leaned in. The sweet scents of fresh berries drifted in the air. Her black crocheted sweater slipped down over one shoulder. He slipped one hand under the strap of her lace camisole and caressed her with a light, teasing touch. A rush of satisfaction hit him at her quick indrawn breath.
“Do you have to go back to work?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” He kneaded her neck with firm strokes, then massaged her scalp. She groaned. “Can you be late?”
“This can’t be possible. How can we want each other again so soon? After last night. And this morning. And in the kitchen.”
“We never did get breakfast.”
“You’re turning me into a nympho. I think I’m walking around with a stupid smile on my face 24/7, and Andy’s torturing me.”
He chuckled. “I’m getting the same treatment here.”
She pressed a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ve got to get back to the paper. If I don’t set up another good review, my editor will fire me. I’ve already drafted three columns, and they’re all on take-out Chinese.”
“That’s all we’ve eaten for the last four days.” He glanced down at her plate. “You didn’t touch your lunch.”
Her brow crinkled in frustration. “I know. Probably all that take-out. My stomach’s been queasy lately.”
“Are you getting sick?”
She shrugged. “Probably the beginning of that nasty stomach flu. It’s going around the office.”
“That settles it. I’m putting you to bed early tonight.”
A wicked gleam flashed in jade green eyes. “Do we get to play doctor?”
He grew to full attention at the idea of that scene. “Definitely,” he growled. Gavin grabbed her hand and led her outside the restaurant. “Have some tea to settle your stomach.”
“Darling, I have tea every night.”
“Have some crackers this time, maybe that will help.”
She laughed, but Gavin caught the pale tint to her skin when she passed a tray of steaming garlic pasta. He stepped onto the street. “Maybe you should go home now.”
“I’ll be fine. If I get worse, I’ll just work from home today.”
“Excuse me, I wondered if you can answer a question for us?”
Gavin turned to the two women dressed in expensive business suits by the door. What can I help you with?” he asked.
One woman motioned toward the sign. “Is this place any good? We’re both dying for Italian food, but we heard it got trashed in The Herald.”
Miranda stiffened. Gavin kept his voice calm and even. “We had some problems the night the critic visited. I’m the owner of the restaurant, and I can assure you both the food is outstanding.”
They shared a look. Gavin almost groaned. Obviously, they didn’t believe an owner could be impartial, and they were trying to come up with a dignified excuse that would allow them to leave.
“I never listen to critics,” Miranda cut in. “You can’t trust any of them—all they do is make money to eat for free and spout their own inflated opinions.”
Gavin wondered if she was running a fever.
“Did you eat in there?”
She nodded at the woman’s question. “Yep. Food was awesome, best Italian I’ve had in years.”
Obviously the women didn’t recognize her face, though they read her column. “Umm, may I interrupt and say—”
She waved one hand in the air. “Pasta is all homemade, bread is freshly baked, and the eggplant is perfect.”
Both women looked intrigued. “That sounds good. “
“It is. I eat here all the time.”
Gavin wondered if the sun cast that strange tint to her skin, or if she was really turning green. She continued praising his restaurant while the women inched toward the entrance.
“Thanks for the advice. By the way, what did you have for lunch?”
Gavin waited and wondered if she’d admit she only had a salad.
“Garlic pasta,” she said heartily. “It’s one of their specials, you’ll love it. In fact, I think—”
She gripped her stomach and bit down on her lower lip.
Gavin decided she’d turned the same shade the broccoli rabe was the night of her review. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
She gulped in a big breath of air. Her brow knit in concentration as she seemed to will away the waves of sickness.
Gavin guessed the action didn’t work.
She bent over and vomited on the sidewalk.
When Gavin looked up, the two women had hurried down the block and disappeared from sight.
…
“I’m so sorry.” A shiver seized her body and she buried deeper into the sea green blanket. The soft threads, crocheted by her grandma, soothed her. “I totally screwed up helping you get customers.”