Three years ago, when George hired Tanner as a cook at the diner and he and Anita started working together, it hadn’t taken long for those puppy-love feelings to return. Only this time it wasn’t puppy love, and she had no idea what to do with the intense attraction she felt toward him—other than hide it from him. That was difficult enough forher to do when they were surrounded by coworkers and customers. This would be the first time they’d been alone.
“Unless you’re busy,” he said, uncertainty entering his sage-green eyes. “I don’t want to impose.”
Never one to turn down a request for help, she shook her head. “You’re not imposing.” She placed her purse on one of the round red-and-silver stools and sat down on the empty one next to it.
“Awesome.” He smiled, his gorgeous eyes meeting hers.
Double sigh.
“I’ll be right back.” He spun around and dashed to the kitchen, then returned holding a large white plate filled with a variety of small appetizers. “These are for Harper’s party,” he said, putting the plate in front of her. “I thought I would add a Spanish twist to the menu and serve some of my grandmother’s recipes.”
She had forgotten he was catering Harper’s cocktail party next Saturday night. Or rather, she’d been too surprised to find out Harper had invited her but not Olivia or Riley to think about anything else. Then again, both Olivia and Riley were busy, Olivia with her job as head of the Maple Falls library and studying for her second master’s degree, and Riley with work and wedding plans. So Anita had been the one to get the invite. She still didn’t know what she was going to wear. Being invited to cocktail parties didn’t happen very often.
More like never.
Tanner pointed at each sample. “There’s ham, cheese, and olive empanadas; Spanish tomato bread; roasted pepper–stuffed mushrooms;patatas bravas; andbandarillas.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” she said. He’d even rolled hisr’s.
“I don’t. Not much, anyway. My mom’s family is third-generation Puerto Rican transplants, and Dad’s was from Spain. I picked up some words growing up, mostly from Dad, but not many. He insisted we all speak English.”
She’d known Rosa and Alonzo Castillo growing up; the Castillo family had attended the same church Anita went to. She hadn’t been aware of their backgrounds, though, and Tanner had never mentioned his father to her until now. Their tutoring sessions in high school had always focused on the subject matter—or at least Tanner had. Anita couldn’t say the same. Why would she pay attention to reading comprehension when she could stare at him for forty minutes?
She was aware that there was another reason he didn’t talk about Alonzo. His father had died from leukemia when Tanner was eight. She was surprised, and a little honored, that he’d said something about him tonight.
“Anyway,bon appétit.” He gestured at the tapas again.
“Isn’t that French?”
“Yes, and one of only three French words I know.”
She smiled. “What are the other two?”
“Ouiand crepes. Does that make me multilingual?” He winked at her.
Her heart did a little backflip. “I think it does.”
She needed to focus on the task at hand instead of how attractive Tanner was, so she examined each appetizer more closely. The patatas bravas looked like small crispy potatoes, and the bandarillaswere long thin skewers of tiny pickles, pearl onions, mini sliced carrots, pieces of roastedred pepper, and various sizes of green olives. “These all look so yummy. I don’t know what to try first.”
“I suggest the bandarillas.” He picked up a skewer and held it out to her. “I hope you don’t mind anchovies.”
She hadn’t noticed the tiny slivers of anchovy meat in between the veggies. “I’ve never had them before.”
He pulled the skewer back. “Maybe you should start with the potatoes, then.”
“No, I don’t mind trying the anchovies. And I do love olives.”
He grinned again. “A woman after my own heart.”
Her cheeks heated, and she focused on thebandarillas and not on her racing pulse. Two bites in, and she discovered she did like anchovies. After several more nibbles she declared it a winner and reached for the potatoes. She paused before she picked up one of the small pieces with a toothpick. “I feel weird eating in front of you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He leaned against the counter, a white apron covered with food stains tied around his slim, athletic body. “I’m stuffed from snacking on all this food. I’ll have to double my run this week to burn off all the calories.”
“That sounds like torture.”
“It’s not. You should join me sometime.”
She froze, the potato poised above the plate. In the three years they had worked together, he had never asked her to join him for anything. Then again, why would he? Even though they went to the same church, had played on the new church softball team Hayden had started last summer, and worked Wednesday shifts together, they interacted only superficially. Was he ready for that to change? She sure was.
