I turn back to the menu and try to focus on what I’m going to eat. I’ve had the dish I’m probably going to love the most, so I decide to try something new. The last thing I want to do is fall into a pattern. Some people find predictable comforting, but not me. Spinach rotolo with meatballs, it is.
The bartender I had the other night points at me and looks as if she’s trying to place me. “You were here the other night?” she asks. “Restaurant lady?”
I have to laugh. After the very little small talk I’d made with the bartender, the one thing she remembered about me was that I work in restaurants. I nod. “Also known as Willow. You’re Jasmine?”
She nods. “Good memory. Don’t feel bad if I ask you your name the next hundred times I see you. Some days I can’t keep my own kids straight.”
She pours me some water, then I order an iced tea and the rotolo. “Jasmine,” I add, deciding that even if now is not a good time, I should send word to Mags that I’ve arrived. “Could I ask you to let Mags know I’m here? I know she’s probably swamped, but we met earlier this week, and I told her I’d stop back in.”
“Mags?” Jasmine lifts her brows. “Yeah, sure. Happy to.” But then Jasmine frowns and leans forward on the bar. “She’s not looking to leave, is she? Are you here to talk to her about a job?” Jasmine looks worried and smooths down her plain black button-down shirt. “She and Benito are going through a rough patch,” she says. “But he’s a good man. Despite his giant you-know-what.”
I almost choke on a sip of iced tea. “His giant what?” I ask.
Jasmine shakes her head. “That man’s ego… He’s something else.” But then her eyes grow soft, and she smiles. The sounds of clinking silverware and conversation seem louder as I lean closer to hear her. “He’s got an even bigger heart. I don’t care what anyone says. He’s a good one.”
She nods at me and points to a house phone. “I’ll let Mags know you’re here. What’s your name again?”
I remind her, giving her both my first and last name. Then I settle into my iced tea and try for the first time in a long time not to feel like such a stranger.
Mags rushes out,her hair tied back behind a bandanna and her cheeks flushed pink. She’s reaching out a hand to shake mine and grinning. “Willow,” she says. “I’m so glad you made it.” She motions down to the empty space in front of me. “Your dinner will be right up, but I wanted to see how long you can stay. I’ve got—”
I hold up a hand. “It’s no problem,” I say. “I knew you’d be busy. I felt like a fantastic dinner and some time with my book. I’ll hang around until you have a few minutes to talk.”
“Are you sure?” She looks worried. “It might be a while. Sundays can get…”
I hold up my phone. “I’ve got a whole library of stuff to catch up on. Take your time.”
She nods and hustles back to the kitchen, and I decide to take my own advice. I flip open my e-reader and scan the dozens of titles in my library. Cookbooks and books about food science. Business books. And, of course, a couple of romance novels. I settle on a book that is high on spice and low on drama. That’swhat I want in my life; that’s why I’ve got this bad boy on my bookshelf.
I sip my tea and scan the pages, growing more and more engrossed in the story of a biker who goes to prison for a stitch, but when he gets out, he meets a woman whose daughter is in distress, and I love it. Found-family vibes—my favorite kind. I’m deep into the action when a server sets a plate in front of me.
“Spinach rotolo with meatballs?” The older lady looks me over. “You need anything else, hun?”
“Sassy.” The bartender waves at the woman who’s brought out my dinner. “Did you meet Willow? She’s a restaurant person.”
My waitress, whose name I now know is Sassy, gives me a long, approving look, then grins. “You look too skinny to be a foodie.” She taps a hand over her ample chest. “This is the body of a woman who knows her food.”
I grin and nod at her. “I’m on the operations side,” I explain. “Restaurant financing and investments. But I adore cooking and especially eating.”
She nods at me. “You’re in the right place. Benito’s the best chef in Star Falls, but that’s not saying much. Probably the best chef even in the city. You let Jasmine know if you need anything, and I’ll hustle over. You want cheese?” she asks.
I nod. “Who turns down cheese?”
Sassy crows, a long, happy sound. “There’s my girl. I’ll be back in a second.”
She rushes off, leaving a faint cloud of cigarette smoke and hair spray behind her. I haven’t even looked down at my meal when I feel a light hand at my elbow.
“Willow, I’m sorry to come just as your food has arrived, but I wanted you to meet someone.”
I turn at the sound of Mags’s voice and crash eyes with the man I’ve spent all week avoiding.
Benito Bianchi.
His chocolate-brown eyes go cold, the soft stubble on his face highlighting both the dimple in his chin and his slight frown. He cocks an eyebrow at Mags.
“Mags, I don’t understand…” he says, and I can tell he’s struggling here.
I jump from my stool and extend a hand to him. “Mags, it turns out Benito and I have met.” I hold out my hand, hoping he will shake it. “I didn’t realize he was the owner when I ate here last weekend.”
