My mum did, I think.
“I guess I had moved on with Mum by then,” I say. “I never saw you.”
“And I never saw you,” he says. “And I’ddefinitelyremember.”
I blush and he sees it, looking pleased with himself. He shuffles up a bit in bed, and the neck of his pajamas falls open, showing the smooth skin of his chest and the smallest hint of hair between his pecs. Gah. It’s almost too much for me. I feel the enduring heat in my cheeks as I’m distracted by thoughts of touching him. Hell, evenseeinghis bare chest, and running my hands through his thick, dark hair.
Olive, I swear to god, rein yourself in.
“You know, Jamie Oliver annoyed the shit out of him,” I say. “He was so young with his own TV show, making a lot of Italian food.”
“Jamie came in once,” Leo says, leaning forward a little.
I gasp. “He didnot.”
“He did. Like six years ago. And your dad fussed over him so much. It was hilarious.” Leo stops to laugh at the memory, and I feel a pang of regret. But I also feel comforted by the fact that Leo and I are talking about Dad and I’m mostly okay with it. Enjoying it even. For the first time, I allow myself to be grateful that Dad had Leo.
“I bet he was starstruck,” I say. “Did he get the gold-leaf grappa out? The little crystal glasses?”
“You know it,” Leo says, cackling. “In fact, he was so nervous, he mademecook the meal while he stood over me pretending not to care but interfering with every step. ‘Leo, please. You’re grating the pecorino like a damn goat. Use the good oil.’”
Oh my god. I smile, tipping the wine back and enjoying the feeling of this moment. Of talking about my dad with someone who isn’t Mum, and reflecting on all of him—the salty and the sweet. It is cathartic.
Leo’s eyes go to my feet, and the little white polish at the ends of my toes. His gaze follows the length of my legs. He is not making much effort to hide his attraction now.
“More?” asks Leo.
He puts his glass down and folds his arms. Cocking his head to the side, he narrows his eyes.
“Can I just say, he definitely loved you,” Leo says. “At least, he talked about you all the time. He—”
I jump in, cutting Leo off. “I hear you. It’s just that he didn’t act like it.”
“I think if you’d come to the restaurant—” Leo tries, but I hold both my hands up.
“Look, it’s hard to know what’s true anymore. Put it this way: The inheritance was a total shock.”
“It was?” Leo seems genuinely confused by this.
“I don’t know what I thought he’d do,” I admit. “I didn’t really think about it.”
“I loved your dad, but it sounds like he needed to listen more to your mum,” he says. “All my talk of modernizing aside, the guy couldnotrun the business side of things. He stayed with suppliers out of loyalty, even when they were clearly taking the piss. He believed there would be more TV shows and wassodistracted by that. I remember one time he was getting new headshots done for his agent, fretting about his graying hair and whatnot. And I told him if he fixed the restaurant, people would come back. And he said, ‘People come here forme. It’smeI need to work on.’”
“Yikes,” I say, laughing.
“I don’t want to call it an ego,” he says, grimacing.
“Oh, it’s an ego. You can still love him and say that, I think.”
Leo laughs.
“You know, the food critiquing was kind of a way to channel my anger, and I’m tired, Leo. I’m tired of critiquing everything. Of being the big bad guy when I walk into a restaurant. I hate my job, honestly,” I say with a sigh.
“I knew it,” he says, grinning.
Leo holds up the bottle, glancing at the remainder. Part of me wants to suggest I sneak up to the bar for another. “One more for the road?” he says.
“One for the water,” I say, nodding out the window.
