The gesture made her feel ridiculously emotional. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“What would you have eaten if I hadn’t?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t thought about it. A chocolate bar?”
Luca looked pained. “And where’s the nutrition in that?”
“I was going more for comfort and energy than nutrition.”
“Sit down—” He gestured to the small table in the corner of her office where she sometimes held meetings.
“Luca, this is kind of you, but you really didn’t have to—”
“Five minutes. That’s all it will take to eat what I’ve made you and you’ll thank me.”
She eyed the stack of messages on her desk. “I really should—”
“Consider it work. It’s a sample of our new afternoon tea menu which I’d like you to approve. I’ve kept it fairly traditional because that’s what my research suggests people want. Mini quiches, smoked salmon on freshly baked rye bread, chicken and tarragon—have a taste. Also, I have included my special cannolifor you to try. I thought it would be fun to add a Sicilian twist to your traditional afternoon tea. I’d appreciate your feedback.”
“Is that true? Or do you just want me to eat?”
“Both.” He smiled, and she felt emotion threaten to swamp her.
Shehadto pull herself together. It was a bit unsettling that all it took for her to feel like sobbing was for someone to be kind enough to make her a sandwich. What was wrong with her? Was she really that close to the edge? She needed to pull herself together.
She sat down at the table and reached for a sandwich. “Thanks, Luca. I’m starving.” She’d left the house without eating breakfast and she hadn’t given a thought to lunch. “They’re a work of art. How do you do that?”
“It’s my job. Appearance matters, but taste is more important. So taste it.”
She reached out and selected chicken, feeling self-conscious.
“I feel weird eating alone with you watching.”
“In that case, how does seven thirty tomorrow work for you?”
She glanced up at him. “For what?”
“Eating together. I’ve booked a table. There’s a restaurant half an hour from here I’d like to try. Here’s the address.” He put a piece of paper in front of her. “You’ll probably want to driveseparately to reduce the chance of gossip. I know you hate that, and I don’t want to make things difficult for you.”
She put the sandwich down untouched. There was a strange fluttering in her stomach. “Are you asking me to dinner?”
“I didn’t make that clear?”
A date. He was asking her on a date. “Are you sure?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure. Why would you doubt it?”
“Oh, you know—” she was flustered “—because there are a million reasons why that would be a bad idea.”
“Unless one of those reasons is ‘I don’t like you, Luca, and the last thing I want to do is spend an evening with you’, I’m going to object to your reasons.”
“That’s because you’re new around here and you don’t know how things work. Whichever restaurant we choose, someone will see us.”
“And that matters because?”
He had no idea. And why would he? “You’re relaxed about it now, but that’s because you haven’t been on the sharp end of gossip and speculation.” She could imagine what would happen if they were seen out together. Donna would be booking the church and buying a hat. “If we go out to dinner together you won’t be able to walk through the village without people nudging, winking, and asking you inappropriate and probing questions. Pretty soon you’ll wish you’d never asked me, and then you’ll start avoiding me, which will be awkward for both of us. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”She’d been there.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He sat down opposite her, his gaze fixed on her face. “I wouldn’t have come to a small town if I couldn’t handle gossip and speculation. It doesn’t worry me. I was raised in a village in Sicily where the local community look out for each other.”
