“Hamblehurst seems to have a lot of independent businesses on the high street and around the town centre. It’s nice.”
“We’re very lucky. Which is why I like coming out to places like this. If we want to keep our independent restaurants, we have to come and eat here and help them stay in business. It’s not exactly a hardship.”
He wiggled his eyebrows as he devoured another forkful of bruschetta, making Gaby laugh again.
“These stuffed mushrooms really are excellent,” she said. “I could eat a whole plateful.”
“I’m glad you like the food. I don’t mind admitting I was nervous about taking you to dinner.”
Gaby paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Why?”
He gave her an uncertain look and Gaby’s heart started racing again, wondering what he might say and whether he was nervous for the same reason she was—because an intimate dinner like this might lead to something more.
Something more such as… their gazes locking for much too long across the table… or her hand reaching for his because she wanted desperately to remember what it felt like to lace her fingers between his.
“You’ve been all around the world, Gaby,” Peter said. “With all the amazing places you’ve lived and the fantastic hotels where you’ve worked, I know you must have enjoyed lots of spectacular food over the years. I didn’t want our little market town restaurants to be a disappointment in comparison.”
His words were such a contrast to the mad thoughts that were racing through her head that it took her a second to respond.
And to stop feeling foolish for having those thoughts in the first place. How many times did she have to remind herself that this time with Peter was nothing more than a chance to catch up with a long-lost friend from her past? While she was letting herself get carried away with ideas that he might still be attracted to her, he was actually worried that the small restaurant he’d taken her to wouldn’t be up to scratch.
“Peter, you must think I’m a terrible snob if you thought I’d come here looking to find fault,” she said, maybe more sharply than she planned to because the irritation with herself seeped into her words.
“Oh no, that’s not what I mean at all. I don’t think you’re a snob, Gaby. I could never think that.” Peter looked distraught.
Terrific, and now she’d gone and ruined a perfectly lovely moment. She felt awful.
“Sorry, that came out wrong,” she said and offered a smile to convey her apology. “I just mean that you don’t have to worry that I’m comparing this meal or this restaurant to anything, because I’m not.”
Peter returned her smile and his expression relaxed again. “You mentioned working in Italy a lot. Tell me about your favourite places there and the food you enjoyed.”
His eagerness to move past the awkward moment and turn the conversation to the very subject he’d said had worried him in the first place reminded her of his generous spirit.
Grateful for the chance to make up for her rude and snappy tone, Gaby shared some stories from her Italian adventures. She talked about her time working in beautiful hotels on the Amalfi coast, describing the glittering sea and the pretty towns built into the stunning coastline. She shared memories of her time in Tuscany, with its verdant countryside and elegant vineyards.
She told him about some of her most memorable meals in Italy. The delicate translucent pasta dishes that were so beautiful they could’ve been works of modern art. The hearty Italian stews devoured with thick slices of bread. The pizza enjoyed straight from the oven while walking the streets of Naples.
And she told him about the best gelato she ever had, creamy scoops of pistachio and hazelnut inside a crisp chocolate-dipped cone and which she’d savoured one evening in Florence as she wandered through the Loggia dei Lanzi with its stunning sculptures and awe-struck tourists.
She talked about how these places had become beloved to her, every memory a cherished part of her.
His gaze and attention were unwavering as she spoke, the smile on his lips encouraging her to keep talking, the look in his eyes one of… admiration?
Or something else she couldn’t quite pin down?
“That all sounds fantastic, Gaby,” he said. “I’m so happy you’ve done all those things you said you wanted to do when we were young.”
“It’s a big world and there’s so much to see. Every time I tick off a destination on my list of places I want to visit, I can’t help adding another three or four.”
“You have an actual list?”
Gaby nodded and because the warm look in his eyes made her feel so at ease, she reached into her bag and pulled out the small notebook she carried with her everywhere, opened it and passed it to him.
“I started this during my first year at university,” she said, pointing to the first page containing the neatly printed penmanship of her eighteen-year-old self. “Halfway through the spring semester, I realised that once classes and exams were over, I’d have to move out of my student accommodation and go home. But I really didn’t want to go home. My parents were living separately by then but still battling each other during their divorce and I didn’t want to be in the middle of it. And I wanted to earn some money too, and while there were loads of jobs in London, I knew I’d end up spending most of what I earned just to cover a room rent somewhere. So, I took a took a job working as a waitress at a big hotel on Mallorca for three months. It came with basic accommodation, which was a huge bonus. Plenty of long hours and tough work but in my free time I explored the island and enjoyed the local food. It was an amazing experience. On my final night there, I bought that notebook from one of the tourist shops and wrote a list of all the places I wanted to visit around the world. Until then, it had all been inside my head. After that, it was there on the page in black and white. Whenever my university studies got tough or I was struggling to make ends meet, I’d pull out that list and remind myself of my dreams and what I was doing it all for.”
Gaby stopped talking, realising she’d continued chattering long after Peter had finished looking at the notebook she’d shown him.
“This is amazing, Gaby,” he said, pushing the small notebook back across the table. “What you’ve done with your life is just… amazing.” He laughed at the repeated word. “To write your dreams down like that and then actually go to all those places and tick them off… it’s amazing.You’reamazing.”
