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“I do,” I admit, kissing her.
Evie’s lips are soft and pliant as I meld them to my own. My tongue dips inside, taking the liberties I’d wanted to those first few nights at Festa. And it feels so damn good.
“I’m going out on a limb here,” she says, pulling away. “But with Brax inside, we should probably stop now.”
I can’t resist teasing her.
“You’re saying you don’t want me to pull down those sexy shorts, sit you on that stool, legs spread wide—”
“Stop.”
“And lick you”—my hands travel downward to cup her backside—“until the boaters down below can hear you call out my name?” I squeeze, pulling her hips into me.
“You are evil.”
“Mmmm.” I kiss her again and then acknowledge that if I don’t knock it off, Brax is likely going to see much more of his boss than he’d like. “You’re right.”
Stepping back, I attempt to sit back down as comfortably as possible, which isn’t very comfortable at all, thanks to my smokin’ hot girlfriend. I lift the silver domes keeping our dinners warm.
“You did not!” she exclaims.
At my parents’ yesterday, which went as well as I’d expected, Evie mentioned how much she adores homemade ravioli. That she loves the pumpkin ravioli with cream sauce on her menu but sometimes craves the regular ones her mother made. “Big huge ravioli with more dough than filling,” she’d said.
The exact kind on her plate.
“I’ll put them on the menu tomorrow. Calling it the ‘Evie Special.’”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious. Go ahead. See what you think.”
Evie unfolds the napkin next to her plate and lays it on her lap. I wait, expectantly, hoping they can hold a candle to her mother’s.
She takes a bite and then closes her eyes.
The pleasure people take in good food is something that will sustain me in this business until I’m past retirement age but still coming here every day. It’s more than a job. And I love it.
Almost as much as I love her.
I’m not sure when it happened, but there’s no doubt in my mind I am in love with Evie Fuller. As I watch her chew with the look of pure bliss that I know well, the only question is . . . do I tell her? It seems too soon.
But that doesn’t make it any less true. At thirty-two, I’ve been dating long enough to know.
“That is delicious,” she says finally.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I join her, able to admit it is pretty tasty. But the trick isn’t the ravioli itself but the meat sauce passed down from my father, which is the key to my restaurant’s success.
“So what does your week look like?” I ask her.
Neither of us have heard fromCucina, and I know it’s putting Evie on edge a bit. Although the award would be nice, winning a Beard isn’t something I have my heart set on. Gian would kill me if I said it aloud, but since only one of us can final, if we’re both officially nominated, I hope Leoni’s makes it to the end.
“Aside from waiting for the call?”
I knew she was going to say that.
“Just a regular week. Nothing like you, thank goodness.”
