When he got back into town, he tracked her down immediately. The memory of her strolling out of her office, laughing with Andy, punched him in the gut. They looked…close. Intimate in the way of friends, maybe more. He watched them walk down the street and realized he had no right to appear back in her life.
Until she showed up at Mia Casa.
Karma.
He needed to use this opportunity to right his past mistakes. Save the restaurant. Gain Miranda’s forgiveness. But one look twisted his motivations. He wanted more. Her body, her mind. Even her heart.
He had no right to demand any of it. He would have to go back to Europe within eight weeks. Unless he tossed it all and stayed. The first time he chose his career. Would she give him another chance to choose her? Could he give up everything he worked hard to build for the unknown?
Maybe. Damn, he wanted a shot. He already experienced the burn of her body. Now he wanted to dive back in and see the woman she’d become. In order to have that option, he faced the hurdle of trying to un-break her heart.
Gavin pressed the button and the engine purred to life. He had a long road ahead, but his travels taught him the fine art of patience. And that kiss proved she still had feelings for him. It was a tiny spark to cling to, but one spark could ignite a fire.
Gavin threw the clutch into gear and drove out of the parking lot.
…
Miranda shuffled the papers on her desk and tried to keep her butt in the chair. Ever since Gavin walked out of her apartment a few days ago, her writing had stalled. Almost as if guilt mocked her. Not over his attempt to forge a physical relationship to gain a second review. No, the main thing keeping her blocked and up half the night was the knowledge he was right. The main reason she wrote that review was revenge. Guess it was a dish best served cold after all.
She pushed back a sigh and re-focused on the one sentence she managed to compose. At least it was over. Gavin finally backed off. Though they’d exchanged harsh words, it was for the best. No man could possibly handle all that hostility and return for more.
“Hey, Miranda, looks like you don’t have to go out for today’s review.”
“Hmm?” She glanced up from her computer. The pencil she’d been tapping fell from her fingers, causing the copy editor who had yelled the comment to laugh. “Oh, no.”
Gavin strode through the newsroom as if he was editor-in-chief and barked orders to the two men trailing behind. They grumbled beneath their breath as they pushed a silver tray cart across the room and stopped by her cubicle. Giggles and whispers cut through the air as all eyes focused on her guest.
“Your lunch, madam.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you insane? What are you doing here?”
“Giving you a chance to taste the real menu at Mia Casa.” He nodded to the other men. They looked at each other and shook their heads, as if they knew their boss was crazy, then whipped off the covers from the plates. The rich scents of fresh tomatoes, lemon and garlic wafted in the air. Miranda firmly ignored the sudden cry of her stomach and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“I’m not doing another review, Gavin.”
The younger man gazed at Gavin in triumph. “I told you she wouldn’t do it. I told you this was a stupid idea. If Pop had given me the restaurant, this would have never happened.”
“Yeah, Brando, you’ve been telling me that ever since I got back. Oh, by the way, Miranda, this is my younger brother.”
She raised a brow. She’d never met Gavin’s family. Their brief affair hadn’t afforded her the status of being introduced to family members. After all, sex was kept in the bedroom. She ignored the cut of pain and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
Some of the sulkiness left his face and he smiled. “Hey, I think your column is pretty cool, and I have a tip for you. My girlfriend Tracey works at this pizza place in the Village, and she says they make the best Sicilian. It’s called Sammy’s Slice. I bet I can get you a discount.”
“Thanks, Brando. I’ll take it under advisement.”
The older man stuck his head in between them and put out his hand. “I’m Antonio, signorina, and I am the chef at Mia Casa. I can promise you today’s lunch will be the best you’ve ever had.” He beamed. “My wife is not having an affair.”
“Oh.” A puzzled frown creased her brow as she shook his hand. “Well, I’m very glad for you, Antonio.”
“Yes, this is a very good thing.”
Gavin turned to the two men. “Now that the introductions are made, if you gentlemen will leave us, I’ll see you back at the restaurant.”
With a quick good-bye, they left. Miranda looked down at the elegant silver tray, complete with linen napkins, serving utensils, and a long stemmed red rose. She sighed. “Why are you doing this?”
He draped one napkin over his arm and filled her plate. “Maybe I wanted to finish our conversation. Maybe I thought you were hungry.”
“Maybe you should have called.”
“This is more personal. Besides, I bet you haven’t eaten yet.”
Her stomach growled on cue, but he kept his face neutral. His knit shirt stretched across broad muscles. He stood hands on hips, legs braced apart, and his actual aura vibrated with unconscious arrogance. Miranda shook her head in amazement. The man served her lunch and he exuded a casual elegance, reminding her of royalty.
“You’re still bossy,” she grumbled. “Just because I’m eating this doesn’t mean I’m giving in. I hate to waste food.”
“Point taken.” He handed her the plate and grabbed one of the computer chairs, settling himself down. “What are you working on?”
She swallowed a perfect bite of eggplant Parmesan and tried to mask her surprise. “We’re expanding the Miranda Eats column. My editor wants to start printing some of the common questions people write in about.”
“Like who pays for your meals when you go on reviews?”
“Exactly.” Miranda wondered how Antonio had achieved such a wonderful combination of firmness and texture to the eggplant. Too many times the vegetable came out limp and soggy. She took another bite. “It’s amazing how many readers assume I pay for myself and write the review out of the kindness of my heart. People think I’m an aspiring author who’s desperate to be published in anything.”
“Are you an aspiring author?” he asked curiously.
She laughed. “No, but I have a skill for the written word. Always did.”
“What happened to the culinary? I assumed you’d be set up in some four-star kitchen, perhaps running your own cooking show on the Food Network. You always had such a passion for food.”
“I still do. I spent the first year learning the basics, but I wasn’t happy. I lacked the skill and passion to cook professionally, but inherited the rare gift of palette. I dropped out when I realized my favorite part was tasting the food, and I despised the rest of the steps. The idea of being trapped in the kitchen made me shudder.”
He smiled. “You always did have a free spirit.”
“Yeah, that’s not how Chef Riley described me.” She winced at the memory. “Anyway, I know good food and bad food. I can also pinpoint and explain in basic language to the layperson. It took me a while with different papers before scoring an opportunity with The Herald. I started slow, with guest appearances, then built to a weekly column. But everything exploded when a friend of mine who works for Foodie magazine did a feature on me. Suddenly, I got offered the HotSpot feature. I dated a few chefs, was written up in the gossip pages, and found I had officially arrived.” She crinkled her nose. “It’s embarrassing. I always thought food critics were unknown entities who can hide their identity and sneak into famous restaurants. Instead, I’m invited to openings and courted around the city. Kind of hard to sneak in and do a review undercover now. Pretty amazing stuff for someone with no classical culinary training.”