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“Everything okay?” Luca asked as they walked inside, and a hostess led them to a booth near the back. It was a Saturday night, and the pub was doing a great business.
“Yep. Just the standard ‘did you get there in one piece’ call from my former manager. We’ve been in each other’s faces since I was fifteen, him always hovering over me like a mother hen, so I guess old habits die hard.” She slid into the booth, unsurprised when Luca followed her in, Conor claiming the bench seat opposite. She’d gotten the sense early on in their video chats that Luca Moretti was a charmer, a true ladies’ man.
Why wouldn’t he be? The guy had the face and body to back up those actions. Harper would have to be dead not to notice the sex appeal that oozed from him, and she was not dead.
Luca placed his arm along the back of the booth, turning his body slightly toward her, while giving her a sinfully seductive smile.
She was amused by his flirting, but she wasn’t susceptible to it.
After too many years as a model, living a life most people only dreamed of, she’d been the recipient of every kind of flirting known to man. She’d had men wine and dine her, cover her in jewelry, surround her with dozens and dozens of roses, attempt to seduce her with their handsome faces and sweet words and a whole bunch of other shit that wasn’t real.
Harper had been kicked enough in the love department to know she would be smart to give it a wide berth while she focused her energy on opening the restaurant.
If anyone were to look at her Wikipedia page, they’d see what might look like an impressive list of former lovers—a rock star, a billionaire, a couple of actors, even a prince. What wasn’t on the page was the ugly truth behind every single one of those “power couple” romances.
Nowhere did that story of her life include the pain she’d gone through at the hands of men who had broken her trust.
“What can I get you?” the waitress asked as she stopped by their table.
“I’ll have a PBR,” Luca said. “And a cheeseburger and fries.” Glancing at Harper, he added, “Someone was stingy when it came to sharing theirs.”
She laughed but offered no apology, and even though she’d plowed through the Quarter Pounder, she was still hungry. “Do you have onion rings?” she asked the waitress, who nodded. “Great. I’ll have an order of those and a vodka tonic.”
“I’ll have a cab sav,” Conor said, before pointing toward Luca. “And another cheeseburger with fries.”
The waitress left to fill their order, and Harper leaned back, sighing deeply.
“Still hungry?” Luca asked.
“I’ve been hungry my entire life, on a diet since before I learned to walk.”
Conor winced. “That sounds miserable.”
“It’s why I wanted to go to culinary school. Too many years of living without. I decided after modeling, I’d never diet again. Food has always been uncharted territory, literally the forbidden fruit, and the more time I spent without it, the more I craved it. A few years ago, my mom got me a gift certificate to do one of those two-hour cooking classes with her. We made tamales and loved it so much, we signed up for three more classes.”
What Harper didn’t say was, that initial class happened after she’d collapsed following a photo shoot. Mom’s eyes had been opened wide to the stress Harper had been putting on herself, and she’d put her foot down—with Harper and Bradley—insisting that her grueling schedule be pared down.
Harper hadn’t exactly been grateful with Mom’s interference at the time, but looking back now, she was fairly certain Mom had saved her life. Harper had been pushing herself to dangerous extremes, and the collapse had been her wake-up call.
“After those classes, I became obsessed with cooking.” Harper had gotten very good at sharing this abridged version of her life, repeating this same tale to countless reporters and late-night TV hosts after announcing her retirement from modeling. No one, with the exception of herself, Mom, Bradley, and the medical staff at a private hospital, knew about her collapse. “One night, I was out with my best friend, Luna, and she asked if I’d ever considered going to culinary school. Just like that, the light went on, and I suddenly knew what I wanted my future to be.”
The waitress returned with their drinks.
Conor raised his glass of wine. “To second careers. For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be an amazing chef.”
Harper smiled, tapping her glass against his, then Luca’s. “Thanks.”
Luca took a swig of his beer. “You know, if you’re interested in learning more about cooking Italian food, I can introduce you to the OG of pasta.”
“OG of pasta?” she asked with a laugh. “Sounds like there might be a waiting list to meet someone that important.”
“I’ve got an in,” Luca said, his wide grin infectious. “Nonna loves to cook and loves to talk about cooking. Her eggplant parmesan is the greatest food on the planet. Takes her days to prepare it, so we usually only get it on special occasions. My brothers and I swear we want it to be our last meal before we die. Because one bite of that, and anyone would die a happy man.”
Harper didn’t know Luca well enough to know if he was joking about the invitation, but she wasn’t about to turn down the offer. “I would love to meet your nonna. Italian cuisine was one of my favorite things to make at the institute. I bet she has all the old-school tricks when it comes to homemade pasta.”
“You bet your sweet ass she does,” Luca said, grinning. “And believe me, I have no ulterior motives. None at all. I mean…obviously if you make the eggplant parmesan, you’ll need someone to sample it, and while I don’t like to brag, I am known for being a humble, giving man, so I volunteer as tribute.”
Harper snorted. “I must admit, you do seem quite humble, and it would be a very selfless act, eating your favorite food as a favor to me.”
