Page 98 of Tastes Like Summer

When a waiter comes around, I sag against the counter, and put my head in my hands until I’m called to plate again.

The kitchen doors swing open, our head waiter, Matteo, coming in with a confused look in his eyes. “Uh, we got an interesting order for table two. They ordered every item on the menu.”

I look at him with a raised brow. “Table two is a two-person table. They want to taste everything? That’s way too much food for a couple of people.”

“Yeah, it’s actually just one person.” When I stare blankly at him, he shrugs. “I don’t know man. This lady said she wanted to make sure she tasted everything since I told her you change your menu weekly—or sometimes even daily—based on what’s fresh. Said something about living in the moment before you kick her out forever? I don’t fucking know.”

“Before I kick her out forever? What does that mean?” What the hell?

His shrug is noncommittal, like he’s already checked out of this conversation.

“Huh.” Curious, I step through the double doors of the kitchen, thinking it might be a good idea to meet this person with the limitless appetite. But I stop dead in my tracks when I see the woman that’s been haunting my dreams every night sitting by the window. At table two.

I’ve often dreamt of what would happen if we were to run into each other again—especially after how we left things. It feels like my mind runs through at least five different scenarios a day just to keep me prepared for this exact situation. Except here I am, faced with the woman who took my heart with her when she left, and I have no fucking idea what to say or do.

What I do know is that I need to somehow begin with breathing, which I seem to have forgotten how to do.

As if sensing my presence, she looks up to meet my eyes. I watch as she inhales sharply, her back tensing and her eyes widening into two wide round circles, red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“Michael,” she breathes. I can hear her soft voice even over the sound of the crowded restaurant, I’m so attuned to her.

Behind me, I feel two soft hands gently push me. “Go to her,” Lexi whispers in my ear (and where the hell did she come from anyway?).

In a trancelike state, I do.

Diana motions for me to take a seat. “Would you like to sit? We can talk. Or… or I can go if you don’t want me here.”

And because I’m a fucking moron, all I can think to reply is, “Your order isn’t even ready.”

“I—uh, that’s okay.”

Duh, you idiot. She’s not here for the food.

With a deep, shaky breath, I take a seat. Keeping my eyes on the table, I wait for her to speak first. It’s a cowardly move, but I’m not the one who showed up out of nowhere.

“I’m so happy the place is doing well. Honestly, I didn’t make a reservation or anything, and by the time I got here I was worried there wouldn’t be availability. But as luck would have it, your hostess said there was a last-minute cancellation.”

Dammit. I forgot how cute her nervous babbling is.

I finally look up, wincing at her expression.

“Obviously, I’m not here for the food. Despite knowing firsthand anything you cook is so good, I always come back for seconds.”

“Is that what you’re here for? Seconds?”

She swallows once. “No. I… I miss you.”

I nod. Nod again. Keep nodding so much I could easily be confused with a bobble head until I make myself dizzy. “Right. Is that it, then?”

The hurt in her face is clear, but I couldn’t help my response. I’ve asked her to stay away for my own mental health unless she really needed me. And now she’s here in my restaurant? Telling me she misses me like I haven’t been dying slowly from the same feeling for the past three months of my life?

“Are you in trouble? Is that why you’re here? Did Rodrigo come after you or the⁠—”

“No. No. It’s, uh… it’s the opposite.”

I raise a brow. “He sent you here?”

She snorts and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. In my own heartbreak, I hadn’t realized the tears that had started to build in her eyes. “No, it isn’t that. Rodrigo is gone. He waived his parental rights.”