Page 30 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“Oh yes,” she said with a knowing smile. “Including me. I was just sixteen, working as a server and thinking I wanted a completely different life. Maybe I would go to college, become a lawyer or a doctor, something impressive. Then one night this man comes in. He had a long, hard day working as a roofer. He was covered in dust and exhausted. He sat down at table seven and ordered the simplest thing on the menu.”

Her expression grew soft and dreamy. “Spaghetti with marinara sauce. Like a little boy might order. But the way he said ‘thank you’ when I brought him his food? I was head over heels before he finished his first bite.”

I found myself leaning forward, caught up in her story despite myself. “What happened?”

“He came back the next night. And the night after that. For two weeks straight, always ordering the same thing, always at table seven. Finally, I worked up the courage to ask him if he might like to try something else from the menu.”

She laughed. Her eyes sparkling with unshed, happy tears. “He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘I’m not here for the food, beautiful. I’m here for you.’ We were married eight months later.”

The story was so romantic it made my chest ache with longing. What would it feel like to have that kind of certainty? To look at someone and just know, with absolute conviction, that they were your person?

“That’s beautiful,” I said, and meant it.

“Love finds you when you’re not looking for it,” Gineva said with the wisdom of someone who had seen it happen countless times. “When you’re focused on other things like your work, your dreams, your plans for the future. That’s when it sneaks up and changes everything.”

I thought about my own carefully mapped-out plans. I was intent on building my career. I wanted to learn everything I could about the restaurant industry. And maybe one day I would eventually open my own place. Love wasn’t really part of the equation right now, at least not in any immediate sense. It could wait until I was more established, more secure in who I was and what I wanted.

Couldn’t it?

The sound of footsteps interrupted my wandering thoughts. I looked up to see Rhett walking out of the kitchen. He was carrying a small tray with three steaming cups and a plate of what looked like homemade biscotti. He had shed his chef’s coat and was wearing his black T-shirt and matching slacks. He looked more relaxed than I had seen him all evening despite the phone call I’d overheard.

And fuck me, he was gorgeous.

I changed my mind. Black looked good on him. He should definitely keep wearing it.

He put the tea service on the table and then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the side of Gineva’s head. The gesture was so natural and affectionate that it made my heart skip.

I blinked in surprise, trying to process what I was witnessing.

“I saw you working hard tonight, Mama,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth I’d never heard before. What caught my attention even more was the way his accent shifted slightly on that one word “Mama,” revealing hints of the Italian heritage I hadn’t known he possessed.

Mama?

The plot thickened.

Obviously I knew the man had parents, but it was hard to imagine such a hard man coming from such a beautiful, soft woman.

Gineva beamed up at him, her face radiant with maternal pride and affection. “Me? You should have seen the two of you back there in my kitchen. That place hasn’t seen that kind of action in a long, long time.”

This charming, family-owned restaurant wasn’t just a randomly chosen venue for the tour’s opening night. It was his mother’s place, the business his parents had built from nothing, the foundation of everything he had become.

Rhett and I shared a look across the small table. I felt something electric pass between us. There was no way I was imagining any of that. It was all very real. I was sure the man had a long line of women in his contact list that he could text right that minute and they would gladly hop in his bed. But he was definitely looking at me.

“It was something,” he agreed, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“I was just telling Clem about the many people that have met and fallen in love here,” Gineva said.

“Mama,” Rhett chuckled, shaking his head, and stared at me. “Don’t listen to her stories. She’s always been very fond of fairy tales.”

“They are not fairy tales,” Gineva admonished.

“I think it’s very sweet,” I said.

We finished rolling the silverware while Gineva told more stories about the restaurant’s early days and the neighborhood characters who had become like family over the years. Rhett mostly listened, adding occasional comments or corrections, but I caught him watching me more than once with an expression I couldn’t quite decode.

When we finally said our goodbyes and prepared to leave, I found myself lingering on the sidewalk outside La Tavola, reluctant to let the evening end.

“Thank you,” Rhett said quietly.