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“You were out like a light, Rafe. There wasn’t even the slightest pause in your snoring when I left the bed.”
He drew up short. “Did I keep you up?”
“Of course not. I’ve always been lulled by the steady resonance. It’s a very sexy, rhythmic sound. Soothing, even.” She waved her hand in the air. “But that’s neither here nor there. I didn’t want to wake you because you really did seem to need a good night’s sleep. Something tells me you’ve had a few too many restless nights worrying about Sampogna’s.”
He nodded. “I’ll concede that point.”
“And, I had to shower and change so I could get here early, before your staff arrives. I needed to assess the restaurant while it was empty and quiet. I woke up with an idea burning a hole in my brain and I wanted to see if it would work.”
His eyes narrowed on her. She cringed inwardly. Right. He’d be sensitive to the fact that the first thing she’d thought of this morning was work.
Damn it.
Clearly, there was something wrong with her.
“Look,” she said in a softer tone. “I would’ve preferred to roll on top of you and coax you awake so you could make love to me, then have breakfast with you, but you really were a hardcore sleeper this morning. And my getting this restaurant remodeled is going to help you sleep better in the future. I wanted to get right to it.”
He harrumphed. But said, “Nice rationalization. You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you. Now, here’s the plan I want to run by you. Those four tops up front by the windows need to be romantic tables for two, with golden up-lighting built into the sills. A decorative wood-and-glass partition set just beyond a couple of the tables will shield them from the noise in the main dining room, and will also offer some depth to the restaurant floor plan.”
He surveyed the space as she continued.
“We need some intimate nooks and crannies. Given your window span, passersby on the street will be able to see the potential for a quiet dinner for two, an engaging dinner for four, or the accommodation of large groups farther back in the room.”
Rafe nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“These vinyl booths along the wall have to go. We need something more comfortable and inviting. Sofa-style. The center of the restaurant will be where we’ll seat the bigger parties. Then toward the back, we’ll create the perfect space for happy hour mingling. A more casual setting.”
This seemed to pique his interest. “What are you thinking?”
“Well,” she said as they walked to the far end of the room. “This bar needs to be moved from the center of the wall, because it leaves too much dead space on either side. We can have a more ornate one crafted and situated in the corner, with racks mounted to the walls to showcase Gio’s wine collection, and glass shelves for the liquor. Add comfortable barstools to complement the bar.”
Rafe nodded again. “Okay, that makes sense.”
“Then we scatter sofas and chairs, as well as end and coffee tables, throughout this area for the after-work crowd, and the tourists who just want to plop down in a cushy seat and sip wine, following a long day traipsing about town.”
“And graze,” he said, a tinge of excitement suddenly lacing his voice.
“I think the more polite term is nibble.”
“Whatever.”
“On appetizers?”
“Not necessarily,” he mused. “They might not want the heartier portions we serve, especially if they’re hanging out for a while before dinner, wanting to socialize. Italian tapas would go over better. Smaller dishes at a third or even a quarter of the price of the larger appetizer offerings we currently have on the menu that cost upwards of twelve, fourteen dollars. That way, they can order a variety for a reasonable cost and sample the different plates—they’ll be easy to pass. We can also adjust the price and portion based on table size throughout the dining room.”
“Excellent idea,” she said, impressed. “This spot in the restaurant will feel more like a wine bar. So let’s liven it up!”
“Sure. And we could do something completely different from our regular appetizers.” He gave it some thought before rattling off a few ideas. “Individual crab-lasagna squares, toasted ravioli, duck confit, beef and salmon carpaccio, sausage and peppers on bamboo spears, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus... Hell, I could change up the tapas menu a couple times a week.”
“Brilliant.” Her gaze shifted to the wall where the double-doored entrance was situated in the middle, off of the courtyard. To the right of it, in the newly designated happy hour section, was a tall fireplace. “When’s the last time that thing was turned on?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The ‘70s? It’s never worked, that I’m aware of.”
“We’ll change that.” Her attention returned to Rafe. “If you want. I mean, I don’t want to make any changes that don’t suit you.”
He gazed around the restaurant, looking nostalgic as he said, “There are some things that remind me of my parents, when they owned Sampogna’s. But what you’re proposing doesn’t detract from that.”
