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"I think it is a job everyone should have to do once. It builds character," I added, thinking of all the times I was yelled at, stiffed, had dines and dashes, got groped by managers, got accused of not up-selling enough. "I think the world would be a better place if everyone learned what it is like to have other people be that rude to you. It wasn't all bad, though. I only cried like half of the nights," I added, smiling because the years had eased the sting.
"My father made us all bus and serve here when we first opened. He thought it was impossible to understand the concerns of the staff if we never walked in their shoes."
"Oh, those hideous shoes," I agreed, shaking my head. There was nothing sexy about non-slip shoes, that was for damn sure. "At least your uniforms here are classy," I told him, feeling like every server would approve of the all-black look.
"What did you have to wear? Oh," he said, eyes widening when I felt my face contort into a grimace. "That bad, huh?"
"A mustard yellow and red-piped shirt with red pants."
"Like a giant Sugar Daddy," he said, grinning huge at the mental image. "Do you happen to have any pictures of that?"
"If I do, I need to burn them," I told him, smile still big when a man's torso moved into my peripheral.
"Romy," Antony Grassi greeted me.
There was no mistaking the family resemblance. The height, wide-shouldered, fit body, the handsome face, the dark hair speckled with gray. Antony was what Luca was going to look like in another twenty-five years. And I was totally fine with that.
"Mr. Grassi," I greeted, my tone turning more formal.
"Antony, please. I'm so glad Luca finally brought you here."
"I think he found out that I am very food motivated," I told him, smiling. "You have a beautiful restaurant."
"Romy was just telling me about this place she used to serve at that had mustard yellow and red uniforms."
"Like a Sugar Daddy?" Antony asked, making me groan. I was never going to live that down, I knew it. And once the story trickled down to Lucky and Matteo, I was screwed. "We are a bit kinder to our staff than that," he added. "Romy, do you like wine?"
"I do. Of course, before Luca, apparently, all I drank was glorified medicine cabinet alcohol with a splash of grape juice in it. He has much better taste than I do," I added.
"And I have better taste than he does," Antony said, giving his son a smirk. "Allow me to send you over a bottle. "No no," he said, holding up a hand when I opened my mouth to object. "I insist."
"Thank you."
"Ah, Mario is taking care of you," he said, clamping a hand on the server's shoulder as he moved in at his side. "You're in great hands. I will leave you to order. I will share a coffee with you after your meal. Romy, so nice seeing you again."
Luca watched his father walk away with pinched brows. Confused, almost? Which didn't really make sense. I wanted to ask him about it, but not in front of the server.
"You're going to have to help me out here," I told Luca. "Because everything sounds good."
Luca gave me a smile, reaching for my menu, stacking it on his, handing them to Mario as he rattled off a string of words in what sou
nded like perfect Italian.
I didn't speak it, but that didn't matter. There was something undeniably sexy about someone who could speak a second language. Especially doing so with such confidence.
"That was hot," I admitted once Mario excused himself.
"Don't get too excited," he told me, smiling. "I can pretty much only order food and curse someone out. Leandro taught us only the important things," he said, smiling. "It's nice to see you smiling," he added, tipping his head to the side a bit, looking me over, making my skin feel warm.
"I went a little scary there for a couple days, huh?" I agreed, giving the bartender who moved in at our sides with a bottle of wine a smile.
This was all official business.
The bottle was opened with a small bit of ceremony. Luca was given a taste. And I was charmed enough not to be offended that he was the one to get to do the tasting. The wine was approved, and I got my glass, then Luca, and then the bottle was left with a wish for us to enjoy.
"This place is really fancy," I decided, smiling over the rim of my glass.
"To baby steps," Luca toasted me, clinking my glass. "And no, you weren't scary. You were grieving."
