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“How long has your restaurant been here?” Autumn asked Carla as she cleared the tables of Delmonico’s after the lunchtime rush.
It’d been two days since she’d gone on that hike with Griff, and Autumn had spent most of those forty-eight hours talking with business owners on the pier and along the nearby boardwalk. Today was Delmonico’s turn. She’d arrived before they’d opened at twelve o’clock and watched the tables fill with couples and families and businessmen. It was clearly a local favorite, and when she was served a bowl of spaghetti putanesca she understood why.
It tasted heavenly. Better than anything she’d had in a upscale restaurant in New York. If she hadn’t been promised the best cannoli outside of Italy for dessert, she’d have asked for a second helping.
“My Great-grandfather opened up the first restaurant in the nineteen-thirties. He emigrated here from Sicily, and worked in San Francisco. The family moved south after the Great Depression, and started selling food from a little shack on the beach.” Carla walked as she spoke, and Autumn followed her, pushing the door to the kitchen open so Carla could walk through. “After the war, they built this place and it’s been going ever since. Most of the family works here in one capacity or another.” She nodded at the chef. “That’s my cousin, Vincent. And those two chopping vegetables are Luca and Sophia. My brother, Matteo, used to work here, but he has his own restaurant in White City now.”
“Have you ever thought of expanding the Delmonico’s brand?” Autumn asked as they began to load the industrial dishwasher. “Maybe open up a delicatessen or have deliveries? I mentioned to Griff that you could work together on evening dinner cruises.”
Carla blinked and looked away. “No. I don’t think we’d want to do that.”
Autumn shrugged. “Expansion isn’t for everybody.”
She glanced out of the window at the dock at the end of the pier. It was empty. Griff must have taken the boat out on a whale watching cruise.
She was going to have to face him sometime. They had to do business together, after all. And whatever plans she had for the pier would need his support.
“Hey Autumn, the cannoli are ready. You want one?” Vincent asked, holding out a plate. The crisp, golden pastry tubes were filled with piped, sweet ricotta, the ends dusted with chocolate shards and powdered sugar.
“I’d kill for one.” Autumn grinned and took one from the top, biting into the delicious goodness. “Oh my god, this is amazing,” she told him once she swallowed. “No wonder the restaurant is always full.”
“Vincent trained in Sicily,” Carla told her. “We try to make everything as authentic as we can. Great food without being pretentious.”
“It’s working.”
Somebody was striding toward the end of the pier. Autumn blinked when she realized it was Griff. If he was here, why wasn’t his boat?
She took a deep breath. It was time to face her demons. Better now than later.
“I need to talk to Griff for a second,” she told Vincent when she’d finished the cannoli. “I’ll be back to buy a box full of those.”
The air outside was warm and salty. Waves hit the wooden pillars, sending up spray through the gaps in the planks. “Griff!” Autumn called out, walking fast to catch up with him. Damn, his strides were long.
He turned to see her, his expression quizzical. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Where’s your boat?”
He grinned, and she let out a mouthful of air. “Mike took it out for me today. I had a meeting in town. They should be back in an hour. Thought I’d come and meet them, finish everything up to thank him for doing me a favor.”
“And there was me imagining it was stolen by pirates.”
“We don’t get a whole lot of pirates around here.” Griff chuckled. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to say hi. And thanks for Sunday.” She looked down at her hands. “And to check that things were okay between us.”
“Things are okay.” He blinked, as though he couldn’t quite understand her.
Her lips curled into a wan smile. “I’ve only been here a few days, yet I’ve already made an ass out of myself with you.” She looked up, her gaze catching his. “And I like you, I really do. I was hoping we could be friends.”
Griff said nothing for a moment. His gaze roamed over her face, her neck, then back up to her eyes. “We are friends. W
hat happened on the trail was a mistake. We both agreed on that. I’m not the kind of man who holds grudges.”
She knew that from looking at him. And damn if that didn’t add to his attraction. Standing there on the weatherworn pier, he looked like some kind of ancient god with the sun beating down on him. The sort that could fight a lion with his bare hands then ravish a maiden before breakfast.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I need all the friends I can get.”
“Anything you want, just say the word. That goes for Lucas and Jackson, too. Hell, all our friends.”
