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How on earth could she say no?
She placed her hand in his. The sparks didn’t fly this time. Probably because she was a little more prepared. This time it was a warm buzz, a little hum running up her arm and straight across to her heart.
Twelve years on, and he could still do it to her.
It was unnerving. She could hardly keep her thoughts straight.
The first glimpse of Logan had sent tingles around her body. But that had been quickly followed by a rush of emotions associated with bad memories. Memories that were locked away deep inside her.
There was a reason she wasn’t happily married with a family. There was a reason she always backed off when a few dates started to turn into something else.
Professionally, her life was good. She had a gorgeous apartment, a motivating and challenging job, along with a whole host of good friends and colleagues.
That would be enough for most people. That should be enough. And right up until she’d glimpsed Logan again it had been.
Now she felt...unbalanced.
She walked into the farmhouse converted into a restaurant. Thankfully there were no cobbles outside and the added height from her stilettos seemed to buffer her confidence a little.
It was cute. There were shutters on the windows and exposed brickwork on the walls. Wooden tables filled the dining room, but they weren’t all uniform, like in most restaurants. They were all different shapes and sizes, perfect for all numbers of guests, and it gave an old-world charm to the place.
They were shown to their table and the waiter lit the candle, then handed over the wine list. He nodded at Logan and pointed to the back wall. ‘As you can see, we have a wide variety of wines from all the local vineyards. If you need a recommendation just let me know.’
Lucia ran her eyes down the list and sighed. Italians were passionate about their wine and the wine list was thicker than the actual menu.
‘What’s your preference?’
Couldn’t he remember? Had he forgotten everything about their time together?
Before she had a chance to speak he waved to the waiter. ‘Can we have some bread, olives and some oil while we decide?’
The waiter gave a nod and disappeared. It seemed he hadn’t quite forgotten everything after all. Lucia had always enjoyed taking her time to peruse a menu, and Logan had always been starving.
She swallowed, her fingers drifting back to the file she’d brought with her. This made it seem more real. This was work. The reason she’d agreed to dinner tonight.
She licked her lips. Nerves were doing strange things to her. ‘I think I’d like to keep things simple. I’d like to have some white wine, I think, something light. A frascati.’
She knew he’d be surprised. During their time together they’d both favoured red wines, Merlots and Chiantis.
‘And I like the look of the set menu. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone else pick for you.’
She’d only glanced at the set menu and nothing had jumped out at her. Most restaurants offered a set menu of some of their best dishes. She only hoped Mancini’s was the same.
In years gone by she’d been picky about her food, sometimes refusing to go to some restaurants if they didn’t serve a particular dish that she liked. But she wanted to start this meeting by letting Logan realise that he didn’t really know her any more. Just because he was working on this project it didn’t mean that he’d get any special treatment. And she wasn’t swayed by a royal wedding either.
She took her job seriously. If the fresco had been by Michelangelo everything would have ground to a complete halt. She was fairly certain it was by a lesser-known artist—one who was still recognised and his work would be protected. But the chapel was fairly well maintained. There was no damp, no immediate threat to the fresco—just the new work that was going on to make it ready for the wedding.
Once the identification part was done, things should be fairly straightforward.
Logan set his menu on the table. ‘Both are fine with me.’ He had a hint of a smile on his face. As if he knew she was trying to be different but it was all really just a pretence. ‘How have you been, Lucia?’ he asked huskily. That voice. That accent. Little waves were rolling down her spine. It was the memories. It was anticipation of what had used to come next when Logan had spoken to her like that.
Those days were long gone. Vanished for ever. It didn’t matter that the words were bland and perfectly normal. It was the way he said them that counted.
‘Twelve years is a long time, Logan.’ Her voice was sharp.
