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What a shame. I’d been looking forward to more of her musings over lunch. Verbal sparring with my sister was one of my favorite activities. It wasn't easy to do over the phone.
There was a deli across the street that sold the most delicious chicken club sandwiches. They were full of mayonnaise, and I wanted to treat myself today.
I bundled up, putting on my suit jacket, then my coat and my scarf before taking the elevator downstairs. I walked through the lobby, glancing to my left and my right. The line to the reception counter was short. The customers sitting on the couches I'd set up specifically for the check-in process were already sipping their mimosas. Everything was running smoothly.
Outside, it was brutal. I immediately rearranged my giant scarf to cover my head as well, keeping it in place with both hands to shield myself from the wind.
They had another treat I loved at the sandwich shop: hot chocolate. I could already imagine myself drinking one or two. It was certainly the season for it.
When I stepped inside, Giacomo greeted me. "Kimberly, you are here again. The fourth time this week."
I unwound my scarf, grinning at him. "What can I say, Giacomo? Your food keeps me alive. I've been daydreaming about my sandwich for the past two hours."
"Then sit down, and I'll bring it to you."
"Thanks," I said, heading toward my usual table.
Giacomo didn't like tending to customers and taking orders, but he made a point to bring my sandwich to me personally almost every time.
Realizing I had forgotten to order my hot chocolate, I waved my hand, catching Giacomo's eye. He looked up from the counter where he was slicing something, probably my grilled chicken breast.
I mouthed, "Hot chocolate."
He nodded immediately.
He and I were the perfect team. If he didn't own this place, I’d talk him into coming across the street and working for us. He'd be a great addition to our staff. I asked him once, and he said, "Signorina Kimberly, if you want me to still put as much love in your club sandwiches—”
"I do."
"Then you will not ask that of me again."
After that, I never brought it up.
My hot chocolate arrived a few seconds later. "Enjoy. I put in some extra cinnamon."
"Thanks, Giacomo."
He was in his sixties or possibly seventies. He'd told me he'd moved to the United States forty years ago, though you wouldn't know it by his accent. It sounded like he’d landed from Italy yesterday. I loved it because it reminded me of my time in Europe. I'd traveled to Italy a couple of times and enjoyed it each time.
I took a sip of hot chocolate, sighing. This was the ultimate sweet treat. It went straight to my soul.
I closed my eyes, savoring it until I was startled by someone clearing their throat—loudly. I opened my eyes. Drake was standing in front of me.
Damn. How is this guy even hotter all bundled up with a coat and a scarf on?
His hand was on the armrest of the chair opposite me. "Is this seat taken?"
"I'm surprised you're asking and don't just sit in it."
He cocked a brow. "I don't think that was a yes. Is this free?"
"By all means," I said.
He took off his coat and the scarf, hanging them on the specially designed hooks on the wall before sitting down.
"What did you do, follow me?” I asked derisively.
“Ms. Maxwell, I was under the impression that you wanted to start with a clean slate. Was I wrong?"
