I tapped a finger against my glass. “When I came to your table, you said the name of the restaurant was wrong. What did you mean?”
He set his wine glass carefully on the counter. “Trattoria Rustica. Notrustico. Trattoria is feminine.”
Whatever way you spelled it, the name sounded incredibly sexy rolling off his tongue. Sexy or not, though, this was insulting. My voice turned frosty. “My family has owned this restaurant for over fifty years. No one has ever pointed out that the name is wrong.”
“Ma dai,” he muttered and dragged a hand down his face. “You know nothing of your heritage.”
“Yeah, well. We live here, not there.” And some of us hadn’t ever visited Italy, either. I wanted nothing to do with my father or his homeland.
“That is no excuse.”
I downed the rest of my wine. “Thanks for this. But if you don’t mind, now I have to clean up so that I can go home and take the world’s longest shower before dropping into bed and catching three hours’ worth of sleep before coming back here in the morning.”
He heaved a sigh at my rambling and shook his head. Like I was a ridiculous child. “You are better off. These people, they were terrible.”
“True, but no one’s knocking down my door to work here.”
He reached for the bottle of wine and refilled my glass. “Have another drink and tell me why.”
I probably shouldn’t, but what the hell?
Lifting the glass, I took a deep swallow. My shoulders eased slightly and I leaned against the counter. “Because I suck at this job, apparently.”
Oh, shit. I covered my mouth with my hand. Had I really said that? Normally, I had to be super drunk to start letting my insecurities show.
Maybe I should slow down with the wine.
“From what I could tell, the food and service were awful. But these things are not entirely your fault.”
My lips parted as I stared at him for a long beat. “Wow. You just say whatever you want, don’t you?”
The edge of his mouth kicked up, making him appear a hundred times hotter. Why did I find this man so attractive? Did I have daddy issues?
Of course I have daddy issues. I barely know my father. And I’m still grieving for my mother. I have everything issues.
Table Seven waved his elegant hand. “A habit from a young age, I’m afraid. Tell me, why are you in charge here? You are obviously young. Why are you not attending university, partying with friends?”
Did I honestly want to get into my life history with a perfect stranger?
Granted, a stranger who smelled like heaven and looked like an Italian movie star. And what was I rushing home for? An empty house, a reality show, and a carton of ice cream? Besides, John was still washing dishes in the back, so it wasn’t like Table Seven and I were alone.
Another glass of wine wouldn’t hurt.
Chapter Three
Valentina
“Okay, I’ll have another drink,” I announced. “But you have to tell me your name first. I can’t keep thinking of you as Table Seven.”
He stuck out his hand. “Luca DiMarco.”
“Val Montella.”
I put my hand in his and large fingers engulfed mine. Warm, rough skin wrapped around me. He had a strong grip—aman’sgrip. Heat rolled through me and settled between my legs.
“Val?” he asked.
“Short for Valentina.”