Page 3 of Burn for You

“Only once or twice.”

I refrain from explaining that the reason I never come here is because the owner makes me want to literally set my hair on fire, and I would not look good bald.

I can feel his attention on me like a pesky shadow. I have to fight my instincts not to flick my eyes in his direction.

Olive&Vine has a nice atmosphere about it. Subtle floral wallpaper meets wooden siding halfway down the walls, and antique chandeliers are dotted around the large dining room. Not quite the aesthetic I would pick for the town's biggest grump, but it’s pretty, nonetheless.

“Can I start you off with some wine?” A server appears at the side of our table.

“Would you like a glass?” Dean asks.

“Better go with the bottle,” I say.

He proceeds to order his choice of wine for us, but I can almost feel how tense the server is at our side, like someone is watching his every move.

Because someone is.

I can see Rafael out of the corner of my eye working in the kitchen, but his attention is fixed on our table. I haven’t looked at him, but I can feel it. I can always feel his presence, his gaze on me. Always observing and judging. I just square my shoulders and pretend like it’s not taking all of my control not to match his gaze. To give him a look that says,what the fuck are you looking at?Because then he’d win.

I know he’s waiting for it—waiting for me to look over there just so he can frown at me like always. I don’t think I’ve seen his smile more than five times, and I’ve known the guy for over four months. What makes someone so grumpy all the time? It’s miserable.

I glue my attention back to the man in front of me and his captivating eyes that are currently raking down my body.

Hair, eyes, tits, before they come back to my eyes. “Did I tell you the other night that you’re beautiful?”

He gives me one of those smirks, the one that guys do when they’re thinking about getting you alone, and I can’t help but smirk back. I shrug. “You did, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.”

chapter two

RAFAEL

The humof satisfied conversation and the clinks of glasses buzz through Olive&Vine tonight. The restaurant is packed. With the local food festival coming up this weekend, tourists have slowly started filtering into Ruby Cove and into Olive&Vine as a result.

We are also a week away from Ferragosto, the holiday that sends majority of the population towards the coast, and over the last few years, Ruby Cove has become a popular spot for people to spend the holiday.

There are a multitude of restaurants in town—an overload really, if you consider how small the town center is—but Olive&Vine is always steady. Busy enough that most of my staff all work full time with me in the kitchen most nights of the week.

“It’s a good night, boss,” one of my servers, Gianna, says as she picks up the two plates of tiramisu I just placed on the counter for her to take out.

I sigh. “A busy one, for sure.”

“At least pretend it’s a good thing,” she teases before walking out onto the floor.

Her words sting a bit, but only because what she's implying is partly true. I move over to start on an Alfredo sauce as I wonder ifall of my staff think that I don’t enjoy my work, or that I don’t have any interest when it comes to Olive&Vine.

I love seeing the restaurant full, even if my heart and soul aren’t as attached to this place as it used to be. I still enjoy seeing people enjoy my food and enjoy the place that my Nonna put her everything into.

I’ve been running this restaurant ever since she passed, trying to maintain what she built and carry on her legacy through my work. I just don’t have that same spark that I used to, and I’m not sure how to get it back.

Maria Deo opened this restaurant when she was in her twenties, going against the grain compared to the other women in her generation. Her passion for food went past anything else, including what everyone else thought she should be doing at her age. She had two young kids and was a widow by the time she was twenty-five, but all she wanted to do was cook. She taught her children that if they wanted to achieve something, all they had to do was pour their heart into it and no one could stop them from succeeding.

She taught that to my sister Marisol and me as well, along with her love for food. Marisol didn’t quite fall in love with it the same way that I did. It was the one thing that Nonna and I did, just the two of us. The one thing that made us so close, closer than I was with my own parents, and closer once they passed too. If Nonna hadn’t been around after their crash, I don’t know what Marisol and I would’ve done.

Well, actually, I know exactly what Marisol would’ve done. She would’ve run, just like the way she left Ruby Cove not even a week after Nonna’s funeral. She has barely been back since. I think I’ve seen her once in the two years since she left. She was a coward, running from this place like she could escape where she came from. I hate myself for thinking that, but I can’t help it.

I see her work, though. It’s hard not to when your sister is one of the biggest models in the country. I see the way she smiles in those pictures, but it looks all wrong. Nothing like the way mylittle sister used to smile when she laughed so brightly that the whole room would turn to see who created such a joyful sound. I wonder how often she thinks of this place, or me, for that matter.

Clanging noises bring me back to the present. I look up into the dining room to see that May and her plaything have left. In the time that I spent thinking of the past, the two of them disappeared.

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