Page 56 of Men or Paws
So much for my plan to torture him.
Dragging myself to the kitchen, I took out another plate and a set of utensils, then returned to the table and placed them in front of him.
He smiled again, looking a little too eager for my taste. “Thank you.”
Was he going to eat it just to prove a point? Yes, that had to be it! Rocco knew I was upset with him and was going to pretend to like my food, to try to make me feel better.
Yeah, good luck with that.
If a kid doesn’t like broccoli, but you force him to eat it anyway, he won’t be able to hide the disgust on his face. Rocco might have been a great actor, wait . . . when did I start believing that? Anyway, I would be able to see right through him after he took the very first bite. And you can bet I would say something about it.
I grabbed the bottle of the 2017 Archimedes Cabernet Sauvignon from Francis Ford Coppola Winery and held it up. “Care for some wine with the meal?”
“Absolutely, and just so you know, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Rocco said, knowing that Marcello had stocked the guesthouse with wine from his own cellar.
I poured Rocco a glass of the wine and gestured to the food. “Please. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, focused on the serving utensils and serving the chicken and pasta onto his plate. He was about to set the utensils down, then decided on a little more pasta. “Hope you don’t mind. This looks so good.”
You could bet every penny you had that I was going to be watching to make sure he didn’t try to spit the food out in his napkin.
We ate in silence, well, at least I did.
The nonstop moaning that was coming from the actor sitting across from me was starting to sound a little obscene. Every bite he took made me madder because I was waiting for the disgusted look on his face, but it never came.
Then he had the nerve of serving himself more!
I finally set my fork down and wiped my mouth with my napkin, glaring at him.
Rocco paused the serving utensil in midair, some angel hair pasta dangling off the edge of it. “Oh, was I not supposed to have seconds? Sorry, my bad.” He placed the pasta back in the serving platter.
“Food is meant to be eaten.” I gestured to the platter, not knowing what else to say to the man who wasn’t supposed to be devouring my food.
Rocco grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He went for the pasta again, then added another chicken breast since he had the green light. “I wasn’t sure since you look a little perturbed, unless you’re just tired.” He forked another piece of chicken breast into his mouth, moaning and nodding his approval as he chewed.
Yes, I was perturbed, but no good would ever come from mentioning the reason. I certainly didn’t want to argue with Rocco and be fired on the spot. He just needed to finish his food and leave before I said something I regretted.
Rocco crossed his arms, analyzing me a little too closely. “If you’d like to clear the air about something that has been bugging you, I’m all ears.”
I glanced at his ears. They certainly were cute.
And I was being ridiculous again because I shouldn’t have been letting his ears distract me from being mad at him.
“Isn’t a chef supposed to be happy when someone is enjoying her food?” Rocco added, devouring more of the chicken and pasta like it was the best meal he had ever eaten in his life. “I thought that was the ultimate compliment. I don’t understand why you don’t look happy right now.”
“And I don’t understand why you didn’t like the chicken piccata at Santo Domingo Grill when this is the exact same recipe!” I blurted out, jabbing my finger in the air toward the food on the table.
Oops.
So much for not saying anything.
My mouth had betrayed me again.
I closed my eyes and shook my head, waiting for him to connect me with the restaurant and the chicken piccata. I knew it wouldn’t be long.
“Santo Domingo Grill?” he said, running a hand through his hair, a blank look on his face.
I should’ve known he wouldn’t remember.
