Read Just a Taste for Free Online Page B

close to that Dante. We can’t have you distracted, Vivi. All our focus needs to be on getting the restaurant up and running.”
    All our focus?
    “Stop worrying, Natalie. I’m here to cook, not find myself a new romance.”
    “Good. Who needs romance, anyway?” Natalie sneered.
    The bitterness in Natalie’s voice brought Vivi up short. She’d been so selfish, worrying about money and prattling on about the Italian, that she hadn’t even stopped to think how Natalie was faring.
    Vivi reached out to take her hand. “It still hurts, doesn’t it, cherie ?”
    Natalie’s eyes quickly filled with tears. “I was so stupid…”
    “You were human and you made a mistake.”
    “A mistake that cost me my career.”
    “You’ll begin a new career. Here,” Vivi replied with absolute conviction. “You just need time to heal.”
    “And you need to learn not to listen to ignorant widowers who criticize your coffee!”
    “You’re right,” Vivi agreed with a sigh. But she still felt badly about causing him pain.

Chapter 4
    “Y ou got company.”
    Anthony looked up from chopping basil with his mezzaluna to see Aldo—headwaiter, and the bane of his existence—scowling at him from the kitchen doorway. It was three thirty in the afternoon, which to Anthony’s mind could only mean one thing: Vivi and her sister were launching another ambush.
    Anthony frowned at the old man impatiently. “You can’t handle it?”
    “Asked for you,” Aldo replied with a yawn.
    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Anthony muttered, putting down the curved steel blade in his hand. “How we doin’ with that eggplant?” he asked Sam on his way out.
    “Sliced, diced, and ready to go,” Sam replied cheerfully.
    “Sounds like you’re describing your fingers rather than the eggplant,” said Anthony. Sam grinned, which Anthony took as a good sign. Some people thought they wanted to be chefs, but the minute you gave them the grunt work, they gave up, not realizing the pecking order in a restaurant was a ladder to be scaled. Others were glad to do the work, but never quite got the hang of using the knives or coping with the nerve-shattering pace. Those were the ones that broke Anthony’s heart—the ones who were willing to do what it took, but lacked the coordination or temperament.
    He squared his shoulders, preparing for a face-off with Vivi. She’d been on his mind ever since their coffee brewing battle. He knew he’d taken a cheap shot at her. The polite thing would have been for him to pause and explain that his wife was dead, rather than storm out, leaving her sitting there with her face turning the color of a beet. But he was still steaming over her insults about Italian coffee. The woman wouldn’t know a decent cup of joe if it came up and bit her on the derriere .
    He pushed through the doors of the kitchen. It wasn’t Vivi waiting there for him, but his seven-year-old nephew, Anthony, known in the family as “Little Ant.” Though he and his nephew were close, Little Ant had never shown up at the restaurant on his own before, even though his elementary school was within walking distance. Something was wrong.
    “Hey, big guy.” Anthony tousled his nephew’s dark curly hair while throwing Aldo a dirty look. “You couldn’t tell me it was my nephew?” he called to him. “You had to act like it was a friggin’ mystery?”
    “I quit!” Aldo shouted as headed toward the banquet room, muttering a stream of Italian curses in his wake.
    “Pain in my ass,” Anthony growled as he watched the old man disappear. “You want a Coke or something?” he asked Little Ant.
    Little Ant nodded. “Did Aldo really just quit?” he asked nervously.
    “He quits every day,” said Anthony as he went behind the bar to fetch the boy his soda. “Don’t worry about it.” The kid was the spitting image of Anthony’s brother, Michael, though father and son differed greatly in temperament. At seven, Michael had been a rambunctious little