He shook his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Be her friend, tesoro mio.” Vesta smiled once more and then left the office.
Rafe stared after her. Did Jenna even have friends? Tad, maybe. Did he know her well? Better than Rafe? Perhaps so, given the fact they traveled together, lived the same rootless existence, worked the same ungodly hours.
He continued to glower. Taking it slow and easy where Jenna was concerned was not in Rafe’s repertoire. But if he was going to win her back—in whatever capacity—he had to do exactly as Vesta said. Not cut the ties, but unravel them a bit.
Okay. A lot.
With his mind churning and the adrenaline pumping, he returned to the kitchen, knowing his macho attitude needed to be revamped as much as his stale dining room did.
* * *
Jenna worked the dinner crowd the way she had at lunch, and also used her famous face to create a buzz about the makeover of Sampogna’s. “Tell all your friends!” became her mantra and the patrons appeared as excited to see what the end result would be as she was.
Though she hadn’t yet latched onto a full plan of attack. That always took a day or two of absorbing the atmosphere, getting to know the regular diners and the restaurant staff, assessing the current local competition and determining strengths and weaknesses across the board. She’d combine the latter with opportunities and threats to develop a SWOT analysis that would help guide her strategy.
Admittedly, she was happy for the engaging project, but mostly she was over the moon at being able to help Rafe.
Sure, she owed it to him. But she’d also realized during the course of the day that she’d desperately wanted to do this in order to be a part of something he treasured. An interesting revelation.
When Sampogna’s closed for the evening and everyone cleared out, following cleaning chores and re-setting the tables for the next day’s lunch service, Jenna was ready to kick off her high heels. Ten hours playing hostess left her with severely sore feet, despite her absurdly expensive air-insole inserts.
Rafe came from the kitchen as she propped a hip against the side of a booth.
“You look beat,” he told her.
“I forgot how exhausting it is to work a room all day.”
“You are damn good at it, though.”
“It’s actually a lot of fun. I enjoyed talking with everyone. It was great to see familiar faces as well as new ones. And I like that your family comes in. Your staff is amazing too, Rafe.”
“They’re all very supportive.”
“I adored seeing Vesta. I wish she would’ve stayed.”
“She and Uncle Frank will be in for dinner this week,” he assured her. “Vinny’s been having some problems with his restaurant too, so she was checking in on him this afternoon. Seafood is much more expensive than Italian food.”
“True.” Jenna paused. “Hmm. Maybe I should stop by as well. Vinny’s got a great restaurant in an enviable location on the Wharf. I bet we could do something with his menu to liven it up.”
One corner of Rafe’s mouth dipped.
Jenna sighed. “My God. I can hear the words tripping through your mind. She never stops working.”
“And I’m right, aren’t I?”
With a nod, she said, “Yes.” She turned away, adding over her shoulder, “I’ve got to get out of here and find something to eat. I’m starving.”
“That’s because you refused to take a break.” Even when he’d offered her half of the New York strip steak he’d had for dinner.
“I was too busy trying to find out what people are looking for or expecting when they come to Sampogna’s.” She pushed through the kitchen’s pass door and entered Rafe’s office to collect her purse and coat. When she returned, Rafe was still standing where she’d left him, a scowl on his face.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I was just debating whether I should invite you over to the loft for linguine alla vongole—”