Consternation flickered inside Charlotte.
“I should at least take a deposit,” she moved back behind the bar. “For the room.”
His eyes narrowed.
“This isn’t usually my job,” she waved a hand through the air, her bangles making a pretty jingling noise in response. “I should have thought of it sooner.”
He reached into his back pocket and removed a slimline wallet, really more of a credit card holder, and slid a black Amex across the counter. She didn’t know much about such things, but the card was somewhat legendary and only served to confirm her first evaluation of the man as extremely wealthy.
“Thanks.” She ran her finger over the black lettering then transcribed his name into the book with care: A L E S S I O C A V A L C A N T E. A moment later, she’d swiped the card and charged the room holding fee, and she returned it to find his dark black eyes resting on her face. A shiver, but one of warmth, ran the length of her spine.
“Whatisyour normal job?”
“Oh,” she looked down at her apron, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled. “I’m the chef.”
A thick, dark brow shot up. “Really?”
“Do you always sound so sceptical or is there a reason you find that hard to believe?”
His laugh was a hoarse, deep sound that reverberated around the walls of the pub and filled it with more warmth than even the Christmas lights.
“It was not scepticism so much as gratitude.”
“Oh?” She drawled, her own voice sounding rich with disbelief.
“I have not eaten since—at least lunch time.”
“Good heavens. Ten hours? How will you survive?” She couldn’t help teasing.
The corner of his mouth quirked in a surprising show of amusement, just enough to make her tummy do a strange zipping thing. “It’s impossible to say, and I can’t imagine you’d want my death on your hands, would you—?”
He let the question hang in the air just long enough for the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. He was only asking for her name, it wasn’t a big deal, yet some sixth sense was warning Charlotte to take care, to be wary with this man. Not because he posed any danger but because he was making her aware of feelings, she’d thought dead and buried.
Since taking custody of Dash, Charlotte had ceased to think of herself as a woman and had instead been all about her little nephew. She had to be. While Maggie’s parents had allowed Charlotte to proceed unchallenged as Dash’s custodian, they’d made it all too apparent that they were watching her like a hawk. They expected Dash to be her priority and certainly didn’t want random men filtering through his life. Nor did Charlotte, but just knowing her private life was under such scrutiny made it impossible to contemplate dating—she wouldn’t risk doing anything to jeopardise her custody of Dash.
“Charlie,” she provided belatedly.
His brow, thick and dark, lifted up a little. “Charlie?”
“Charlotte,” she waved a hand in the air. “But no one calls me that.”
Those same lips that had quirked upwards a moment ago tugged downwards now, showing his contemplation. She blinked away, surprised by how mesmerising she found him. Such a sinkhole! As though he had a gravitational pull all of his own.
“Anyway,” she paused, halfway to forgetting what she was saying.
“Alessio,” he provided, as though she could have forgotten his name.
“Right.” She played along, sliding his card back quickly, and jamming her hands into the pockets of her apron.
“Food?” He prompted.
The kitchen was long past closed, but it was not in Charlotte’s nature to turn away anyone who was hungry. With an unintended look of chagrin, she nodded once.
“I can fix you something quickly. Is there anything you don’t eat?”
His eyes sparked with hers, amusement in their depths, as he shook his head. “I’m Italian.”
“But also very fashionable, so for all I know, you’re a card-holding member of the vegan society.”