New York. Worked at a lot of places.” He ate a bite of lamb, making it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate. Jenna noticed he’d barely touched his wine.
Over dessert, Jack told them about a meal he’d had at one of Sandro’s restaurants when they’d known each other in New York. How people had lined up around the block to get a table. But it seemed to Jenna that the more Jack talked, the more remote Sandro became. Maybe it was just humility? But there was a darkness in his eyes, a bitterness in the lines of his mouth that Jenna didn’t understand. According to Jack, he’d been a huge success, but he didn’t look at all happy about the memories.
As Jack’s story came to an end, Jenna studied Sandro covertly. He was staring into deep space located somewhere between his water and wine glasses. Well, he might be a bit of a moody person, but it was clear to Jenna that Jack’s money would be well invested. Sandro had a gift, a talent for blending ingredients and flavors in new and fascinating ways that would be a huge hit. The delicate vanilla-bean flan that had finished the meal alongside a perfect cappuccino was the final proof.
She glanced down the table to where Jack and Samantha were holding hands and smiling at each other. “Nice work,” she whispered, interrupting whatever dark reverie he was lost in. “Jack and Samantha look like they’re in a blissed-out food coma.”
Sandro looked up and smiled at her, his mood apparently lightening, and her stomach did an odd flip. “The highest compliment,” he whispered back. “But you’re still clearheaded. Should I be worried?”
It took a moment to follow him but when she did, she giggled. “Because I’m not comatose? No. The food was delicious. But I’ve got a competition coming up and no matter how good the food, I have to eat a little less of it than most people.”
“Sounds like you’re missing out.” He winked. “Especially when you’re eating my food.”
“Missing out on stuffing myself? I don’t see it that way. Dancing takes discipline. But the fun of it is way more than the pleasure I might get from a few extra bites of food.” Jenna paused and licked some flan off her spoon, noticing how Sandro’s eyes locked on to her mouth. “No matter how incredible they might taste.”
* * *
THEY’D MADE THEIR way to the living room to sit in front of the fire with the last of the wine. Samantha and Jack were curled up on the couch, staring at the flames. Jenna sat on the rug by the hearth, petting Zeke, one of the collies. He’d snuggled up next to her the moment she sat down. She wove her fingers into the soft, thick fur around his neck and he sighed in doggy bliss.
Sandro had flopped into the armchair but only stayed a few minutes before disappearing into the kitchen. Jenna could hear the clattering of dishes. “Shouldn’t we be helping?” she asked.
Yawning, Samantha lifted her head from Jack’s shoulder. “Good luck. Sandro never lets anyone help. Maybe it’s a chef thing.”
“Any particular reason you want to lend a hand, Red?” Jack was looking over Samantha’s head at her, grinning suggestively.
“Are you thinking that I—?” Jenna stopped, glancing toward the kitchen to make sure its occupants couldn’t hear.
“Jack, stop teasing her!” Samantha sat up and elbowed her fiancé. “Give Jenna a break. She can’t help it if she’s so beautiful that men fall all over her. But seriously, Jen, if there was any more chemistry between you two at dinner, this whole house would have gone up in flames.”
“There’s no chemistry,” Jenna lied to her friend, ignoring the feelings racing through her.
Jack gave Jenna a long look. “It’s obvious even to a dumb guy like me that there’s something there. I’ve known Sandro for years and I’ve never seen him quite like that.”
“What, talking with people at dinner?”
“No,” Jack replied. “That’s pretty standard. This is different. For one thing, he kept staring at you.”
That shouldn’t have been such interesting news, but Jenna’s pulse sped up at the thought. The last thing she needed was a gorgeous, moody man who lived a couple hundred miles away from San Francisco. But despite what she’d told Samantha, the chemistry she felt with Sandro was palpable. Flirting with him was addictive and she wanted more. Jack’s next words felt like cold water.
“Look, Red. You gotta know this. Sandro’s my friend and he’s a great guy. An amazing, dedicated chef, too. And he’s fine to flirt with. But his history with women... Well, let’s just say there’s a long, long history and it’s not pretty. He doesn’t take much seriously outside of cooking. Don’t even think about getting involved with him. I’ve seen way too many women regret that decision.”
There was disappointment but not surprise. Jenna had lived in San Francisco long enough to know that good-looking single men in their thirties were usually too good to be true. Mostly, she felt something close to horror. Only a few hours had gone by since she’d vowed to take a break from dating and thus avoid cheating men, and she was already drawn to one like some pathetic moth to a lethal flame.
She sighed. “You don’t have to worry, Jack. He’s good-looking and all, but I don’t want anything new.” Jenna hoped that if she just kept saying the words, they’d be true. “I just want to keep my focus on my dancing right now.” A funny thought struck her and she smiled. “Even if I was interested, we wouldn’t cross paths. I doubt he’ll be signing up for dance lessons in San Francisco anytime soon!”
Jenna stared at the whispering flames in the fireplace, trying to force Sandro out of her mind. Think about your dance studio, she commanded herself. The one she was going to create now that her long, exhausting search for the perfect place had finally produced a result. Jenna pictured the old ballroom, forgotten at the back of the run-down social club. It was like discovering hidden treasure, complete with crystal chandeliers. It was going to be perfect, as long as no one else noticed it before she could pull her money together.
She’d been with Jeff the day she’d found it. Such a fun day and they’d celebrated afterward at a bar that only served champagne—one of those businesses that could exist in a busy city where people loved their wine. They’d tried a few different kinds and then gone back to his apartment and...
Ugh! Why was she thinking about Jeff? Any thoughts of sex with Jeff were hideous now that she knew he’d been sleeping with other women. She stood suddenly, her heart pounding with the enormity of his betrayal.
“Are you okay?” Samantha asked sleepily.
“I’m good,” she lied. “But really tired. I think I’ll just say good-night.” She was exhausted, she realized. It had been a rough week.
She said good-night and went to thank Sandro and Paul for dinner. Dirty dishes were still scattered around the dining room table and she grabbed a stack of plates as she went by. In the kitchen, Paul was packing groceries back into the cardboard box. There was no sign of Sandro.
“Paul, how come you didn’t eat with us?” Jenna asked.
“Sandro needed me to stir the sauce and do the prep for the desserts. I ate in here. It was good, though.”
“Your brother’s got talent for sure,” Jenna told him. “Do you like to cook, too?”
“Nah.” Paul grimaced. “I mean, I’m happy to help out Sandro, but I’m not really into it.”
“Me, neither,” Jenna said. “I live on takeout. Way too much, probably.” She scraped the plates into the garbage and took them to the sink to rinse them off.
“Can I ask you for a favor, Jenna?” Paul kept his voice low and looked behind him for a moment, as if making sure no one would overhear.
“Sure,” Jenna answered.
“Would you be able to tell me...?” Paul’s face reddened. “I mean, it’s probably dumb, but can you tell me if I’m any good? At dance?”