Under The Tuscan Sun.... Michelle DouglasЧитать онлайн книгу.
and helped because Louisa doesn’t speak Italian. Then we were on the same bus.”
“Oh, so you hit the jackpot when you could find someone to stay with.”
Daniella’s eyes widened. The man was insufferable. “I’m not taking advantage of her! I just finished a teaching job in Rome. Louisa needs an interpreter for a few weeks.” She put her shoulders back. “And today I intend to go into town to look for temporary work to finance a few weeks of sightseeing.”
He took the cup of tea from her hands. “What kind of work?”
His softened voice took some of the wind out of her sails. She shrugged. “Anything really. Temp jobs are temp jobs.”
“Would you be willing to be a hostess at a restaurant?”
Confused, she said, “Sure.”
“I have a friend who needs someone to fill in while he hires a permanent replacement for a maître d’ who just quit.”
Her feelings for the mysterious Nico warmed a bit. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all? “Sounds perfect.”
“Do you have a pen?”
She nodded, pulling one from her purse.
He scribbled down the address on a business card he took from his pocket. “Go here. Don’t call. Just go at lunchtime and tell Rafe that Nico sent you.” He nodded at the card he’d handed to her. “Show him that and he’ll know you’re not lying.”
He set his tea on the table. “Tell Ms. Harrison I said goodbye.”
With that, he left.
Glad he was gone, Daniella glanced at the card in her hands. How could a guy who’d so easily helped her have such a difficult time getting along with Louisa?
She blew her breath out on a long sigh. She supposed it didn’t matter. Eventually they’d become friends. They were neighbors after all.
Daniella finished her tea, but Louisa never returned to the kitchen. Excited to tell Louisa of her job prospect, Dani searched the downstairs for her, but didn’t find her.
The night before they’d tidied two bedrooms enough that they could sleep in them, so she climbed the stairs and headed for the room Louisa had chosen. She found her new friend wrestling with some bedding.
“What are you doing?”
“I saw a washer and dryer. I thought I’d wash the bedclothes so our rooms really will be habitable tonight.”
She raced to help Louisa with the huge comforter. “Our rooms were fine. We don’t need these comforters, and the sheets had been protected from the dust by the comforters so they were clean. Besides, these won’t fit in a typical washer.”
Louisa dropped the comforter. “I know.” Her face fell in dismay. “I just need to do something to make the place more livable.” Her gaze met Daniella’s. “There’s dust and clutter...and watermarks that mean some of the bathrooms and maybe even the roof need to be repaired.” She sat on the bed. “What am I going to do?”
Dani sat beside her. “We’re going to take things one step at a time.” She tucked Nico’s business card into her pocket. “This morning, we’ll clean the kitchen and finish our bedrooms. Tomorrow, we’ll pick a room and clean it, and every day after that we’ll just keep cleaning one room at a time.”
“What about the roof?”
“We’ll hope it doesn’t rain?”
Louisa laughed. “I’m serious.”
“Well, I have a chance for a job at a restaurant.”
“You do?”
She smiled. “Yes. Nico knows someone who needs a hostess.”
“Oh.”
She ignored the dislike in her friend’s voice. “What better way to find a good contractor than by chitchatting with the locals?”
Louisa smiled and shook her head. “If anybody can chitchat her way into finding a good contractor, it’s you.”
“Which is also going to make me a good hostess.”
“What time’s your appointment?”
“Lunchtime.” She winced. “From the address on this card, I think we’re going to have to hope there’s a car in that big, fancy garage out back.”
* * *
Standing behind the podium in the entry to Mancini’s, Rafe struggled with the urge to throw his hands in the air and storm off. On his left, two American couples spoke broken, ill-attempted Italian in an effort to make reservations for that night. In front of him, a businessman demanded to be seated immediately. To his right, a couple kissed. And behind them, what seemed to be a sea of diners groused and grumbled as he tried to figure out a computer system with a seating chart superimposed with reservations.
How could no one in his kitchen staff be familiar with this computer software?
“Everybody just give me a minute!”
He hit a button and the screen disappeared. After a second of shock, he cursed. He expected the crowd to groan. Instead they laughed. Laughed. Again, laughter!
How was it that everybody seemed to be happy that he was suffering? These people—customers—were the people he loved, the people he worked so hard to please. How could they laugh at him?
He tried to get the screen to reappear, but it stayed dark.
“Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.”
He glanced up to see an American, clearly forgetting she was in Italy because she spoke English as she made her way through the crowd. Cut in an angled, modern style, her pretty blond hair stopped at her chin. Her blue eyes were determined. The buttons of her black coat had been left open, revealing jeans and pale blue sweater.
When she reached the podium, she didn’t even look at Rafe. She addressed the gathered crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said in flawless Italian. “Give me two minutes and everyone will be seated.”
His eyebrows rose. She was a cheeky little thing.
When she finally faced him, her blue eyes locked on his. Rich with color and bright with enthusiasm, they didn’t merely display her confidence, they caused his heart to give a little bounce.
She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Daniella Tate. Your friend Nico sent me.” When he didn’t take her hand, her smile drooped as she tucked a strand of yellow hair behind her ear. But her face brightened again. She rifled in her jeans pocket, pulled out a business card and offered it to him. “See?”
He glanced at Nico’s card. “So he believes you are right to be my hostess?”
“Temporarily.” She winced. “I just finished a teaching position in Rome. For the next four weeks I’m sightseeing, but I’m trying to supplement my extended stay with a temp job. I think he thinks we can help each other—at least while you interview candidates.”
The sweet, melodious tone of her voice caused something warm and soft to thrum through Rafe, something he’d never felt before—undoubtedly relief that his friend had solved his problem.
“I see.”
“Hey, buddy, come on. We’re hungry! If you’re not going to seat us we’ll go somewhere else.”
Not waiting for him to reply, Daniella nudged Rafe out of the way, stooped down to find a tablet on the maître d’ stand shelf and faced the dining area. She quickly drew squares and circles representing all the tables and wrote the number of chairs around each one. She put an X over the tables that were taken.
Had he thought she was cheeky? Apparently that was just the tip of the iceberg.
She