I scrub a hand over my jaw, arching an eyebrow. It’s driving me crazy. “Are you sure we’ve never met?”
Her eyes seem to twinkle. She shifts closer, her top sloping farther off her shoulder. My eyes follow that move, catching on to the ink there. Jesus Christ. It’s so fucking hot I want to run my tongue over it, like I do the rest of her.
“I think the question is—are you sure we’ve never met?” Her tone is playful and it reels me in, like she did that first afternoon. The mere possibility that she’s one and the same thrills me.
I drag a finger along my lower lip as I remember what it was like to kiss that girl. How she seemed to melt when I touched her. “You look exactly like someone…” I angle my shoulders closer, zeroing in only on her, as the noise and the clatter of the kitchen behind me seems to fade away. “Someone I knew once, years ago.”
Her lips twitch in the hint of a smile. “And who is this girl you once knew?”
“She was—”
“Hello there, handsome.”
Before I can finish and tell her “someone I desperately wanted to see again,” the moment collapses when Greta speaks. I turn to the curvy blonde I see nearly every day. A box of produce is balanced on her hip. “Hello there, Greta,” I say. “Have you brought me all sorts of goodies today?”
Greta pats the box. “Only the best for you. I have strawberries and cantaloupes and some peaches too,” she says in a purr, making everything sound like innuendo. She’s just like that. She’s a flirt, but it’s never been more than this with her—this playful banter.
“Mmm, peaches,” I say, then cock my head to Penny. “Do you like peaches?”
For a moment, I picture sliding a slice of a peach between those lips and watching her lick it, bite it, savor it.
In a cool tone, she answers, “Who doesn’t like peaches?”
“It’s a sin not to like peaches. May I have one now, please?” I say to Greta, and she hands me one, leaning close enough to show a peek of her cleavage.
“A peach for you, Gabriel,” Greta says, letting my name roll off her tongue. She mouths, “See you later, handsome,” just like she always does.
“Merci,” I tell her, then she saunters into the kitchen with the daily delivery. I turn my focus back to Penny, whose expression is hard to read. I gesture in Greta’s direction. “Greta handles my produce.”
Her lips curve up, but she’s not exactly smiling. “I bet she does.”
I furrow my brow because the comment sounded almost…salty. “Excuse me?”
Penny seems to transform her expression in an instant, smiling as she says sweetly, “I bet she does a great job.”
I take the knife on the table and slice open the peach, cutting it into chunks. “She does. But back to what I was saying—you look so familiar. Every single thing about you,” I say, trying once more. “Penny…” My voice trails off as I grasp at her name, waiting for her to supply Jones.
“Penny Smith.” She’s all business as she answers, and there goes my hope. “And yes, I understand how that can be. But I assure you, Gabriel, we’ve never met.”
“C’est la vie, then,” I say with a shrug. “But we know each other now, and I look forward to working with you, Penny Smith.”
“I’m delighted that you’re free for the event. I think we can raise so much money to help the local animals by working together, don’t you?”
“I absolutely do.” I offer her a slice of the fruit. “Try it. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“I’m sure I won’t regret it, either, since I don’t believe in regret when it comes to peaches,” she says, her tone dry.
I tilt my head, trying to make sense of her comment as she grabs the slice from my fingers then pops it in her mouth. A small, sexy murmur slips from her lips as she bites the fruit. I can’t stop watching her eat. I can’t stop looking at her. I can’t stop staring.
When she finishes, she says, “Yes, the peaches seem to have been handled well.” She scoots out of the booth and extends a hand for me to shake. “I’m so glad you’re on board. I’ll have my assistant, Lacey, follow up.”
Quickly, I push to my feet and take her hand. “Wait. Are you going?”
She nods crisply. “Yes. I need to leave. You’re sure you’re free the date of the event in the park?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“You don’t have anything else planned?”
I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“The other restaurant we had booked for this cancelled a few days ago. The chef at least called me and told me, though.”
“That was good of him to give you notice. But I assure you, I will be there. That is, if you want to work together.”
“Absolutely. I need you,” she says. Then, as if she’s correcting herself, she adds, “We need you.”
“I’m glad to be able to do this. But we should talk again. About the menu. Go over it. Review it,” I say. My words come out more nervously than I expect, but the prospect of her walking away feels strangely unsettling.
“We could chat on the phone,” she offers.
That won’t do. “Let’s talk over dinner. Tonight.”
“Don’t you need to cook?”
I gesture to our surroundings—the tables and chairs, the kitchen behind me, the hostess stand. “I don’t do all the cooking anymore, since I’m running the business, too. But I will still work all day and prep the sauces and plan the specials. I have an amazing sous chef who’ll cook tonight.”