Page 19 of All Mine (The All Mine #1)

Isabella

Isabella viewed herself in the full-length mirror and pulled the belt on her wrap dress tight.

It cinched her in at the waist, before the skirt skimmed her hips and landed above her knee.

Strappy heeled sandals gave her an extra few inches of height and made her legs long and lean.

She looked good. She shook her hair out in the mirror, watching her curls tumble around her shoulders.

No messy bun today. And no wet T-shirts.

Although a fair bit of cleavage, she thought with a mischievous grin, pulling her dress down just that inch lower at the front.

She’d been doing competition visits all week.

Starting with the local cafés for brunch and then a few of the other restaurants for dinner.

Checking out their menus, their service standards, their staff.

She’d eaten everything from eggs and avocado on sourdough to Murgh Makhani.

She’d sipped cocktails and smoothies and caffè lattes.

But she’d never made so much effort with what she wore until tonight, when she was booked into The Bistro. Funny that.

She’d not only tasted the competition, she’d learned about them too.

She’d listened to what other customers were saying and heard all sorts of insights.

Not just about the food either. Especially at one café where she’d been sitting next to a table of young women, similar in age to her.

One of them had obviously moved away from the town and was back visiting her friends.

They’d been exchanging stories and catching up on life, and Isabella inconspicuously listened in when she heard the name of her neighbour, Etienne.

‘Any new encounters with the gorgeous Etienne?’

‘Not me. I got Etienne’d last year,’ one of them said with a giggle.

‘I was the year before that,’ another said, rolling her eyes. ‘Been thinking about it ever since.’

‘Saw him out on his run last week. How does he look sexy at seven in the morning?’

‘He’d look sexy any time of day.’ They all laughed and conversation moved on. Etienne certainly seemed to be in demand.

Isabella spritzed some perfume, firstly on her throat and then on her wrist where Etienne’s mouth had been, and felt the tug of it again, deep in her groin. God, that man was sexy. She checked her watch. Time to go. She tied her coat at the waist, cinching her figure, and headed over the square.

He was leaning over his bookings diary when she pulled open the door to step inside, and she took the opportunity to survey the restaurant.

The ambience was good. Tables all pretty much full.

Lighting soft enough to make everyone more attractive.

Music was low enough to talk over. She nodded to herself in approval. He ran a good place.

Etienne lifted his head to see who’d come in, a professionally welcoming smile on his face which turned into a wider smile when he saw it was her. She felt her stomach flip. Oh, for God’s sake. Just because he’s handsome.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Table booked for eight p.m.’

He ran his finger down the bookings and then across the line.

‘Ms Tucci, I presume? How nice to see you. Table for one?’

She nodded. She had become accustomed to dining alone over the last ten months.

Since Daniel left, she’d forced herself to get back into the habit of doing all manner of things on her own.

From going to the cinema to watching a play; joining a new book club to booking a weekend away.

She’d even gone to a comedy club, knowing she might be comedy fodder for the comedians, sitting on her own in the corner.

But she’d survived and, more than that, she’d enjoyed it.

With every outing or challenge, she’d grown in confidence, feeling more like her old self, the one before she’d been half of a couple.

When she was just Isabella and not Mrs Simmonds.

Now, a table for one didn’t faze her in the slightest.

Etienne helped her slide out of her coat, his hands resting momentarily on her shoulders, and hung it for her on a hook before leading her to the corner.

A round table, with a single placemat. Which was a nice touch, she thought.

Often when she booked a table for one, she’d find it set for two, which made it for ever look like she must have been stood up.

This looked perfectly set for someone enjoying a meal out on their own– by choice.

He pulled the chair out for her, and she slid into her seat.

‘Checking out the competition?’ he asked with a grin as he handed her the menu.

‘Got to know what I’m up against,’ she responded good-naturedly, ‘so that I can beat it.’

He laughed outright.

‘Let me get you a drink,’ he said. ‘As a welcome to the neighbourhood.’

Isabella asked him to suggest a dry white wine and asked for a side glass of ice. As Etienne navigated confidently through the tables, Isabella forced herself to look away and studied the menu.

After choosing moules marinière and placing her order with an elfin waitress with a French bob, who she noticed was younger than her and rather gorgeous, Isabella sat back to take mental notes.

The staff wore a uniform of black shirts and black jeans, with black waist aprons tied at the back.

The menu was not extensive, but had a fair amount of choice, with new ‘dishes of the season’ highlighted on a board on the wall.

There were all the usual considerations, options for gluten free or vegetarian.

It was all very different from how she planned to run Tutto Mio, but she would keep that to herself.

Her wine arrived, delivered by the waitress with a welcoming smile. ‘Etienne said to tell you that he could recommend the pancake dessert,’ she said, which made Isabella clench her thighs together under the table.

Her food arrived. The mussels were plump and soft, the sauce creamy. She mopped up the remaining broth with chunks of homemade bread and wiped her bowl clean.

‘I love to see a woman with a good appetite,’ Etienne said, appearing beside her. How was it that he seemed to make everything sound sexual? She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs under the table. His eyes flicked over her body, the slightest, quickest glance.

‘It was delicious. Can you tell your chef for me?’ she said, and then, grinning mischievously, ‘In fact, who is your chef?’

‘Uh-uh, hands off,’ Etienne said, catching on immediately. ‘You’re not having him!’

Isabella feigned disappointment and they both laughed. But to be fair, her food would have to be good to keep up with the standards here. It was by far the best food in town.

‘So, how are you?’ he asked. She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a crash from the kitchen.

Etienne excused himself and was gone. Isabella sipped her wine slowly, wanting to make it last as long as possible.

A few moments later, Etienne exited the kitchen with his arm around the beautiful young waitress.

A strange stab of jealousy shot through Isabella until she realised he was supporting her, not cuddling her.

She leaned heavily on his other arm and was limping badly, face pale and strained with pain.

He got her to the coat rack and wrapped her coat around her shoulders before helping her out the front door to a taxi parked up on the kerb.

Through the window, Isabella watched how carefully he shut the door behind the young girl.

He ran both hands through his hair before turning back to the restaurant.

A moment later, he was back in front of Isabella.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said, exhaling. ‘Katie’s sprained her ankle and my other waitress, Annie, called in sick so I’m now without assistance for the night.’

Isabella grimaced at him in sympathy. His gaze swept across the restaurant, taking in the busy tables, the diners still only on their starters who had another two courses to come.

The ones already looking about them to get another drink.

It was too much for one person to handle, that much was clear.

She removed her napkin from her lap and put it on her placemat.

This was a good chance for her to get a look in that kitchen.

To see who the chef was and find out what she could about how he ran things.

She told herself all those things, whilst also admitting it would give her the opportunity to hang around longer. Appreciate the view.

‘I can help,’ she said.

He swung his face towards her in surprise.

‘No — ’ he started, but she pushed her chair back and stood up.

‘Of course I can,’ she said. ‘I’m good.’

He hesitated for a split second.

‘I don’t doubt it for a second,’ he said, slowly. Their eyes crashed together in flirty little fireworks that fluttered all the way to her stomach.

‘Well then. Hand me an apron.’ She paused for a beat before saying, ‘Boss.’

A smile crept over his face.

‘I like the sound of that,’ he said.

The next two hours flashed by. Etienne showed her the table number plan and took her through to the kitchen, where Mile End Mickey wasted no time in ringing his bell and pointing at two plates waiting on the hotplate.

Isabella tied her apron over her dress, washed her hands in the sink and then got to work.

Over the course of the evening, she served every dish on the menu. She saw the presentation of the starters, the size of the portions, the accompaniments to each meal. She watched as Mickey seasoned and accessorised each plate. His attention to detail was fabulous, even if his language was foul.