Page 18 of Banter & Blushes #1

THAT’S NOT HOW YOU FLIRT, LUCA

REBECCA

T he next few days followed a surprisingly predictable pattern: Maya dragging me to all the local attractions—cafés, surf shops, random stores selling “local” rock formations that were honestly just oddly shaped stones—and me doing my best to pretend I wasn’t counting the minutes until I could go back to my hotel room, take a nap, and binge-watch something that required zero brainpower.

I was getting good at pretending to be relaxed, but the truth was, I was still uneasy. This town was too slow. Too... charming . It was like the entire place was a Pinterest board, and I was the lone grumpy face trying to ruin the vibe.

Maya, of course, didn’t care about my low-key panic attack in human form.

She was having the time of her life, probably making lifelong memories while I was secretly Googling "how to stop thinking about spreadsheets at the beach.

" But as long as she was happy, I was trying to suck it up and participate.

Which led me to where I was today—standing at the counter of Luca’s restaurant, trying to act like I wasn’t here for him.

I’d convinced myself it was just about the food.

The food was fantastic, after all. So good it made me question why I ever bothered with the sad salads and sandwiches of my city life.

But then, as I walked into the restaurant, Luca flashed that grin at me, and I was once again reminded that my attempts at pretending I wasn’t here for him were laughably futile .

“Back for more?” Luca said, wiping his hands on his apron like he hadn’t just sent my heart into a brief but intense episode of arrhythmia.

“Yeah, you’ve got this little problem,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Your food is so good it’s practically an addiction. I may even need a 12-step program after this.”

Luca raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my bluntness. “An addiction to food. Classic. Should I be worried, or just flattered?”

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head, “I’m in total control. It’s the perfect balance of flavor and danger. I’m just... in the throes of my current obsession. But don’t worry—I’m not the kind of person who lets a little thing like ‘good food’ make decisions for me.”

“Good to know,” he said, his smile a little too knowing. He looked at me for a beat too long, and I immediately wondered if I’d said something that made me sound weird . Which, let’s be honest, I probably did.

“I’ll take the usual,” I said, quickly changing the subject before I did anything else embarrassing, like accidentally ordering dessert as if it were a main course.

Luca nodded and turned to start preparing my meal.

I tried to keep my focus on the menu board above the counter, pretending I wasn’t staring at his arms, which were covered in tattoos that I was fairly sure meant something cool, but I had no idea what.

I should’ve cared, but the truth was, all I cared about at that exact moment was the fact that my heart rate had once again sped up for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely.

“So,” Luca said, after a beat of chopping something that smelled ridiculously good, “you seem like a woman who knows what she wants. But, I gotta ask... what brings you to this sleepy little town? Business? Or are you just here to broaden your horizons... and your palate?”

I pushed some of my wild curls behind my ear.

“Oh, you know, just taking some time to reflect,” I said, like I was on some kind of self-discovery journey when, in reality, I was just trying not to go back to the part of my life where I meticulously scheduled every waking moment.

“I’m... in between things. You know? Trying to. .. change things. Be more spontaneous.”

Luca smirked and didn’t look up from what he was doing. “Spontaneous? I don’t know if I’d trust you to be spontaneous if I let you loose in my kitchen. You’d probably bring a binder and a timeline, wouldn’t you?”

“Okay, first of all, rude . Second of all, I am not that bad,” I protested, though, honestly, if I were being real with myself, I could totally picture myself organizing the hell out of an impromptu trip to the grocery store.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Luca teased, glancing up just as I raised my eyebrows. “I think the thought of someone like you being all ‘spontaneous’ is a little like watching a squirrel try to do yoga. It’s adorable ... but it’s also a bit out of your comfort zone.”

My face flamed for a second. Did he just call my quirkiness adorable? Get a hold of yourself, girl .

“Hey! I’m very spontaneous when I want to be. I can totally do that,” I said, my voice pitching higher than I intended. “It’s just—well, I didn’t plan on meeting a 16-year-old chef who calls my ability to live life free-range ‘adorable.’”

I was discreetly prying for the truth, hoping he would give up his real age without me having to ask him bluntly.

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back like I’d just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you credit. You’ve got spunk. I like that.”

I didn’t like how much that comment sent a small ripple of warmth across my chest. I mean, come on.

Spunk? Really? That was some I’m-a-cute-little-puppy territory, and I was, in fact, a grown woman —one with a well-established career and an even better handle on her personal life.

.. or, well, that’s what I told myself every time I looked at my planner .

“So,” I said, suddenly keen to shift the focus away from my flustered state, “how does one go from being a 16-year-old kitchen prodigy to... running a restaurant by the ocean? Was there some kind of ‘Eat Pray Love’ moment involved?”

“More like ‘Cook, Serve, Eat Piles of Carbs and Hope for the Best,’” he said, winking as he slid a perfectly cooked fish onto a plate like it was no big deal.

“But in all seriousness, I just wanted to do something that made me feel alive. And food... food’s the one thing that makes sense to me.

It’s like I’m able to connect with people without saying much. ”

Oh, he was good. And the sparkle in his eye told me he knew exactly what I was trying to do and he was playing hard to get.

“Well, I think that might be the most emotionally profound thing I’ve heard all week,” I said, trying to make light of the unexpectedly deep sentiment. “Maybe I should take up cooking and finally be a person who gets why people put so much effort into making little dishes look like works of art.”

Luca smirked. “Or... you could stop overthinking things and just let your taste buds decide.”

“Ugh. Stop. You’re making it sound too easy.”

“Exactly,” he said with a grin. “Sometimes the best things in life are the ones we don’t overcomplicate.”

And that’s when I realized something. I hated him —but in the best way possible.

Luca was turning me into the kind of person who thought deep thoughts about salads. And I was secretly enjoying it.

“I’m Rebecca, by the way,” I slipped in with a shy smile.

Okay. Maybe my idea of a vacation had just drastically changed.