Page 21 of Banter & Blushes #1

AGE, BUT NOT THAT KIND OF AGE

REBECCA

T he entire ride back to my hotel that afternoon was a blur of awkwardness, mostly because I kept replaying the last few hours in my head, trying to figure out how I’d survived Luca’s kitchen without spontaneously combusting from sheer humiliation.

I’d literally tripped over my own feet and somehow ended up in his arms more times than I could count.

At this rate, I was pretty sure I was going to develop a reputation in this small town for being a walking disaster, which, let’s face it, was probably fair.

But as much as I wanted to crawl under a rock and pretend I’d never seen Luca or his ridiculously toned arms ever again, there was a small, insidious part of me that didn’t mind spending time with him. Not one bit.

By the time the taxi driver and I reached the hotel, I was so lost in my own thoughts that I nearly forgot I had a real, actual best friend who was probably going to want to hear all about my day.

The second I stepped into the lobby, Maya popped up out of nowhere—probably because she had an uncanny ability to smell my nervous energy from a mile away.

"How was your day, Miss ‘I’m-Too-Cool-for-Awesome-Food-Places’?” Maya asked, grinning like she already knew the answer. She had that look on her face, the one that screamed, “I already know I’m going to make fun of you for this, and I’m not even sorry.”

I sighed, trying to hide my discomfort. “Honestly, Maya, don’t even ask. I’m still processing the fact that I somehow tripped over a stool and ended up in Luca’s arms, and then knocked over a stack of plates...”

She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Wait, wait, Luca ? Who’s Luca?” Her wrinkled brow immediately smoothed into a wide expression within seconds. “The chef? The guy with the tattoos and the arms that are basically a work of art?”

I stared at her. “Yes, the Luca with the arms...”

“And you fell into his arms ?” she asked, her voice inching into territory where I could already hear the teasing tone forming. “Rebecca, that’s like a rom-com plotline in real life . I’m literally cringing for you right now.”

“Oh, don’t,” I said, running a hand through my wild curls. “I’m already cringing enough for both of us, thanks.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, putting her hands up in mock surrender. “But I have to know. Was there chemistry ? Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you hate chemistry in the literal sense. But if it's romantic chemistry? Well, honey, that’s a different story.”

I groaned, flopping down onto the nearest couch.

“Can we not do this? I was a literal trainwreck in front of him. It was like I stepped into a disaster zone and he was just there, looking too perfect to be real. And the worst part? I liked being around him. But also, I’m definitely not looking for a fling, Maya.

I’m, you know... a grown woman with a career and plans . ”

“Right, right,” she said, settling beside me and nudging me with her elbow.

“A career. Plans . I get it. You’re not here for fun.

Except... hmm... you were just falling into his arms .

And I’m pretty sure you had a whole conversation about ‘humiliation cocktails.’ Is that part of your ‘career plan’ too? ”

I shot her a glare. How did she know? “Please, stop. You’re making me sound like I’m out here trying to get myself into trouble.”

“Trouble?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Honey, you are trouble. You can’t even walk through a kitchen without causing a catastrophe.

But I’m not judging you. Not when you’ve got a hot chef practically carrying you around the restaurant.

” She wiggled her eyebrows, and I immediately regretted telling her anything.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling my stomach twist. “I think he’s... way too young for me.”

Maya blinked, clearly confused. “Wait. What? Too young ? How old is he, like, 25?”

"I think he's 28," I muttered, staring at my shoes like they held the key to my existential crisis. I mean, he couldn’t be head chef at 20 or 25, could he? Unless he was trained by 16? But that didn’t add up. The only thing that made sense was that he was in his late 20s, though he definitely didn’t look 30.

“28?” Maya repeated, her voice getting louder and more incredulous with each word. “Becky, sweetie, I love you, but that’s like... barely younger than you. If you were, like, 45 or something, I’d be all ‘okay, I see where you're coming from,’ but you’re 38 , not 80 .”

I groaned. “I’m 39, Maya.”

“ Even better !” she said, clapping her hands together like she was encouraging me to do something wild. “You’re practically ageless ! The man is 28— you are in your prime, honey. It’s not like you’re a cougar or anything.”

“I don’t want to be a cougar !” I hissed, but the more I thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. “I don’t even know what a cougar is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a grown woman making a fool of herself in front of a guy who’s younger than her by more than a decade.”

“Oh please, it’s not like you’re showing up to dinner in a full leopard-print bodysuit and a whip ,” she teased. “But come on, he’s hot, he’s charming, and he has a career —what’s not to like?”

“Well, it’s... it’s the age thing!” I said, my face now turning as red as my shirt. “I mean, he could be dating someone my age , or... younger . And maybe I’m just imagining it, but I feel like he looks at me like I’m a walking senior discount waiting to happen.”

Maya stared at me, utterly baffled. “Rebecca, are you seriously overthinking this? You’re making it sound like you’re a part of some ‘Over-40’s Club,’ and Luca’s the cute bartender who keeps giving you free shots.

I’m sorry, but that’s not the situation.

He’s into you. I can tell by the way you’re talking about him.

He likes you. And I don’t care if you’re 38, 39, or 79—you’re still one of the most beautiful women I know.

The man is not looking at you like you’re a discount anything.

He’s looking at you like you’re a five-star meal. So, what’s the problem?”

I blinked. “You’re saying he’s not looking at me like I’m... an old relic of a past century?”

“Nope,” she said with a straight face. “He’s looking at you like you’re a freaking goddess of the kitchen, who just so happens to have tripped over herself a few times.

Because you are, and he’s not blind. And frankly, if that’s what you’re going to keep focusing on, then maybe it’s you who needs a reality check. ”

I slumped into the couch, suddenly feeling like I had a hundred thoughts racing through my head at once. “So, you’re saying I should... just go for it?”

“Heck yes,” she said with a wink. “And if you don’t, I’ll personally hunt you down and drag you to Luca’s kitchen for a second round of disasters. And trust me, I’ve seen you trip. You don’t want that on your conscience.”

I sighed, trying to ignore the annoying little voice in my head that kept reminding me of the one major flaw in this plan— his age .

But then again... maybeMaya was right and I was the one making a bigger deal out of it than I should.

If Luca was into me—and it sure felt like he was—then maybe, just maybe, I was the one standing in my own way.

Ugh. This whole situation was starting to feel like a rom-com... with way too much internal drama.