Jenna’s brow furrowed. “I, uh, came in here for…something.” She wracked her brain for what that something was. But her mind had gone blank at the feel of Rafe’s body pressed to hers, his hands on her waist, his warm breath on her cheek. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered, embarrassed by her mental lapse.
Rafe chuckled, low and deep. A sound that reverberated within her.
“Olives!” she suddenly recalled and snapped her fingers. “Gio needs olives.”
“I’ll get them for you.”
“No, no,” she was quick to say as she moved around him. “You do whatever it was you were doing before I ran into your brick wall of a chest.”
She turned the corner and entered the storage room, happy for the reprieve from those ocean-blue eyes she nearly drowned in. Grabbing a jar of olives from a wire rack with supplies neatly arranged on the shelves, she headed back out. Rafe scooped up the towels as she rounded the bend and they returned to the kitchen together. Jenna pushed open the door leading to the dining room, a wave of animated conversation crashing in on the normal commotion going on in the kitchen.
“What’s that noise?” Rafe asked her.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Your dining room. Come see.”
He gave her a curious look before he followed. “I haven’t heard that much chatter at lunchtime in—whoa!”
He drew up beside her. Two large groups congregated in the center of the room, enjoying the quaff and nosh with enthusiasm. Laughter filled the air, along with an occasional toast or cheerful outburst.
Studying the scene before him, Rafe said, “What the hell? The Carlisles always take a window table because they like to watch people passing by on the sidewalk. And the Luongos prefer that quiet corner in the back.”
“Yes, well,” she said. “The Carlisles are going on a cruise and, apparently, the Luongos just returned from one, so I suggested they sit together and compare notes. Then the Santinis decided to join the party, since they’d just taken an Alaskan cruise and had plenty to add to the conversation.”
Another impromptu group of eight had come in, and Jenna suspected they’d been enticed inside when they’d seen, from the street, the friendly dining arrangement in the middle of the room. A server must have seated them while Jenna was in the back, and had already efficiently delivered parmesan-coated breadsticks with sides of marinara sauce, melted garlic butter and olive oil and balsamic-rosemary vinegar for dipping.
Rafe was quiet a moment. Jenna watched him as he took in the lively scene. She’d dimmed the lights in the room earlier, helping to make it less stark with all the white linen tablecloths and matching napkins. Unfortunately, the three walls without windows didn’t aid the ambience. The demure butter color could use an invigorating infusion of warmth and vibrancy. Not to mention, the old, lightly scarred bar appeared drab now that Jenna had added the colorful daisies to the tables.
“This is the way the restaurant should be,” Rafe mused. “Group gatherings, toasts, laughter. With some quiet corners for couples.”
“I agree. But let’s face it, Rafe. The atmosphere in here has always been intimidating. You have all those windows to showcase your dining room from the street, but when people look in, they see glaring formality. It looks too expensive and they bypass the menu, not even rounding the corner to the lovely courtyard and, subsequently, the entrance. I’ve been watching them. If they’re not familiar with the restaurant, particularly if they’re tourists who’ve been out and about all day, they likely think they’re underdressed or need a reservation. So they keep walking.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Sampogna’s needs an image makeover.”
“Well. Yes, actually.”
He stared at the dining room as she gazed at him. Then he shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Jen. What if I invested tens of thousands of dollars into a redecoration and still didn’t pull in a larger crowd? I’d be royally screwed. Flat busted.”
Ignoring the consternation in his tone, she eyed him speculatively. “You’d seriously consider a remodel?”
Without missing a beat, he said, “I’d seriously consider anything that’ll keep my doors open.”
“Hmm.”
His gaze flashed to her and he pinned her with an intense look. “Would it?”
“I haven’t let anyone down yet, Rafe. That’s why a major network gave me a TV show.”
“Oh, no.” His eyes narrowed on her. “I don’t want a camera crew in here, Jen. It’s too disruptive. Too invasive.”
Her mind worked quickly and she asked, “If you don’t want to be part of an episode, would you at least consider letting me post before and after shots on my website? Pictures that I take with my own camera…no professional crew barging in? It’ll actually be extremely personal—a fantastic angle for me.”
He looked around and apparently liked what he saw with the two groups entertaining themselves over his food and wine.
“Yeah, that’d be okay,” he told her.
Jenna more boldly queried, “What if I pay for the remodel? I get huge discounts from my colleagues for projects I highlight on the website, because of the free advertising they receive
. And this would be an ideal makeover to cover, even if it’s just with stills and some videos I shoot.”