Without thought he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her forward and then wished he hadn’t. Too close, too much—a reminder that the physical awareness hadn’t diminished.
It was with relief that he entered the warmth of the restaurant and Ruby stepped away from him. Her face flushed as her gaze skittered away from his and she looked around.
‘Wow!’
‘Tony Pugliano is a fan of Christmas,’ Ethan said.
The whole restaurant was a dazzling testament to that. The winter grotto theme was delicate, yet pervasive. Lights like icicles glittered from the ceiling and a suspended ice sculpture captured the eye. Windows and mirrors were frosted, and each table displayed scented star-shaped candles that filled the room with the elusive scent of Christmas.
‘It’s beautiful...’ Ruby breathed.
‘You like it?’ boomed a voice.
Ethan dragged his gaze from Ruby’s rapt features to see Tony Pugliano crossing the floor towards them.
‘Ethan.’ Tony pulled him into a bear hug and slapped his back. ‘This is fabulous, no? Welcome to my winter palace. Ruby—it’s good to see you.’
‘You too—and it’s glorious, Tony.’
The grizzled Italian beamed. ‘And now, for you, I have reserved the best table—you will be private, and yet you will appreciate every bit of the restaurant’s atmosphere. Anything you want you must ask and it is yours, my friends.’
‘Thank you, Tony. We appreciate it.’
‘We really do,’ Ruby said as they followed in Tony’s expansive wake to a table that outdid all the other tables in the vicinity.
Crystal glasses seized the light and glittered from each angled facet, a plethora of star candles dotted the table, and the gleam of moisture sheened the champagne already in an ice bucket.
‘Sit, sit...’ Tony said. ‘I have, for you, chosen the best—the very best of our menu. You need not even have to think—you can simply enjoy.’
* * *
Ruby watched his departing back and opened her mouth, closed it again as a waiter glided towards them, poured the champagne and reverently placed a plate of canapés in front of them.
‘Made by Signor Pugliano himself. There is arancini di riso filled with smoked mozzarella cheese, radicchio ravioli, bresaola and pecorino crostini drizzled with truffle oil, and Jerusalem artichokes with chestnut velouté, perfumed with white truffle oil.’
‘That sounds marvellous,’ Ruby managed.
Once the waiter had gone she met Ethan’s gaze, clocked his smile and forced her toes to remain uncurled. It was a smile—nothing more.
‘This is almost as miraculous as what I just witnessed. I am considering how to lift my jaw from my knees.’ She shook her head. ‘Tony Pugliano is renowned as one of the toughest, most brusque, most temperamental chefs in the country and round you he’s turned into some sort of pussycat. How? Why? What gives?’
His smile morphed into a grin. ‘It’s my famous charm.’
‘Rubbish.’ However charming Ethan was—and that was a point she had no wish to dwell on—it wouldn’t affect Tony Pugliano. ‘Plus, I know Hugh eats here, so I’m amazed he seemed so happy to see me.’
‘You are underrating my charm capacity,’ Ethan said.
Picking up a canapé, she narrowed her eyes. Nope—she wasn’t buying it. This was zip to do with charm, but clearly Ethan had no intention of sharing. No surprise there, then.
‘Especially given his less than accommodating attitude when I applied for a job here after my break-up with Hugh. Whereas now, if you asked him to, he’d probably give me any job I asked for.’ Seeing his eyebrows rise she shook her head. ‘Not that I want you to do that!’
‘You sure?’ There was an edge to his voice under the light banter.
Disbelief and hurt mingled. Surely Ethan couldn’t possibly think she would go after another job. ‘I am one hundred per cent sure. You gave me a chance when no one else would give me the opportunity to wash so much as a dish. So you get one hundred per cent loyalty.’
‘I appreciate that.’
Yet the flatness of his tone was in direct variance to the fizz of champagne on her tongue. ‘Ethan. I mean it.’