A Dish Best Served Cold: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (Italian Kitchen Mystery, An) by Rosie Genova Read Free Book Online

her.
    “Don’t be smart, Victoria. Go see what’s taking so long to get the dessert out.”
    “We only got people inside five minutes ago—” But she gave me a look that was known to wither tomatoes on the vine. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go move things along.”
    I headed down the hallway to the kitchen, but hesitated when I heard voices at the other end. Tim and Lacey. She must have come in through the kitchen. Her light cotton dress was soaked through, providing me with a clear view of her toned, slender body. Tim was leaning over her with a white kitchen towel, smiling, gently drying her hair in so intimate a gesture my breath caught in my throat. But I couldn’t look away.
    Tim and I had been apart for a long time. But you can’t undo your history. And standing there watching them, I felt just as I had the night that Tim confessed he loved someone else. As though I’d lost him only a minute ago and not eight years before.
    “Hey, guys,” I said, my voice unnatural, my heart thumping. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but they sent me to see if the desserts have been plated.”
    “They’re good to go,” Tim said without looking up.
    But Lacey turned around and gave me a warm smile. “Hey, Victoria. Bet they’re keeping you busy tonight. You look great, by the way. That dress is adorable.”
    As much I wanted to hate Lacey Harrison, I couldn’t. She was gracious, smart, and frankly, a good catch for any man. When she’d first met Tim, she confessed to me that she’d had a broken engagement, and I found myself worrying about
her
feelings instead of Tim’s.
    “Thanks, Lacey. And I am busy—in fact, I’d better get back out there.”
    “C’mon, babe,” Tim said, putting his arm around her waist. “I saved you a plate in the kitchen. I know how you love my homemade pasta . . .” His voice trailed off.
In the kitchen,
he said. Tim never invited anyone into the kitchen, and he always made me feel as though I was in the way. As they walked away, I felt a sense of loss so deep that my very bones ached.
Stop it, Vic. Do not do this to yourself. And there’s a very nice man waiting for you out in that dining room.
    That man was sitting quietly by himself at the bar. After making the rounds with a coffeepot, I found him sipping a whiskey.
    “What’s up, handsome?” I kissed Cal’s cheek, still damp from the rain. “You okay? You looked kind of strange out there under the tree.” I was about to ask if he’d been having flashbacks to his experience in New Orleans, but his shuttered face told me enough.
    “I’m fine,” he answered. “Just having a quiet drink here—can you join me?”
    “Would that I could. We’re about to serve dessert.”
    He briefly rested his hand over mine. “I’ll find you in a few minutes, then.”
    I left the bar, and still pondering the mysterious ways of men, I caught sight of Father Tom coming through the restaurant doors.
    “Is it bad out there?” I said, taking his wet raincoat and umbrella.
    He brushed his hands over his cropped salt-and-pepper hair. “Bad enough,” he said, “but probably not the worst the Lord has thrown at us.”
    “Have you had dinner, Father? We’re starting dessert service, but I can get you something from the kitchen.”
    “Coffee and dessert is fine, Victoria.” He glanced around the dining room. “Is your brother here? I need to speak with him for a minute.”
    “He’s at the corner table with Sofia. Is everything okay?”
    “I hope so,” he said with a smile, but I noticed he took my brother aside to speak to him privately. If I knew my sister-in-law, she was burning up with curiosity. Well, we’d find out what was happening one way or the other.
    While our guests happily tucked into cannolis, Napoleans, and our special shell-shaped
sfogliatelli
, Chef Massimo circulated among them. Resplendent in his high toque and crisp white chef coat, he shook hands and accepted compliments as though they were his due. Then my dad