Just a Taste by Deirdre Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

gravy.”
    “’Atta boy,” said Anthony, patting him proudly on the back. “Now scootch and get back to practice before your father finds out you went AWOL.”
    “Thanks, Uncle Anthony!” Little Ant threw his arms around Anthony’s waist, hugging tight.
    “Anytime,” Anthony assured him. “Don’t worry; we’ll have you stirring the sauce in no time.”
     
    “V ivi found herself having second thoughts as she walked into Dante’s bearing her trademark tarte aux pommes . Perhaps she was crazy, seeking Anthony out after he’d had the audacity to criticize her coffee. But it bothered her that they’d parted on such strained terms. Plus, he’d promised to give her the name of his contractor if she told him about Natalie. The apple tart was an enticement to remind him to keep his word. It would also put to rest any doubts he might have about her culinary expertise.
    The restaurant was in the early stages of springing to life before opening for dinner. God, how she missed that! The hustle, the bustle, the anticipation. Patience, she told herself. You’ll be back in the soup soon enough.
    “Can I help you?” A very old man with regal bearing slowly approached her.
    “I’m here to see Anthony.”
    The old man’s eyes flicked critically to the foil-covered pie tin in her hand. “Are you looking for a job of some sort? In the kitchen?”
    “I’m a friend,” Vivi fibbed, knowing she was using the term very loosely.
    “Who should I tell him is here?” the old man asked irritably.
    “Vivi. You’re the headwaiter, yes?” It was a rhetorical question. She’d worked in enough restaurants to know the type immediately: peevish, territorial, and loyal to the chef unto death.
    “I’m Aldo,” the old man said, extending his hand for a shake. “And yes, this is my restaurant.”
    His restaurant . Oh, he was the top dog, all right. He asked Vivi to wait a moment as he went to fetch Anthony. His absence gave Vivi a chance to peruse her surroundings, and she found herself befuddled by the way Dante’s was decorated. There seemed to be lots of autographed photos of priests, as well as photos of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and some other men Vivi didn’t recognize, but whom she assumed were Italians of note. The paintings weren’t very enticing, either: watery reproductions of starry-eyed gondoliers punting Venice’s canals, even a bad etching of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The decor was—how should she put it?— collant . Tacky. Lacking in class. Perhaps this was supposed to be part of its charm?
    “Well, this is a surprise.” Anthony’s tone was dry as he approached her. Vivi immediately began grinding her teeth. He couldn’t open with a simple hello? He had to be sarcastic right from the start?
    “Is this a bad time?” she asked, thinking, Of course it is . What a stupid idea this was.
    “It’s a restaurant. It’s always a bad time.”
    They shared a chuckle as Vivi held the tart out to him. “A peace offering. I’m sorry we parted badly the other day.”
    “That was my fault.”
    “Yes, it was. What you said about my coffee wasn’t very nice.”
    “I wasn’t referring to the coffee,” Anthony replied testily. “I was referring to the thoughtless way I told you my wife was dead.”
    “No, the thoughtlessness on that count was mine. I—”
    “You didn’t know,” Anthony interrupted, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.
    Vivi longed to know more, but sensed she had to tread carefully. “Has she been gone long?” Such polite euphemisms people used when speaking of death, she thought. Gone. Departed. Crossed over. But what was the alternative? To say, “Has she been dead long?” That sounded awful. Heartless.
    “She died a little over a year ago,” said Anthony.
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” Vivi murmured.
    Anthony glanced away. “Yeah, it was a shock.”
    Vivi held her breath, hoping he would elaborate further, but he didn’t. A shock…well, that ruled out battling a long