Home > Books > Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(49)

Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(49)

Author:Melanie Harlow

“You believed her.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then. “Maybe.”

“She was an adult and authority figure, so you believed her.” My heart ached for the nine-year-old kid who must have been devastated to hear his teacher say such mean things. “Gianni, it wasn’t true. I mean, maybe you weren’t well-behaved, but you weren’t stupid.”

“I wasn’t smart like her favorites though. She preferred the brainy, quiet kids like you. The ones who sat still with a book and actually read it. I couldn’t sit there for a minute without looking around and trying to think up some other way to pass the time, even if it meant getting in trouble.”

“Your talents just weren’t obvious to her. I bet she’s the one who feels stupid now. Look how far you’ve come.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I should thank her. Sometimes when I feel like giving up on something, I remember what she said.”

I smiled. “Think she watched Lick My Plate?”

Gianni laughed. “God, I fucking hope so.”

“If she came into Etoile, would you poison her dinner?”

“No way. I’d make sure it was the best meal she ever had.” He grinned at me over his mug. “And for dessert, I’d make her eat her words.”

I chuckled as I set down my coffee. “Always a bitter dish. Anyway, if you’re feeling stuck or bored at Etoile, Gianni, you should go.”

“That’s just it—I’m not feeling stuck or bored. I really love Etoile, and if it weren’t for this offer, I wouldn’t leave before my contract was up.”

“Tell me about the offer.”

While we waited for our food and the blizzard continued outside, Gianni explained the idea behind Hot Mess. My side hurt from laughing so much, and I nearly spit coffee, but I could understand why he had a feeling it would take off—especially with him as host.

“Is it good money?” I asked.

“It’s fucking great money.” He shook his head. “It would be really hard to walk away.”

“Then don’t.”

Mae appeared with our food. “Are you ready?” she asked with a grin.

“I sure am.” Gianni moved his coffee mug and tapped his bird placemat. “You can put it right here on my nuthatch.”

I shook my head as Mae set down two enormous plates of food. Gianni would always be a ten-year-old boy at heart.

Our meals looked delectable, and we eagerly dug in. The last real meal either of us had eaten was nearly twenty-four hours earlier, and we were both ravenous. I wasn’t sure if that was the reason the food tasted so delicious, but it did. The eggs were fluffy and perfectly done, the bacon was thick but crispy, and the potatoes had the perfect amount of crunch to each bite. Gianni said his omelette was fantastic, and traded me some house-made breakfast sausage for a piece of bacon and a forkful of potatoes, which he stole off my plate.

“So you say do the show?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Yes. If it takes off—and I bet it will—you can probably write your own ticket after that. Maybe the network would give you that travel show you want.”

“Maybe,” he said. “The main reason I don’t want to do the show is that it involves zero cooking.” He ate another bite of his omelette. “What if I’m bored?”

“Think of it as a stepping stone. You said yourself, the money is great. After it’s over, you can invest in a passion project.”

“That’s what my dad said.” Gianni smiled. “You two think alike.”

My face grew hot. “Hey. You said that secret would stay at the Pineview Motel.”

“I did, that’s right.” He pushed some food around on his plate. “How about I trade you a secret in return?”

I raised my eyebrows and swallowed the bite in my mouth. “Okay.”

He kept his eyes on his fork. “My mom had breast cancer last year.”

I gasped and sat up straight, setting my fork down with a loud clank. “What? Gianni! How did I not know that?”

“She didn’t want anyone to know about it.”

“Well—is she okay?”

He nodded. “She’s okay now. It was non-invasive and she had a lumpectomy and six weeks of radiation. She’s considered in remission now, because her last scan showed no sign of cancer.”

“I can’t believe it.” I wiped my hands on my napkin. “Does my mom know?”

“Yes. Your parents were the only people to know outside my immediate family.”

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