Eventually she just sighed. “You don’t need to worry, that’s all.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” her father grumbled. “Be home by midnight.”
“George,” her mother protested. “Gina’s a grown woman.”
“Maybe so, but there’s not a lot to do after midnight in Winding River except get in trouble, if you catch my drift. Why do you think we have all those shotgun weddings right after graduation every year?”
Gina planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’m a long way out of high school, but I promise that Rafe and I won’t go down to the river and engage in any hanky-panky after dinner.”
But, of course, now that the idea had been planted in her head, that was exactly what she most wanted to do. From the moment she had watched her best friend’s husband being buried, she had desperately wanted to do something—anything—that would remind her that she was still very much alive.
Rafe promised himself he was going to be on his best behavior over dinner. No probing questions. No sneak attacks on Gina’s credibility. And most important of all, no crossing the line—which meant no kisses, no lingering caresses, no steamy looks.
Obviously, he’d lied to himself. So far he’d managed to keep the questions, at least about Rinaldi, to a minimum, but he couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. There were a million and one excuses for touching Gina. After all, he had to help her out of the car, didn’t he? And it was only polite to slip his arm around her waist when they crossed the street, right? And that stray curl that skimmed her cheek needed to be tucked behind her ear, didn’t it? Could he help it if his fingers brushed hers when he handed her the menu or lingered when her hand trembled ever so slightly? She’d had a rough few days. He was only offering comfort.
And pigs flew, he thought in self-disgust.
“Rafe, is there some problem?” Gina asked, studying him worriedly.
“Nope,” he said flatly, then turned his gaze to the selections on the menu. He’d expected little more than pizza and spaghetti and was surprised to find far more intriguing offerings.
“Your friend Tony has quite a menu,” he noted.
“He’s added a few things since I worked here.” She grinned. “I send him a new recipe for Christmas every year.”
“Only once a year?”
“The locals can’t accept too much change all at once. You’ll notice that plain old spaghetti and meatballs is still on the menu. There would be a revolt if he took it off, but once in a while he can talk his customers into trying something new.”
“What do you recommend?”
“The penne arrabiata,” she said without hesitation. “The tomato sauce has a little kick to it. I gave that one to him when I was in here the other day.”
Rafe chuckled. “Yes, I can see why something spicy would appeal to you.” He put the menu aside. “What about wine? Shall we order a bottle?”
“Only if you can settle for the house Chianti. I haven’t been able to talk Tony into starting a decent wine cellar.”
“Chianti it is, then.”
As soon as the waitress had taken their order with a promise to let Tony know that it was for Gina and her friend, Rafe studied Gina. “You look better. How did the phone call go?”
“The restaurant is very busy. Deidre’s holding the creditors at bay. I can stay on here a while longer.”
“But not indefinitely,” Rafe said. “Not if you expect to pull Café Tuscany out of this mess. You’re going to have to go back and face it.”
Her cheerful expression faltered. “I know, but just for tonight can we not talk about it?”
Rafe hesitated. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to—or even should—discuss any of this with, but I’m a halfway-decent listener.”
“I’m sure you are, but how do I know that you won’t take every word I say and twist it? Let’s face it, you’re not out here because you want to get to know me. You’re here because you think I’m guilty of a crime.”
“Not guilty, just involved,” Rafe corrected.
“What’s the difference?”
“I know you’re involved with Rinaldi, and I know that he’s done some shady financial deals.”
“That’s guilt by association,” Gina pointed out. “Because Bobby’s guilty, then I must be, too. That’s what you’re saying.”
Rafe shook his head. “No, I’m trying to keep an open mind where you’re concerned.”
She regarded him doubtfully.
“Okay, maybe when I first scheduled the deposition, I made some assumptions,” he conceded.
“And now?”
“I’m beginning to think my secretary might have been right, though if you ever tell her that, I’ll be forced to deny it.”
“Your secretary?”
“Lydia Allen. She’s a big fan of yours and your restaurant. From the beginning she told me I was crazy for suspecting you of anything.”
Gina’s eyes brightened. “I know Lydia. I should have realized who she was when I first spoke to her about changing the deposition. She’s a regular at the restaurant. And she works for you? How fascinating. You must have some redeeming qualities, then, if you can keep a woman like that on your payroll.”
Rafe winced. “She might not agree. In fact, she says she stays with me precisely because I need someone to keep me honest.”
“You’re scared of her, aren’t you?” she said, clearly enjoying the discovery. “What is she? Five-two, a hundred and five pounds? And you’re scared of her. I love it.”
“I am not scared of her,” he insisted.
“Oh?”
He grinned. “Actually, I’m terrified. She can make my life a living hell. In fact, she takes great pride in it.”
Gina chuckled. “I’ll have to call Deidre and let her know that Lydia’s next meal is on the house.”
“Which won’t do much to help your financial situation,” Rafe pointed out. “Nor will it do a thing to get you into my good graces.”
Her gaze narrowed. “What would it take for me to get in
