“It’s one of the perks of what I do.” Smile crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“And do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” The crinkles disappeared. His face shut down. The muscle in his jaw jumped again. “Not by blood, anyway.”
Clearly, he was far more comfortable talking about his business than he was about anything personal. And she hated that she’d said something that had clearly prodded old wounds, especially when she knew how difficult it was to have to tell people the hard stuff over and over again.
Fortunately, just then a woman burst through the doorway, chattering in Italian to the wait staff. She swished through the tables, a tray balanced on her hand with Harper’s wine and a frosty mug of beer for Will.
“Mr. Franconi.” She set down both drinks with a flourish.
“Mama Cannelli.” Will rose to hug her.
She was the stereotypical Italian mother from the movies, with a round face, round body, and dark hair sprinkled with strands of silver. Her dress was something out of the 1950s, protected with a black apron.
“This is my friend Harper.”
Mama Cannelli beamed. “Very nice, very pretty,” she said in melodious, Italian-laced English. “I hope you don’t eat like a bird.”
“I very much enjoy eating good food,” Harper said with a smile. “Will recommended the ravioli.”
The woman’s entire face smiled—her forehead, her laugh lines, her mouth, even her dimpled chin. “Oh, he loves that duck.”
“I certainly do. And I brought you a present, Mama.” Will held out the tin.
“You don’t need to bring me presents whenever you dine with us. All you have to do is enjoy our food.” But she took the round tin in her hand, dipping into her apron pocket for a pair of reading glasses. “Mio Dio. I cannot accept. This is far too much.”
He touched her hand. “It’s a gift. I have an entire shipment. One small tin is nothing.”
“It’s a pound.” Her voice rose. “A fortune.”
“Why don’t you make us a special hors d’oeuvre with it? Make some for yourself, too, and then save the rest for your very special customers.”
What was in the tin? Harper still couldn’t read the label.
“Please?” Will said.
“You’re a terrible one.” Mama Cannelli turned to Harper, her eyes sparkling. “You watch out for this one. He’s a charmer. He gets his way with everyone.” She turned back to Will and gave him a kiss on the cheek, one that clearly pleased him to no end. “Grazie, Mr. Franconi. It demands a simple preparation so as not to overwhelm the flavor. I will return shortly with the delicious treat.”
“I’m dying to know,” Harper asked after Mama had left them. “What was that?”
“It’s a surprise for you, too.”
She shot him a mock glare at keeping the mystery spinning out—something he was very good at—as the waiter arrived, introducing himself as Antonio. The Cannellis were friendly with Will, and he was very polite and considerate. No cocky finger-snapping. Maybe she’d seen too much TV, where rich people treated the help like second-class citizens who were not even worth a thank-you.
But Will wasn’t like that. At least, as far as she could tell. Because as they talked over their wine and beer—a little more about his cars, about the amazing weather they’d been having, about some of her best and worst clients over the years—he managed not to say much about himself at all.
Soon, Mama Cannelli arrived with her simple yet elegant creation. “I have taste-tested. Magnificent.” She kissed her fingers just as Will had earlier. “Any garnish would be a travesty.” She placed a small pot in the center of the table. Beside that she laid a plate of toasted bread slices and set a spoon by the pot. “Mother-of-pearl. We must not influence the flavors.” She threw out her hands expressively. “Now eat.” Then she leaned down to Will. “The ravioli tonight is on me. And a bottle of our best champagne.”
“That’s not necessary,” Will protested, but Antonio was already popping the cork.
“One cannot have caviar without champagne,” she declared. “And now I leave you alone with your beautiful lady.”
“You brought her caviar?” Harper examined the pot filled with tiny golden eggs.
“I found this about six weeks ago. It’s Ossetra caviar. The golden color is quite prized. And, as a bonus, the fishery is known for its conservation policies, given that the sturgeon is a threatened species.” He picked up the mother-of-pearl spoon, scooped up the caviar, dabbed it on the toasted bread, and brought the slice close to her lips.