Infuriating, Alesia decided—that’s what he was. If Marco thought he could march into the trattoria and tell her how to run things, he had another thing coming. Co-manager. This was a bad idea, and it was not going to work.
Tomorrow when she got to work, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of him. She was going to look straight into those green eyes of his and tell him—well, it was hard to know where to begin, he was so infuriating.
She tried to picture it—facing him. Marco and those eyes. Those eyes the very color of a mountain pool. One of those still and inviting pools where one wanted nothing more than to strip naked and dive in. So, when she saw him tomorrow, she was going to tell him—wait a minute, what was she going to tell him?
Terni, Italy is the birthplace of St. Valentine, so I couldn’t resist doing a love story of sorts. Although this poor signorina seems stung by cupid’s arrow. I can’t say for sure if it’ll wind up being a love story or not!
About the photo: Funny thing happened on the way to writing my story. The original version had her huffing and pedaling her bike up this quaint cobbled byway, but it got cut. I thought about finding a trattoria photo to use instead, but I can’t help but love this picture. I’d love to be there now!