Washing vegetables during my externship for the last month at Chez Francoise hadn’t taught me anything about my aspiring career in the culinary arts except to give me chapped hands. I blocked a yawn using my forearm and drained the water only to refill it for the third time and watch the spinach float to the top.

Charlie Johnson, the executive chef and owner of Chez Francoise entered, and I gasped as I gawked at Mr. Rock-hard Chest Guy standing next to him.  I stood up a little straighter.  Oh yeah, flashed through my mind, things were indeed looking up—big time.

I quickly moved behind a wall that jutted out to get a better look at him so those close by wouldn’t witness my girlish fantasies coming to life.  He said something to Charlie and as his mouth moved, I watched his sexy lips and crooked smile. Charlie said something to him and pointed in my direction.  I jolted back to the sink, my heart now wildly pulsating and watched him head my way.  I tried to calm down, but as he got closer, my mind imagined he was Don Giovanni, the Italian Don Juan, and I was Princess Caterina being lured into his world by his good looks and charm.  Then all of a sudden, Dad’s favorite song played through my mind.       

Whena da moona . . . hits a you eye . . .like a bigga pizza pie.

“That’s amore,” shot out of my mouth like a canyon when he stood next to me, the scent from his aftershave teasing my senses.  I cleared my throat to squelch my embarrassment, but then this wasn’t the first time I’d made a fool of myself.  He leaned toward me.  I inhaled deeply, enjoying the woody scent of what I thought was cedar or pine, but maybe it was the wooden crate of spinach he held in his hands—the one I hadn’t noticed before.

“Amore?” he said with a devilish grin.

“Cooking!” I responded quickly, my index finger doing a standalone.  “The food . . . the cooking . . . that’s love—don’t you think?” My lashes fluttered.  I couldn’t believe how quickly I’d resorted to acting like a love starved woman who’d been on a deserted island most of her life. Actually, I was, but that’s my doing—darn it!  

“Yes, I agree,” he said with a wink.  “Food is love.  Now, where would you like me to put this crate of spinach?”

“Crate?” I asked, still watching his mouth move, my legs now wavering like a limp piece of liver.

“Yeah,” he said, “Charlie asked me to bring this over to you.”

“Oh, right.  More spinach,” I mumbled, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.  “Sorry.”  I pointed ahead.  “By the sink, please.”  I followed close behind, enjoying his back view as much as the front.  He placed the crate on the floor then stood and extended his hand.  I was barely able to lift mine, now limp and shaking, into his warm palm.

 I shook my head. This wasn’t real and I had no desire to become involved with anyone, especially now that I had a new career on the horizon.  So why was I so bowled over by his looks?  Because he was gorgeous, and I was lonely?  Or because I had conflicting thoughts about having a love life?

“I’m Josh Benson.”  He interrupted my thoughts.  “Are you alright? You look a little pale.”