She’d barely heard a word he was saying. Tonight, she’d have to go and research it on the internet, so she could make some notes—and maybe try again tomorrow when it was quiet and preferably when Gio was on a break.
‘Like so.’ He smiled at her. ‘The perfect latte. Try.’
‘It doesn’t look as pretty as yours.’
‘You can cheat a bit—some people spoon a tiny bit of foam on top of the crema and make it into a swirl with the back of a spoon. Or you can use a needle to make patterns, like starbursts or the kind of feathering a pastry chef does with icing,’ he said. ‘Or cheat even more and use chocolate syrup and a knife. But free-pouring’s the proper art.’
‘And it takes weeks to learn, you say?’
His eyes lit up. ‘Sounds as if you’re up for a challenge. I’ll teach you how to do it. And if you can do it by the end of your trial period, I’ll take you to Fortnum’s and buy you the biggest box of chocolates of your choice.’
‘And if I can’t?’
‘Then you buy me the chocolates.’ He moistened his lower lip in a way that made her heart beat just that little bit faster. ‘And I should warn you that I’m greedy.’
Fran had a nasty feeling that she could be greedy, too.
And it took every single bit of her self-control to stop her sliding her arms round his neck and jamming her mouth over his.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘LATTE art,’ Fran said, rolling her eyes, when Gio set the cup down on her desk the following morning. On the top was a heart—with concentric rings round it. ‘You’re showing off, aren’t you?’
He pantomimed surprise. ‘You mean, you noticed?’
‘Just a tad.’ She’d noticed something else, too—the guitar case tucked away in the corner of the office. But she hadn’t brought it up in discussion with him. After what he’d told her about the way his music studies had crashed and burned, she had a feeling that he was sensitive about it. She wasn’t going to push him to talk about it unless he was ready. ‘Thank you for the coffee. Now, if you want me to sort out these figures for you, go away and leave me in peace.’
‘Your wish is my command.’ He gave her a deep bow, followed by one of the knee-buckling smiles. ‘I’ll come and get you when the cake lady’s here.’
‘Cheers.’ She smiled back, then got to work with the spreadsheet.
Gio leaned through the office doorway at the perfect moment: just when Fran had finished the stats. She printed them off and waved them at him.
‘I’ll look at them afterwards,’ Gio promised. ‘But come and taste the goodies first.’
He introduced Fran to Ingrid, the baker, who talked them through the samples she’d brought. ‘And I’m leaving before you all start trying them,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing worse than doing a taste-test and not being able to give an honest opinion because you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. Give me a call, Gio, when you’re ready. Nice to meet you, Fran, Sally and Ian.’ She shook their hands, smiled and left.
‘Perfect timing,’ Sally said. ‘The morning rush is over, the lunch-time one won’t start for another twenty minutes—and we have chocolate cake. Oh, yessss. Those brownies are mine, all mine.’
Gio produced a knife and cut both the brownies into two. ‘No, they’re not. We’re splitting them all four ways. Except for the Amaretti, which are all mine.’
‘In your dreams,’ Fran said, scooping one of them and taking a nibble. ‘Oh, wow. Intense.’
‘Intense, good or intense, bad?’ Gio asked.
‘Definitely bad,’ she fibbed. ‘Let me save you the trouble of eat—’ She didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Gio simply leaned over and took a bite from the Amaretti she was holding.
The feel of his mouth against her fingers sent a shiver of pure desire down her spine. Bad. Very bad. This was meant to be a tasting session. And they were tasting food, not each other. They were in the middle of his coffee shop, for goodness’ sake! Sally and Ian were there, and a customer could walk in at any moment.
This was even worse than their coffee-making lessons. Because this time it wasn’t just the two of them. She really, really had to get a grip.
‘Mmm. Perfect,’ he said huskily.
He was talking about the biscuit. Not about her skin, she reminded herself sharply.
‘These flapjacks are good, too,’ Ian said.
‘Brownies. Oh-h-h. I need more brownies,’ Sally said, clutching her heart dramatically. ‘Save me. Give me brownies.’