Fran laughed back. ‘Gio says you’re all ganging up on him and trying to get him to settle down, Mrs Mazetti.’
‘Call me Angela,’ the elder woman said. She sighed. ‘We don’t gang up on him really. We just worry about him. When you have a son of your own, you’ll know exactly what I mean.’
Having a child wasn’t on her list of immediate plans, Fran thought, but she tried her best to look sympathetic.
‘So are you settling in OK?’ Angela asked.
Fran nodded. ‘Everyone’s been really nice. And Gio’s lovely to work with.’
‘Good.’ Angela gave her a speculative look. ‘So you’re just colleagues.’
‘Yes. And he’s an excellent boss. He expects a lot from his staff, but he’s fair and he’s honest—so everyone’s happy to make the extra effort.’
‘Hmm.’ Angela stood up again. ‘Well, I can see you’re busy, so I won’t keep you. It was nice to meet you, Fran.’
‘Shall I tell Gio you dropped in?’ Fran asked.
Angela raised an eyebrow. ‘I could say that I was just passing…but he’d never believe that.’ She gave Fran a rueful smile. ‘And, from the look on your face, neither do you.’
‘Well, of course you’d want to check me out. Make sure I’m not some kind of bombshell man-eater who isn’t going to treat your son properly—or some kind of incompetent airhead who’s going to cause him extra work to sort out the mess she’s made so he’ll be under even more stress.’
Angela laughed. ‘Consider me suitably reassured. Welcome to Giovanni’s, Fran. And if you’re ever at a loose end on a Sunday, you’re always welcome to come to lunch at our place. Don’t ever feel you’re intruding, because we normally have a houseful and there’s always room for one more.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’ The sheer warmth of the invitation made Fran’s throat feel tight. But if she burst into tears she’d have to explain, and she didn’t want Gio’s mum to think she was a flake. ‘Thank you.’ Please, please don’t let Angela Mazetti hear the wobble in her voice.
‘Ciao,’ Angela said, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and left the office.
Fran was too busy for the rest of the afternoon to notice the time but, exactly as the previous day, she was aware of the precise moment that Gio returned: just about at closing time. She finished what she was doing and saved the file, then walked into the coffee shop. ‘Hi.’
Gio turned to face her. ‘Hi. Had a good afternoon?’
‘Fine, thanks. I’ve done the letters for you, a bit of research on that project you asked about, and all the orders are sorted for tomorrow and Monday.’
‘Brilliant. It’s so good to know I don’t have to stop what I’m doing and sort it all out myself. And having this extra time…You know, maybe my family’s right and I do work too hard.’
Did that mean he wanted to skip the barista training this evening? The sudden swoop of disappointment in her stomach made Fran realise just how much she’d been looking forward to it.
But then he asked, ‘Do you still have time to stay and learn about cappuccinos?’
Pleasure fizzed through her—a feeling she tried to damp down, because she knew it wasn’t just the fact she was learning something new. It was because she’d be close to Gio. ‘Sure,’ she said, aiming for insouciance.
Gio was cross with himself for feeling so pleased that she was staying late again. And crosser still when he realised it was more than just pleasure at a new employee showing commitment to the café chain.
The real reason it made him happy was because he was going to be close to Fran.
When she’d hugged him yesterday, he hadn’t been able to stop himself hugging her back. And it had taken all his strength of will to let her go again.
This was bad. Really bad. Because now was just about the worst possible time to start a relationship, when he was thinking of taking the business up another gear and he had no free time. And Francesca Marsden was just about the worst possible person he could think of to have a relationship with, because she was his new office manager and he was going to need her help in the business. He couldn’t afford to lose someone who’d already shown initiative and drive and an ability to second-guess him.
He locked up, then motioned her towards the coffee machines. ‘Same as yesterday with the milk and the espresso, but this time you’re making cappuccino. That’s a third coffee, a third milk and a third froth. You’ll need to rock the jug a bit as you pour—or you can spoon the froth on top if you find it easier.’