Read Online In the Market for Love by Nina Blake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nina Blake
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good food.”
Rachel was still determined to have some fun with him. “Sounds to me like you’re avoiding taking responsibility.”
“On the contrary, I think you can take responsibility for the pasta.”
“H ow’s that?”
“Arrabiata means ‘angry’ in Italian and that’s the kind of pasta we’re having. Carlo seems to think it’ll suit you. That is, after your comment about the other signorinas.”
Rachel laughed. “Really? At least I know you aren’t trying to impress me. If you were, you’d probably take me one of those expensive fine dining establishments.”
He shrugged. “Maybe next time I will . But, tell me, which would you prefer, a flash restaurant or the place I take my mother?”
“What’s the saying? Mother knows best.”
“I’m very close to her,” Jake said. Rachel nodded for him to continue. “She raised my brother and me on her own and did a darn good job even though she was up against it. We were a bit of a handful.”
“Oh I’d believe that!”
“We needed a man in our lives and our father wasn’t there so we rebelled. Got into a bit of trouble. My mother is a strong woman. She had to be to raise us on her own. I’ve always admired strong women. Women who can make it on their ow n. My grandmother was the same, taking over the farm when Pop damaged his back. They were married for over 50 years. Now that was a marriage.”
“ What about your father?”
“M y parents divorced when we were young and he spent the rest of his time making his millions,” he said. “Apparently money was more important than spending time with his sons. Even after all these years I still don’t know him but I have this horrible feeling I might be a bit like him.”
Rachel thought about her own family and how close she and her sister were to their parents. Although they were never wealthy, her parents had a loving relationship, one on which she and her sister had modelled their own marriages. At least for her s ister things had turned out.
Conversation flowed as their antipasto arrived and they nibbled on prosciutto, cheeses and stuffed olives. Rachel dipped a chunk of crusty Italian bread into a bowl of golden olive oil and bit into it.
“You were right,” she said be tween mouthfuls. “This is good.”
“Ah, a woman who enjoys wholesome food without worrying about the calorie count of each mouthful. Now that’s something you don’t see a lot nowadays.”
“I hope you’re not sugge sting I need to watch my weight.”
H e wasn’t trying to impress her by taking her to one of Sydney’s famed fine dining restaurants. Mancini’s was an expression of one side of his personality and his enjoyment of honest, earthy things. The restaurant served simple Italian fare in unpretentious, down to earth surroundings.
Two bowls of steaming pasta arrived at their table, complete with sliv ers of fresh Parmesan cheese. She decided to take the opportunity to find out more about the elusive Jake Austin.
“So what do you do when you’re not working?” she asked.
“I used to do all kinds of things – skiing and surfing – but now I concentrate on doing t hings with Connor. He’s still young.”
Rachel was intrigued. “Skiing and surfing. Sounds like fun.”
“I used to go skiing every winter, either at Thredbo or Perisher in New South Wales. I went to Canada a few times too. I’m waiting until Connor’s a bit older until I take that up again. And I used to drive up and down the coast to get a bit of surf. A couple of trips to Hawaii. That sort of thing.”
No, Rachel didn’t know that sort of thing. This was well outside the bounds of her personal experience.
“Now I take Connor to my holiday house at Bateman’s Bay,” he said. “It’s only a few hours south of here. The house backs onto the rainforest and from the front door, it’s a short walk to the beach. Connor loves it down there. We go swimming and fishing.”
Rachel thought of her two young nieces and how she
Rachel was still determined to have some fun with him. “Sounds to me like you’re avoiding taking responsibility.”
“On the contrary, I think you can take responsibility for the pasta.”
“H ow’s that?”
“Arrabiata means ‘angry’ in Italian and that’s the kind of pasta we’re having. Carlo seems to think it’ll suit you. That is, after your comment about the other signorinas.”
Rachel laughed. “Really? At least I know you aren’t trying to impress me. If you were, you’d probably take me one of those expensive fine dining establishments.”
He shrugged. “Maybe next time I will . But, tell me, which would you prefer, a flash restaurant or the place I take my mother?”
“What’s the saying? Mother knows best.”
“I’m very close to her,” Jake said. Rachel nodded for him to continue. “She raised my brother and me on her own and did a darn good job even though she was up against it. We were a bit of a handful.”
“Oh I’d believe that!”
“We needed a man in our lives and our father wasn’t there so we rebelled. Got into a bit of trouble. My mother is a strong woman. She had to be to raise us on her own. I’ve always admired strong women. Women who can make it on their ow n. My grandmother was the same, taking over the farm when Pop damaged his back. They were married for over 50 years. Now that was a marriage.”
“ What about your father?”
“M y parents divorced when we were young and he spent the rest of his time making his millions,” he said. “Apparently money was more important than spending time with his sons. Even after all these years I still don’t know him but I have this horrible feeling I might be a bit like him.”
Rachel thought about her own family and how close she and her sister were to their parents. Although they were never wealthy, her parents had a loving relationship, one on which she and her sister had modelled their own marriages. At least for her s ister things had turned out.
Conversation flowed as their antipasto arrived and they nibbled on prosciutto, cheeses and stuffed olives. Rachel dipped a chunk of crusty Italian bread into a bowl of golden olive oil and bit into it.
“You were right,” she said be tween mouthfuls. “This is good.”
“Ah, a woman who enjoys wholesome food without worrying about the calorie count of each mouthful. Now that’s something you don’t see a lot nowadays.”
“I hope you’re not sugge sting I need to watch my weight.”
H e wasn’t trying to impress her by taking her to one of Sydney’s famed fine dining restaurants. Mancini’s was an expression of one side of his personality and his enjoyment of honest, earthy things. The restaurant served simple Italian fare in unpretentious, down to earth surroundings.
Two bowls of steaming pasta arrived at their table, complete with sliv ers of fresh Parmesan cheese. She decided to take the opportunity to find out more about the elusive Jake Austin.
“So what do you do when you’re not working?” she asked.
“I used to do all kinds of things – skiing and surfing – but now I concentrate on doing t hings with Connor. He’s still young.”
Rachel was intrigued. “Skiing and surfing. Sounds like fun.”
“I used to go skiing every winter, either at Thredbo or Perisher in New South Wales. I went to Canada a few times too. I’m waiting until Connor’s a bit older until I take that up again. And I used to drive up and down the coast to get a bit of surf. A couple of trips to Hawaii. That sort of thing.”
No, Rachel didn’t know that sort of thing. This was well outside the bounds of her personal experience.
“Now I take Connor to my holiday house at Bateman’s Bay,” he said. “It’s only a few hours south of here. The house backs onto the rainforest and from the front door, it’s a short walk to the beach. Connor loves it down there. We go swimming and fishing.”
Rachel thought of her two young nieces and how she
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