Free Lessons Learned by Nora Roberts

wrong, should go wrong, and probably would go wrong, but somehow it didn’t. Then there were the other times.
    Perhaps Juliet was grouchy because she’d spent another restless night when she couldn’t afford to lose any sleep. That little annoyance she could lay smack at Carlo’s door, even though it didn’t bring any satisfaction. But even if she’d been rested and cheerful, the ordeal at Gallegher’s Department Store would have had her steaming. With a good eight hours’ sleep, she might have kept things from boiling over.
    First, Carlo insisted on coming with her two hours before he was needed. Or wanted. Juliet didn’t care to spend the first two hours of what was bound to be a long, hectic day with a smug, self-assured, egocentric chef who looked as though he’d just come back from two sun-washed weeks on the Riviera.
    Obviously, he didn’t need any sleep, she mused as they took the quick, damp cab ride from hotel to mall.
    Whatever the tourist bureau had to say about sunny California, it was raining—big, steady drops of it that immediately made the few minutes she’d taken to fuss with her hair worthless.
    Prepared to enjoy the ride, Carlo looked out the window. He liked the way the rain plopped in puddles. It didn’t matter to him that he’d heard it start that morning, just past four. “It’s a nice sound,” he decided. “It makes things more quiet, more…subtle, don’t you think?”
    Breaking away from her own gloomy view of the rain, Juliet turned to him. “What?”
    “The rain.” Carlo noted she looked a bit hollow-eyed. Good. She hadn’t been unaffected. “Rain changes the look of things.”
    Normally, she would have agreed. Juliet never minded dashing for the subway in a storm or strolling along Fifth Avenue in a drizzle. Today, she considered it her right to look on the dark side. “This one might lower the attendance in your little demonstration by ten percent.”
    “So?” He gave an easy shrug as the driver swung into the parking lot of the mall.
    What she didn’t need at that moment was careless acceptance. “Carlo, the purpose of all this is exposure.”
    He patted her hand. “You’re only thinking of numbers. You should think instead of my pasta con pesto. In a few hours, everyone else will.”
    “I don’t think about food the way you do,” she muttered. It still amazed her that he’d lovingly prepared the first linguini at6:00 A.M. , then the second two hours later for the camera. Both dishes had been an exquisite example of Italian cooking at its finest. He’d looked more like a film star on holiday than a working chef, which was precisely the image Juliet had wanted to project. His spot on the morning show had been perfect. That only made Juliet more pessimistic about the rest of the day. “It’s hard to think about food at all on this kind of a schedule.”
    “That’s because you didn’t eat anything this morning.”
    “Linguini for breakfast doesn’t suit me.”
    “My linguini is always suitable.”
    Juliet gave a mild snort as she stepped from the cab into the rain. Though she made a dash for the doors, Carlo was there ahead of her, opening one. “Thanks.” Inside, she ran a hand through her hair and wondered how soon she could come by another cup of coffee. “You don’t need to do anything for another two hours.” And he’d definitely be in the way while things were being set up on the third floor.
    “So, I’ll wander.” With his hands in his pockets, he looked around. As luck would have it, they’d entered straight into the lingerie department. “I find your American malls fascinating.”
    “I’m sure.” Her voice was dry as he fingered the border of lace on a slinky camisole. “You can come upstairs with me first, if you like.”
    “No, no.” A saleswoman with a face that demanded a second look adjusted two negligees and beamed at him. “I think I’ll just roam around and see what your shops have to offer.” He beamed back. “So