Chapter 6
Luisa was trying desperately to make head or tails of what Sam was saying. But it wasn’t working.
“I saw the kind of men who waited for you after work. Slick, urban,” then Sam waved a hand at himself. He wore jeans, leather shoes battered and stained with too many hours in the kitchen, and a casual flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves that had replaced his chef’s jacket.
He was right; he didn’t fit with what she’d always reached for. Looking the way she did, it was always easy to take almost any man she wanted off the shelf. She came from desperate poverty and kept picking some Mr. Rich-and-Successful. But they never seemed to fit when she tried them on.
“Did what I could to get over it. Then Angelo hooked me with his food,” and again one of those easy shrugs of his powerfu
