She could have kissed him. Strictly in gratitude, but she could have kissed him. Considering that unwise, she smiled instead. “I appreciate your attitude, Carlo. After the last hour of dealing with the inept, the insane and the unbearable, it’s a relief to have someone take things in stride.”

“Franconi always takes things in stride.” Juliet started to sink into a chair for a five-minute break.

“Dio! What joke is this?” She was standing again and looking down at the little can he held in his hand. “Who would sabotage my pasta?”

“Sabotage?” Had he found a bomb in the can? “What are you talking about?”

“This!” He shook the can at her. “What do you call this?”

“It’s basil,” she began, a bit unsteady when she lifted her gaze and caught the dark, furious look in his eyes. “It’s on your list.”

“Basil!” He went off in a stream of Italian. “You dare call this basil?”

Soothe, Juliet reminded herself. It was part of the job. “Carlo, it says basil right on the can.”

“On the can.” He said something short and rude as he dropped it into her hand. “Where in your clever notes does it say Franconi uses basil from a can?”

“It just says basil,” she said between clenched teeth. “B-a-s-i-l.”

“Fresh. On your famous list you’ll see fresh. Accidenti! Only a philistine uses basil from a can for pasta con pesto. Do I look like a philistine?”

She wouldn’t tell him what he looked like. Later, she might privately admit that temper was spectacular on him. Dark and unreasonable, but spectacular. “Carlo, I realize things aren’t quite as perfect here as both of us would like, but—”

“I don’t need perfect,” he tossed at her. “I can cook in a sewer if I have to, but not without the proper ingredients.”

She swallowed—though it went down hard—pride, temper and opinion. She only had fifteen minutes left until the interview. “I’m sorry, Carlo. If we could just compromise on this—”

“Compromise?” When the word came out like an obscenity, she knew she’d lost the battle. “Would you ask Picasso to compromise on a painting?”

Juliet stuck the can into her pocket. “How much fresh basil do you need?”

“Three ounces.”

“You’ll have it. Anything else?”

“A mortar and pestle, marble.”