For Klaroween Bingo - Vampire who likes Italian Food

Food Critic Klaus Mikaelson and Executive Chef Caroline Forbes clash but is it all as it seems or are supernatural forces at play?

La Dolce Vita

"Lover boy is here again," Katherine teased, placing the large pile of dishes she'd collected into the large, industrial-sized kitchen sink and sending Caroline a sly wink.

"Don't call him that," Caroline hissed, her eyes searching the restaurant for the person in question from her vantage point.

When she found him her heart skipped a beat, if only for a brief second. That happened a lot, Caroline tried to tell herself it was the fact he was a restaurant critic and she was the owner of said restaurant he was currently occupying.

"Oh sorry, I mean Mister Sexy Dimples," she laughed, noting Caroline's increasingly pink cheeks. "You know, it's okay to think he's hot, right?"

"Katherine," she scolded, hoping that the rest of her kitchen staff weren't eavesdropping. Luckily they all seemed occupied. She pulled her best friend and maître'd into the nearby fridge. "Could you be any more obvious?"

"Trust me Care, the entire staff know just how gorgeous that man is," she offered. "Given he's here on a weekly basis it's hard not to notice."

When he'd returned to her trattoria in Little Italy for the fourth time in a month, her curiosity was piqued. Of course she was happy he seemed to love her food but she couldn't help herself asking him some pointed questions about his intentions. Mainly because they were messing with her composure while she was trying to cook.

She remembered it like it was yesterday (and not three months ago), he'd wiped those taunting, crimson lips with a chequered napkin and sent her a knowing smile, and apparently he had dimples too. Bastard. No one should be that genetically blessed.

He'd said he was a food critic for the New York Post and had taken a liking to her rustic, Italian menu. Caroline wasn't Italian, far from it, but she'd studied in Tuscany for three years and had become addicted to their cuisine, opening her own place in Little Italy not long after she returned to the United States.

She worried people wouldn't take her seriously but tables began to fill, albeit slowly, until his first review booked out her restaurant for weeks straight. She figured that was it until he appeared again and began regularly featuring photos of her menu on his social media accounts.

She'd been flattered at first but no food critic ever returned to the place they'd reviewed.

Only him.

"Why is he here so often?" She asked Katherine, probably against her better judgement. Her best friend had the ability to read situations and cut straight to the point, no matter how blunt.

"Um," she murmured. "If you don't know what he wants then I think you need to get out of the kitchen and get a life, roomie." Caroline was immediately filled with dread, was this all about getting laid? If so, she had every intention of telling the ass to leave her establishment and never return.

She eyed the clock realising that last orders from the kitchen had been received. Caroline pulled off her apron and collected her things like any night. He was still sitting in her dining room and she felt annoyed at just how obvious he was being loitering there.

She stalked towards him, not missing Kat's suggestive glance in her direction. "Maybe it's time you leave?"

He looked surprised but at the same time a smirk spread across his face. "Is this how you treat all of your customers?"

"Just the ones who won't leave."

"You invited me in, love," he quipped.

"And for that I'll always be sorry," she muttered. Okay, maybe she'd known he was a vampire. Her witch radar had alerted her to his presence but Caroline had been immediately curious. She figured letting him in wasn't going to cause too many problems if he never came back again.

But she was wrong.

"That hurts," he offered, his eyes not meeting hers. "Do you think that badly of me?"

"No supernatural being can revisit a restaurant without an ulterior motive."

"Well, then you don't know me at all," he murmured, his blue eyes finally finding hers, the hurt obvious. "If you believed in yourself you'd know that your cooking is brilliant, all supernatural powers aside."

"I bet you say that to all the women…" Before she could finish her sentence, his hand was on her left wrist, his blue eyes boring into hers.

"You know nothing about me. Maybe I do love Italian food but it's nothing compared to my feelings for you, love."

"Why?" She rasped.

"Why not?" He pulled her into his arms greedily. Whoever coined the phrase 'the way to someone's heart is through their stomach' was onto something she thought as his lips met hers.