Valentine Kisses

by Reina M. Williams

  Was that all he was going to say? Most guys would use that “thief” opening for some cheesy line like, “You stole my heart, baby,” or “How about we sneak something else?” Sometimes, she’d even go along with it if she liked the guy enough. But going along hadn’t gotten her the results she’d wanted. She’d been great at getting the career she wanted, but she’d failed in the relationship department. And here she was, failing again, not even able to carry off a simple flirtation with the person she’d been yearning for. She sipped her coffee. She needed a new idea.

  Chapter Three

  Gina knew how to maintain mystery, he gave her that. And he did love a good mystery. But she was also somewhat confusing. He didn’t need confusion in his life. He’d had enough of that.

  Still, he’d committed to this night, and an hour with her. He just had to ignore the way he wanted to be close to her, to talk with her as if they were old friends, the way he’d wanted to comfort her, the way he’d kissed her hand. He should’ve asked her. He liked asking. It was respectful and kept him out of messes.

  Making his body rigid, he focused on the bay. The slow movement of the water calmed him, made him remember there was something bigger than any of his small problems. He sipped his coffee, content with the silence.

  Gina set down her mug in the small space between them. “I’m going to wade in the water.”

  “What?” He sat up. What kind of person would take a dip in this weather, in an evening gown, and at night, when you couldn’t see clearly? Gina, apparently. Was she kidding? “That seems like a bad idea.”

  “I’m not asking you.”

  “Just...wait, will you?” The weight of responsibility—he’d brought her here, after all—made his hand shoot out for hers, to try and ask her to talk this through.

  But she was already up, pulling off her high heels with a few hops, ambling toward the water. He grabbed the mugs, ran to the coffee cart and placed them in the bin, then rushed back. Gina was already capering over rocks, her shoes strewn carelessly on the grass.

  “I’m not going to fish you out if you fall in,” he said, his voice echoing too loud in the night.

  She waved a hand at him, as if to dismiss him. He watched her for a few minutes, admiring the way she could ignore caution and enjoy the night on her own terms. She smiled and waved her arms as if to keep her balance. What if she fell? He texted Pete to return—clearly, this “date” was over. How would he explain to Uncle Enzo and Celeste if Gina returned soaked and shivering? And he wouldn’t feel good about it, either. Though, she was a grown woman. He liked how she could defy her father, and he liked this show of insouciance. He just didn’t think it would end well.

  Hiking her dress up, she splashed into the shallows. She was beautiful in her abandon, her playfulness. She fingered water then pushed at it to make little waves, twirling and giggling as the droplets left her hands. Her dark hair tossed in the wind, her dress hugging her curves. Her long, strong legs stretched as she advanced and retreated from the lapping water. No stockings on—was she wearing anything under her dress?

  He shivered, not from the cold, but from a sensation that shot through his core like a spear through the air. Her skin practically shone, like some kind of water sprite from those fairy-tale books he used to read as a boy. But his body responded in a way that wasn’t the comfort of childhood tales. His limbs coursed with heat, and he shucked off his overcoat.

  His phone pinged—Pete waited in the parking lot nearby. Vincente glanced up. Gina turned and jumped toward the shore. With a splash, she landed on her rear in the shallow water.

  “Cold!” she said, floundering for a hold.

  He ran over, slid off his shoes, and stepped to her, offering his hands. His socks soaked up the water, making his feet wet and cold. She gripped his hands and he pulled her up. Her head turned away, but her chest leaned close to his, brushing against him. Her warmth and softness opened something in him, a protectiveness he didn’t need to feel. He had a brief flash of throwing her over his shoulder and taking her home, but he shook it away with his usual self-discipline.

  They walked to their shoes, his in a neat pair, hers willy-nilly. He sat, pulled off his socks, and put his shoes on. She picked up her heels and waited for him, her dress slinking back over her shapely legs.

  “Thought you said you wouldn’t fish me out?” He couldn’t tell if her tone were derisive or teasing.

  “Do you want me to throw you back?”

  “Like to see you try.”

  “You can’t always get what you like.” He rolled his socks together and squeezed them before shoving them in his pocket.

  Attraction, that was all this was. He could ignore it, ignore her. After tonight, he wouldn’t have to see her again, other than at family weddings and the occasional get-together. She rubbed her bare arms. “Here, take my coat.” She seemed chilled, and he didn’t need his coat with the heat coursing through him.

  “I can’t.” She followed him toward the parking lot. No shoes—she lacked common sense, it seemed. She pressed water from her dress.

  “Why not?” He stopped, came behind her, and draped it over her. “It’s chilly, and it’ll keep your dress from soaking the limo seat.”

  “Oh, can’t damage your precious limo? Everything has to be clean and neat?” She shrugged off the coat.

  He tried again to place the coat on her shoulders. “The limo’s not mine. It’s one of my cousin’s fleet, and he works hard to maintain a good business.” He opened the door for her, his jaw tight. So he preferred order, cleanliness. So what?

  She asked Pete for a towel, and once he’d given her one, she hopped in, not looking at Vincente. She sat on the towel, keeping his coat tight around her. “Fair enough. Just drop me by Sal’s. You know it?”

  “Of course. But your grandma is expecting to see you again. Let’s just go back to the ball.”

  “Have you ever thought about loosening up a little?”

  “Do you ever think things through?”

  “Be cozy tonight with your thoughts and excuses for not living fully.”

  Questions and comebacks lodged in his chest, but he wouldn’t say anything else. Best to forget this night ever happened. So much for making inroads to peace between their families.

  Within five minutes, they parked by the Fairmont. She reached for the door, but Pete got there first, opening it for her. She slid off Vincente’s coat, leaving it pooled on the seat. He folded it absently while keeping his gaze on her.

  “See you around,” she said, waving her hand in a dismissive way and hurrying up the stairs. Pete glanced at him, but said nothing.

  He couldn’t see her anymore through the stream of people on the sidewalk.

  He’d be cozy, once he got his feet warm and dry. What did she know about him?

  He shifted in his seat. Plenty, it seemed, and he didn’t like it.

  “Have any extra socks?” he asked Pete.

  “You’re in luck,” Pete said, a slight grin on as he reached into the glove compartment and handed Vincente a pair of black dress socks.

  “It’s good to be prepared.”

  “Sure. Though it seems like you weren’t prepared for her.” Pete raised his bushy brows and chuckled.

  Vincente pushed his cousin’s shoulder as he rose and faced the stairs. “She’s not like the girl I remember.”

  “You said it.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “You know anything about her?” Pete wasn’t any more talkative than he was, but Pete was closer to Sophia, his aunt, than Vincente was, so Pete might’ve heard more about the Marchesis, since Sophia was married to Frank Marchesi’s older brother, Carlo, going on thirty-two years.

  “Hear she’s dated some louses, according to Uncle Carlo, though she never brings anyone home. Seems like she’s home to try and help save the bakery. Don’t know much else, other than she’s been in LA, has a business and hospitality degree and moved up to a good position fast, before she opted out to move home. Why don’t yo
u just ask her about herself? People like that, you know.”

  “Quit the sarcasm, huh? She doesn’t want to talk to me, as you saw.” He knew most of what Pete said, anyway.

  “That’s not what I saw, but okay.”

  He wouldn’t bother to ask. Clearly, Pete was in a mood to rib him. “See you in a bit. I hope.”

  Pete nodded and walked back to the driver’s side. Vincente smoothed his clothes and strode up the stairs, ready to face whatever awaited him inside. Then a text pinged from Uncle Enzo: Gina says you aren’t feeling well. I can get her home. You have Pete take you then come back.

  All right, so that’s how she wanted it. He jogged back to the limo and hopped in. Pete had him over the hill and home in another few minutes. He thanked him and plodded into the house. Ignoring the quiet emptiness, he changed in his workout room off the garage and hit the machines. After an hour, he was still wound up, images of Gina swirling as her hair had, wild and beautiful. He slammed out of the back door. His workout hadn’t had the desired mind-numbing effect. Maybe a run would do the job.

  THE NEXT DAY, AFTER church, Vincente strolled up the steps at Uncle Enzo’s house for Sunday dinner. With most everyone away for the Valentine’s Day weekend, it would be a small gathering. And possibly an awkward one, with Celeste’s family invited, and last night a bust in terms of making a road to peace between the families. He could try again. Or his cousin Joey would be here, and he and Vincente could watch a hockey game or something, so he wouldn’t have to interact with Gina. Or maybe he’d be lucky and she wouldn’t be there with her grandma and parents. Either way, he was prepared.

  He rang the doorbell and adjusted his grip on the multi-colored roses and bottle of wine he held. So Gina was the reason he’d bought the roses, even though having anything to do with Gina Marchesi was a bad idea. He believed he owed her an apology for not making the evening as good as he could’ve. Eva Marchesi, Gina’s mom, answered the door. He hardly knew her outside North Beach Bakery. The Bianchis and Marchesis had been connected by Joey’s parents’ marriage over thirty years before, but the connection was strained, at best.

  “Vincente,” Eva said. “Good to see you again. We’re all in the kitchen.” She smiled at him.

  Vincente smiled but his body tightened. Her smile, her full lips, reminded him of Gina. He scrunched his brows. Why was he so preoccupied with Gina? He didn’t know her, the adult her; he could only remember when he used to go into the bakery when he was in his late teens and early twenties and Gina, an awkward teen, stood behind the cash register, ringing up customers with grave solemnity. It was challenging to picture that skinny, serious girl turning into the curvy, impetuous woman he’d met last night. Either way, he owed her an apology for intruding on her space with the hand-holding and arguing with her.

  “Vincente, my boy, thank you for joining us,” Uncle Enzo said from his usual position at the long oak table in the bright kitchen. “My brother is still in Carmel?” Uncle Enzo raised his brows.

  Vincente nodded and said hello to Celeste, who sat next to Uncle Enzo. Uncle Enzo knew Grandpop well enough to guess he’d have Valentine’s Day plans. They were close, even for brothers. Vincente didn’t have any siblings, but his family made up for that. Someday, he’d like to have a wife, in-laws, and children of his own.

  Celeste smiled at him. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

  He didn’t comment on the statement, instead nodding and stepping farther into the kitchen. He glanced around the room at the familiar sea-blue, lemon-yellow, white, and ironwork décor. A woman in a red dress stood rigidly, her back to him, at the sink. He recognized her long brown hair, and her curves, having spent too much time last night looking at them. He’d also spent longer than usual in the confessional before mass. He swallowed and stepped behind the small island counter. She turned to him, and all his preparations fled.

  Gina gave him a little wave, as if last night had never happened. She sauntered over and placed a pitcher of water on the table. But last night had happened, and she’d made it pretty clear with her dismissal that she wanted nothing else to do with him.

  He was a fool. “Uh...this is for you.” He handed her a red rose then stepped to Eva and Celeste, giving them each a few deep pink roses with some baby’s breath, and handed Uncle Enzo a bottle of wine.

  Gina’s cheeks reddened, like they’d been after he’d kissed her hand. He rubbed his jaw. She set the flower on the counter while Celeste and Eva thanked him, Eva putting their flowers in a vase.

  Gina slid a small bakery box to him. It held intricately decorated heart-shaped cookies. He wished it meant something, but she stepped back quickly, not saying anything. Probably her mom or grandma had made her give him the cookies. Celeste glanced from him to Gina.

  He could see Gina was uncomfortable, her eyes darting, pleading for him not to say how she’d lied about his not feeling well. As if he’d tell her secret and also embarrass himself. “Thanks. North Beach Bakery cookies are always welcome.” Too bad he wasn’t.

  Celeste’s smile returned. Gina exhaled, her chest rising and falling. He gripped the counter edge and focused on Celeste.

  “Gina was my big helper when she was younger.”

  “And now she’s come home to help again,” Gina’s mom said. “Aren’t you going to thank Vincente for the rose, Gina?”

  Gina crossed her arms and muttered her thanks. A single red rose hadn’t been a smart choice when he figured she didn’t like him. Why had she suggested they leave the ball? Maybe she’d really just wanted to get some air, and coffee, though she could’ve done both on the terrace outside the ballroom.

  Frank, Gina’s father, frowned. “I should call Michael and see how he’s getting on.” He stepped out into the foyer. He probably wouldn’t be back in until dinner. At every gathering, not that he showed up to many, Frank managed to disappear. He didn’t approve of his mother’s engagement to Uncle Enzo.

  Eva sighed. Gina shot her a grimace. They both busied themselves at the opposite counter. Both their backs were stiff, their movements too controlled.

  Gina’s younger brother Michael worked at the bakery. Unlike his older brother and sister, Michael had stayed home and helped his family. He was a good guy. Vincente didn’t know much about Frankie and Gina.

  Vincente looked at Uncle Enzo, who shook his head. Clearly, Uncle Enzo, like Vincente, felt the annoyance and tension rippling off Gina’s stiff back.

  “Joey not coming?” Vincente asked.

  “No, he had to work. Another fireman in his and Nick’s house suffered smoke inhalation.”

  Joey and Joey’s friend Nick were both firemen with the SFFD. “He okay?”

  “In the hospital. So, it’ll just be the six of us.”

  Life could be tenuous. All the more reason to treat it with care, not recklessness.

  He turned and walked to the window. Better to have stayed home. He’d thought he would be prepared to see Gina again, even with potential awkwardness, but he wasn’t. He wanted to be reckless around her, wanted to break his own rules.

  He exhaled slowly. His family meant everything to him, and he wouldn’t jeopardize the fragile harmony between the Bianchis and the Marchesis for anyone, not even his dream woman. Which Gina wasn’t, of course. He rubbed his hands on his slacks.

  “You okay, my boy?” Uncle Enzo said. “Rough night?” There was an edge of concern in his uncle’s tone. He knew last night wouldn’t be fun for Vincente—and that it would bring up memories of Vincente’s parents. Thank God for Grandpop and Grandma Teresa, who’d taken him in during high school. Then, after college, Vincente had left, as his own father had at that age, to try to build a life where he thought was home, where his parents had raised him. But this—San Francisco—was his home. He wouldn’t leave again.

  Uncle Enzo and Grandpop wanted the best for him, and they’d thought last night would help him let go of the past, and keep moving toward the future he wanted. They couldn’t have known how he’d be affected by Gina.r />
  “Fine, thanks,” he said with a shrug as he faced his uncle. “Can I do anything, Celeste?” He walked to the table and grasped a chair back.

  “No, thanks. Gina came over earlier with me, to help. You’re in for a treat. She’s quite a baker.”

  She was quite a lot of things. He shifted his feet.

  “You should see her business plan,” Uncle Enzo said.

  Gina’s shoulders hunched and she frowned. Huh. Something was going on, and Vincente would figure it out.

  Chapter Four

  Gina rolled her neck as she tossed the salad. Trying to be alone with Vincente last night had been a mistake. She’d been too blinded by her crush, too impulsive. Yet she’d wanted to show something of her real self to Vincente, hoping...

  She shook her head. He didn’t seem to accept her as she was, and that made her defensive, which maybe she should be anyway, given the family lore about the Bianchis. She shouldn’t have given a copy of her business plan to her mom, who must’ve shown it to Enzo Bianchi. Why had he waited until now to bring it up? She’d been here for a couple of hours and he’d chosen not to mention it until Vincente had arrived. Were they planning something? Those Bianchis seemed to own half the neighborhood, but North Beach Bakery was her family’s legacy, and she wouldn’t let them interfere in it. She should’ve been more on-guard last night.

  “You okay, dear?” Grandma Celeste asked, joining her at the counter.

  Gina nodded. “Can I help you, Grandma?” Gina asked, wanting to keep busy.

  “No, you go rest. We’ve already done most everything. You’ve been busy all day. And you’ve been working nonstop since you got home. You just uprooted your life.”

  “I’m here to help, to spend time together.” She returned Grandma’s half-hug. Gina hadn’t had any roots in Los Angeles. It’d been as simple as quitting her job, selling some furniture, and packing her car. Settling back in at home was the tiring part. Work distracted her, and she needed that, with all the tension in the family. It had been easy to distance herself from it when she was over four hundred miles away.