by Libby Klein
He took a half step backward and I saw an ache behind the sexy smolder. “Yes. You need more time. I have all the time in the world if it means you won’t leave me.”
I tried to give him a brave smile and pulled my apron from its hook.
“Don’t cover everything up.”
I gave him a look of chastisement but made a plan to buy this dress in every color as soon as possible. “You need to behave yourself. There will be none of that until things are settled with Alexandra. Plus, I haven’t baked for you in four days. We must be out of everything.”
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. His eyes drooped like a puppy who’d just been bopped on the nose with a newspaper. “Momma gave me some cannoli from the restaurant, but people are asking when the gluten-free muffins will be back.”
I took out the building blocks for muffins and sugar cookies and started an inventory of ingredients. “How did things go with Alexandra over the weekend?”
Gia handed me a carton of butter from the walk-in and made a face that said whatever patience for Alex he’d started with had run out long before I arrived. “She is still refusing to sign the divorce papers, but in New Jersey the spouse does not have to sign to get a divorce.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“It would be, except she’s filed to contest the divorce. No, no, no, don’t look like that. It just means we have to go to court. Zio Alfio says not to worry. He might be on to something that will force her hand.”
Aunt Ginny’s Mafia warning flashed through my head. “Oh, like what?”
“He could not say over the phone, so he’s coming in later to talk about it.”
I started making a list of things I needed from the produce supplier. “What can’t he talk about over the phone? Is he going to make her disappear if she doesn’t cooperate?”
Gia chuckled and his eyes crinkled making little fans at the corners. “You have such an imagination.”
“That’s not a no.”
“I learned a long time ago not to question Zio Alfio about his plans.”
The hairs on my forearm stood up and I had to rub them back down.
Gia leaned against the counter so close the sides of our hips were touching. “When you finish your list, I’ll send Karla. It has been slow today.”
I checked my inventory of eggs, then handed him a shopping list, and he called Karla to the kitchen.
Her usual look of superiority disappeared the minute she saw the unflinching rebuke on my face. I wanted her to know that her silence these past six months wasn’t appreciated. Her eyes slid to the floor as she took the paper from Gia. I didn’t back down. Things were going to be different between us from now on. There are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
After the door closed behind her, I considered who might be out front. I hadn’t heard the bell ring since I’d arrived. “Where is your wife right now?”
“She is not my wife. And she is with Henry at Mia Famiglia. Momma is supervising the visitation.”
Isn’t that like leaving the bank guarded by the inside man?
Gia must have felt my thoughts. “Momma knows I do not trust Alex to be alone with Henry—and Henry is very nervous when Alex is around. Momma would not betray me. She would be devastated if Alex disappeared with her polpetto.”
“Your mother really likes Alex.”
“I think they have more of a mutual understanding.”
“Understanding about what?” I started creaming butter and sugar together for a basic sugar cookie dough. I’d go through a lot of it in the next month, between the St. Patrick’s Day shamrocks, the Easter cookies, and the lemon and raspberry bars for spring.
Gia blinked like he was considering my question. “Momma has some business with Vincenzo Scarduzio that she would like to continue.” Gia crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a slight nod.
Apparently, follow up questions would not be answered. I filed the information away and changed the subject. “I was thinking of doing an afternoon tea for the B&B Easter weekend. Would you mind if I made some hot cross buns and English scones for the coffee shop so I could work on the recipes?”
“Bella. You do not need to ask my permission to make anything.” He wound my hair around his finger. “I will capture the stars if you want them. You tell me what you need.”
What I needed was to catch my breath before I passed out on the KitchenAid. “Uh . . . some rai . . . sins.”
Gia chuckled. “Good for you, dream big.”
I stopped the mixer and swiped his hand. I gave Gia the same look I would give a four-year-old trying to sneak cookies off the cooling rack. I meant business about waiting for things to be settled with Alex.
Before he could plead his case, the front bell went off. There were some choice grumblings on his way out to the bar, but it gave me time to regroup. I wrote a list of recipes to make today and put together an order for our dry goods delivery.
I had just finished scraping my vanilla beans when Gia returned to the kitchen with a brochure. “What’s that?”
“There is some beauty show coming to Convention Hall. The program director said he stopped by to talk to us the other day when I was out, but I did not get the message. They want us to have a booth selling your Paleo baked goods.”
I took the brochure he was offering me. Spring into Beauty. A weeklong event devoted to healthy skin and healthy lifestyle. “I’ve seen this. Do you want to do it?”
“It is up to you. You also have the bed and breakfast and the desserts you make for the other man. Do you have time to do this?”
“Well, ‘the other man’ fired me when I told him it wouldn’t work with us, so . . . It will be a lot of work, but as long as we keep the menu simple and use the same recipes at all three places, I think I can. . . .” I didn’t get to finish my thought because I suddenly found myself pulled into a bear hug.
“You really told him it was over?”
“I did. Even if that means I’ll be alone forever.”
Gia tipped my chin up. “Do not give up on me. I will call Zio Alfio and tell him whatever it takes I want those divorce papers signed.”
“Within reason.”
“Sì. No price is too high.”
“Whatever is legal.”
“Mmm. Whatever he has to do.”
“We’re not saying the same thing.”
“Bella, you are so funny.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and he tapped me on the nose. “I will be right back.” Gia went into his office and shut the door.
Had I just ordered a hit on Alex? I started my mixer again and measured the dry ingredients for the sugar cookies. I kept watching the office door, for what I don’t know. The Godfather to appear? Gia to emerge with a violin case? My imagination was running away with me. I was bringing the cookie dough together into a ball on the counter when the bell rang out front. I could still hear Gia on the phone speaking in rapid-fire Italian. I wiped my hands on a towel and went out to see who it was. If they wanted espresso, I’d have to stall. Why didn’t I know how to work the espresso machine yet? How different could it be from my little one at home?
Alex was standing in the dining room with Henry by her side. Momma was peering through the front glass window with her eyes pushed between her cupped hands. As soon as Henry shrieked my name, Momma bit her fingers and flicked them at me.
I wanted to respond that the Pope would not appreciate that kind of sentiment, but she had already headed back to the Italian restaurant across the courtyard.
Henry wrapped his arms around my neck and I hugged him tight. “Hey, sweets. You’re just in time to help me make some cookies.”
“Can I help taste them?”
“You sure can.” I glanced up at Alex, whose pretty little face was in a pout.
“Is he here?”
“Yes, he’s on the phone.” Possibly with someone named Vinnie or Fat Tony.
“I need to see him.” She pushed past me into the kitchen.
Henry and I sat down at one of the coffee-bean-colored tables in the dining room. “Do you want something to drink?”
Henry nodded. “Chocolate milk.”
Chocolate milk for Henry meant special, dairy-free chocolate syrup and almond milk. I had just put it on the table when Gia came flying out of the back room with Alex in hot pursuit. She was begging for something. Gia was calm, but clearly frustrated. He turned to face Alex and spoke very slowly.
“You. Are. Crazy. There is no way I want to . . .” He put his hands over Henry’s ears and whispered, “Renew our wedding vows. You did not honor them the first time.”
Alex grabbed Henry and pulled him in front of her. She spoke in Italian, presumably so I wouldn’t understand her. Nice try, but I definitely know the word famiglia.
Henry wiggled out of her grip and sidled back to the table and his chocolate milk.
Alex threw her arm out and pointed to Henry. She had several points to make, all of which were in Italian, and I understood none of them except that she expected Henry to instantly love her.
I tried to disappear into the coffee beans until I could make a break for it. I took a couple quiet steps toward the kitchen.
Gia crossed his arms over his chest. “Piccolo, it is almost time for a nap. Do you want to go home and watch your new movie?”
Henry nodded a double nod without releasing his straw from his mouth.
“Okay, why don’t you take Mommy’s hand and she’ll take you home and tuck you in?”
Henry carried his chocolate milk around the counter and took my hand. He didn’t understand the fear and the fury he had just unleashed.
CHAPTER 7
Throwing a surprise party for an eighty-year-old is a risky venture. You don’t want “surprise” to be the last word she ever hears. Of course, when said eighty-year-old is sharp as a razor and nosy as Mrs. Kravitz from Bewitched, the danger is lessened significantly. Since Aunt Ginny had petitioned for this surprise party by leaving Post-it Notes all over my bathroom and found the receipt for the party supplies in my purse while searching for candy after I went to the movies with Sawyer, we were just going through the motions of the surprise part at this point.
It was Royce’s job to take Aunt Ginny to the beauty parlor and distract her while we set up for the shindig. Aunt Ginny’s recently returned boyfriend was dealing with advancing dementia, so we were just hoping he remembered he was back in Cape May and not in an off-Broadway revival of Anything Goes when the time came to bring Aunt Ginny home.
Figaro streaked through the sitting room in a blur of gray fluff and silver foil. “Catch that cat!” A panting Fiona came waddling after him, her painted-on eyebrows drawn together like an angry orange crow. “That cat has stolen the ribbons off three presents. I tried to catch him in the act, but he’s so fast. Ignatius! Help me get the ribbon curls back from the feline!”
A gravelly voice rumbled out of the dining room. “Sorry, Mama, I’d help if I could, but I just took my pain pill, and you know I’m not allowed to do anything strenuous while on narcotics.”
I put my hand on Royce’s sister’s shoulder. “I’ve got this, Fiona. Why don’t you go have a glass of punch and sit with Iggy?”
Fiona grabbed my hand and pulled me farther into the foyer. “About that. I’m not sure that punch is safe to drink. I saw Thelma pour a whole bottle of liquor in it.”
That sounds about right. “Okay. I’ll check on that. Thank you.” Before I could do some quality control on Mrs. Davis and the other biddies, who thought that prohibition was still on in my house and they had to smuggle booze into every event, someone rang the doorbell.
“Royce? What are you doing here?” I looked around the debonair gentleman for Aunt Ginny. They weren’t supposed to be back for at least twenty minutes.
Royce took off his hat and released a pouf of fluffy white hair like a magician’s act. “I’m here to pick up Ginny for brunch.”
I led him into the foyer and gently reminded him, “Royce, you picked Aunt Ginny up two hours ago, remember? We had to make her a special hair appointment with Mr. Charles because it’s Sunday, and we waited for the B and B guests to check out and go home so we could have a surprise birthday party.”
Royce looked confused, then recognition dawned. “Oh, right. ‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’ I left Ginny at the beauty parlor, didn’t I?”
“Yes. I believe you did.” Figaro streaked out of the library and back into the sitting room, dragging about three feet of pink ribbon behind him. Royce put his hat back on. “Okay, I’ll go get her.” Before he could open the screen door, Gia pulled up in front of the house in his silver Alfa Romeo with Aunt Ginny in the passenger seat. Aunt Ginny looked into the front door, shook her head, and made a motion for Gia to go around the block.
They sped off, so I brought Royce into the house and took his hat and coat and deposited him in the sitting room with his sister and nephew and the biddies, who were all giggling behind jumbo-sized cups of punch. I went to the kitchen and checked on Sawyer, who was taking a pan of apple and brie tarts out of the oven. “I think these are ready, but your cheesesteak egg rolls need a couple more minutes.”
“Did you see Mrs. Davis spiking the punch?”
Sawyer grinned. “Don’t look behind the trash can.”
Stuffed in the corner under a paper bag were three empty bottles of pink champagne and a large Irish whisky. “What’s the whisky for?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you . . . but the coffee is going to have a kick to it.”
I could use a kick right now. The back door slammed open and my delicate chambermaid bulldozed her way over to the kitchen island to drop off Aunt Ginny’s sheet cake. I was amazed that someone so tiny could create so much destruction. To bring my point home, Figaro galloped into the kitchen with his ears pinned down. He tried to turn the corner, knocked over his food bowl, and slid out the other side. Victoryna Rostyslavivna Yevtushenko—or, as we called her, Victory—jumped out of the way to avoid a crash and stuck her elbow into the cake. “Gah! Naughty Figgy!”
Victory had joined us from Ukraine for the summer season on a special visa just a few weeks ago, and I think her main purpose in life was to keep my sanity on the edge. Her ice-blue eyes were such a stark contrast to her pale skin and jet-black hair that she looked like an arctic wolf in a Cher wig. She and Aunt Ginny had become very close because of their mutual admiration for chaos and drama. Speaking of which, Chaos and Drama just threw the front door open and yelled, “Surprise!” to her roomful of party guests.
Sawyer and I snorted at each other and went in to greet the guest of honor.
Mother Gibson had queued up Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family” for Aunt Ginny’s big entrance and now they were all dancing around the room like the Holy Spirit anointing had fallen on the choir loft.
Aunt Ginny was sporting a new, rose-gold-strawberry-blond tint to her hair and a powder-blue halter dress that she was convinced made her look like Marilyn Monroe. She greeted everyone and tinkled her fingers to make sure we all noticed the faux gems she had painted into her manicure.
Gia hovered in the foyer, watching with a bemused grin. He was looking a little drawn, and his usual five-o’clock shadow was more like a two-day blackout. The past three weeks had been very stressful. I had said that I didn’t want any affection passing between us until things were sorted with Alex, and Gia reluctantly gave in to my request. We were both tense and frustrated, and the days were getting longer. But if it was meant to be that Gia and Alex could reconcile, I wasn’t going to get in their way, even though it would kill me. As it was, I didn’t have to get in the way. Alex was tearing her chances down with her own hands.
She showed up at the coffee shop every day to trickle a stream of poisoned sweetness. Flattery spiked with belladonna. Her words were always innocent and helpful, but her kisses of kindness left you with welts on your face. I had never seen Gia so miserable. I heard him use the words “restraining order” more than once
while talking to Zio Alfio on the phone. I didn’t know what Zio Alfio was saying, but Gia was never happy with the outcome.
If anything, he was looking for ways to spend more time with me. He had Karla running the front counter and he’d been in the kitchen baking. We’d been working tirelessly, making mountains of scones and cookies and every kind of muffin under the sun so we could fill the pastry cases at La Dolce Vita and the booth we were running for the expo. But I knew the real reason he was so worn out was a leggy honey blonde from Italy who had forgotten how to sign her name and was determined to remain the current Mrs. Larusso like there was a million-dollar will and Gia was on life support. As long as she was contesting the divorce, I had to hold Gia at arm’s length, and the anguish behind his eyes was breaking my heart. “Aunt Ginny called you when Royce wandered off?”
Gia nodded toward the birthday girl. “She said I’m still on her list, but I could make some of it up by fetching her. She knew about the party. She had me drive her around the block until everyone was in place so she could make her entrance.”
“Yeah, I think Royce is the only one who was surprised, and we told him three times.”
Victory danced her way into the room to do the bump with Aunt Ginny in the center. When the music finally ended she hugged her. “How old are you todaee, Miss Geinny?”
Aunt Ginny dropped into the wing chair that was reserved for the birthday girl. “I’m seventy!”
Victory’s eyes flashed. “Sefentee! I weill need manee some more candle.” She ran back to the kitchen while Royce belly laughed.
“Ginger, you and I are the same age, and I’m eighty-two.”
Aunt Ginny cut her eyes at Royce and through gritted teeth said, “Well, I’m seventy!”
Royce closed his eyes and chuckled to himself. “Okay, baby.”
Then Aunt Ginny rolled her eyes at the ladies. “That he remembers.”
Sawyer leaned into me and whispered, “If he only knew how many seventieth surprise parties she’s had.”
Mrs. Dodson handed Aunt Ginny a glass of punch. “You’re over twenty-one, aren’t you?”