“That’s okay. I got it.”
Chivalry was not necessarily chauvinism, she reminded herself. He was just being a gentleman. That firmly in mind, she clicked on the lights and headed down the driveway.
They chatted casually the short distance to town. Adelmo was polite and good at making small talk seem less trite. The afternoon in the coot made falling back into that unwariness easy. He asked about the gazebo on the green, and the disparity of the army tank always covered in little children climbing.
“It is strange, isn’t it?” Savannah answered. “I have no idea why they’d put a World War I tank on the Green. Benny, one of my full-timers, was born and raised here. She and her husband live in the old town center. Actually, Dan grew up here too. They’ll tell you just about anything you want to know. I’m sure you’ll meet them soon.”
“They are friends of yours?”
“They are. Good friends.”
“I would like to meet them. I would like to meet as many people as I can. It will help me to acclimate to this town. It is far different from any I have lived in before.”
“What kinds of places have you lived in?”
“Cities, mostly, except when I go home.”
“To Ecuador?”
He nodded.
“Do you get there much?” she asked.
“I make sure to spend four months a year back home. For various reasons.”
Savannah pulled into a spot near D’Angelo’s. His reasons were his own. His to offer, not hers to ask. The alluring scent of garlic already pulled at her. Inhaling deeply, she conjured the plate of linguine and clam sauce she would order. It wasn’t always on the menu, but the chef never objected to the request.
“A lovely little trattoria,” Adelmo said, coming around to her side of the car. “Smells delicious.”
“It used to be a family pizza joint.” Savannah got out of the car and closed the door before he could do it for her. “A few years ago, the original family sold the place, and it got a makeover. The pizza is still amazing, though.”
“I am a pizza connoisseur. Perhaps I should try it.”
“You won’t be disappointed. But I have to be honest, I only get it as take-out. The dine-in menu is just too good to pass up.”
Adelmo got to the door first and held it open for her, pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit down. The swell of pleasure battled the need to do it all for herself. Savannah was conscious of people looking their way. Several waved. Talk would be all over town before morning. Placing her napkin on her lap, she let it go.
Vehemently.
* * * *
“Wine?” Ade plucked the wine list from the table. The labels were surprisingly respectable. In his pocket, his cell phone vibrated.
“I have to admit, my palate is that of a five-year-old,” Savannah was saying. “If it tastes like juice, it works for me.”
He looked at her over the top of the wine menu. Ingenuous. That was the word milling about in his head since riding in the coot. Outside of childhood, such people didn’t exist. Not in his world. When he had spotted her in the hall, the coils of her hair still glistening from her shower, the word hit him again. How could her innocence be real after she had suffered so much?
“Would you allow me to choose a bottle?” he asked.
“Just be prepared for me not to like it.”
Ade signaled to the waiter, and ordered a Malbec he discovered in Napa several summers ago. Scanning the menu while they waited for the wine, he chanced glances Savannah’s way. She smiled without seeming to realize she was doing so. He noticed that about her earlier. Even now, as she looked over a menu she probably knew by heart, her lips curled gently, deepening the dimples of her smooth cheeks. Yet the tension in her body evidenced itself around her eyes.
She set her menu onto the table, leaned over it. The view of her substantial cleavage snagged his attention. A mystery of spiced-rum skin. He could almost taste honey, almond, cinnamon, bourbon. His groin twitched. No shifting of shoulders, no quirk to her smile still soft and unaware. No seduction. No pretense. Just a lovely women who had no idea how desirable she was. Ade looked quickly away as the waiter returned to show him the bottle, uncork it, and pour a splash for him to taste. The wine washed away the phantom rum lingering on his tongue, distracted his baser instincts. Scrumptious as Savannah was, he’d made a promise to Taytay—and had no intention of breaking it.
“Excellent. Thank you.”
The waiter poured, smiling at Savannah as he filled her glass. “Hey, Savvy. How’s things?”
“Crazy, as always, Brian. We miss you at the farm.”
“No offense, but I make a lot more here and still have time to bike.”
“How’s the cycling going this summer?”
“Not bad. Giving up weekends here at the restaurant has put a dent in my bank account, but if I place in the big one in October, it’ll be worth it.”
Cycling? A bittersweet subject. Another passion lost to his career, another possession lost alongside his ego. Boston’s winding streets and a bicycle that cost more than most cars had kept Ade in good shape, and soothed the frustration always too close to the surface. He asked the waiter, “How is your time?”
Brian wiped the mouth of the bottle. “Good enough to qualify, not enough to win. Yet. You race?”
“I used to, many years ago. I had aspirations, but alas, it was not in my stars.”
“Injury?”
“Age, choices that had to be made, but I do enjoy it still in a non-competitive capacity.”
“We have some good trails around here. Nice smooth ones for sightseers—and then the kind I like.” Brian mimed steering a bike, bouncing like his head would shake off. Ade laughed.
Savannah joined in. “Remember when you thought it was a good idea to transport seedlings using the back-up trail, on your bike?”
“Poor little seedlings. At least they weren’t the chicks.”
“They would’ve been had I sent you out to deliver those first.”
Ade sat back in his chair, listening to them go back and forth, unhappy with himself, with his lusty conjuring. It happened unintentionally. Even as a boy, his libido had been…healthy. He had no compelling reason to deny it. Despite his Catholic upbringing, he wasn’t a true believer, or even a marginal one. No threat of eternal damnation quelled the insatiability of a boy’s libido—or a man’s. Those who thought otherwise were fools. In his youth, he feared no unwanted children to trap him in an honorable marriage. As he became a man, that lack of fear took on a bitter taste, even if it served him well. Until Boston. Until Anita.
His cell vibrated again. Did she even know when he thought her name? Cursed woman. He had half a mind to throw his phone into the nearest body of water. Run it over with a car. Somehow dispose of it. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
“I no longer have a bicycle.” His response to the waiter’s suggestion they ride together came automatically. Another skill that had served him well—listening even while his mind was elsewhere.
“I might be able to hook you up with a good deal,” Brian said. “A friend of mine doesn’t ride anymore. He’s a scuba guy down in Florida. His bike sits in his dad’s garage. I can ask him if he’s interested in selling it.”
A bicycle. Yes. Better than a used car. More affordable. Now. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”
The cell phone in his pocket vibrated once again. As Brian read them the specials, Ade reached into his pocket and switched it off. He had work to do. He’d deal with Anita later.
Maybe.
Chapter 6
down the night
Savannah ordered linguine con vongole, red and spicy. Her mouth watered in anticipation of the tang and the spice and the tender clams Tony, chef and proprietor, always cooked perfectly. Adelmo opted for pollo quarto formaggio.
“And, to start,” he said, “may we please have the pear and candied walnut salad. Arugula instead of r
omaine, if that is possible.”
“No problem.” Brian tapped it into the handheld order ticket. “Anything else?”
“The baratta,” Adelmo answered. “And the wild mushrooms with avocado. And fried calamari.”
“You got it.”
Savannah leaned back in her chair, eyeing him up and down. “Where are you going to put all that?”
“You will help me, no? Was it wrong to presume we would share the first course?”
“It’s a bit…intimate, isn’t it?”
“Food is meant to be shared,” he said. “Among family, friends, lovers, even strangers. No?”
Smooth. Was he flirting with her? Had he stressed the word lovers? Or did her imagination make it seem so? It’d been a long time since anyone flirted with her. At least, a long time since she noticed. “Well, I might be persuaded to have a bite or two. But that’s a lot of food.”
“You have never seen me eat.” Adelmo raised his wine glass, twirled it gently. “To new endeavors.”
“To new endeavors.”
Their glasses clinked. Savannah brought the wine to her lips and sipped. Fruity, yet not sugary, spicy without being heavy, the wine coated her tongue with little bursts of flavor she couldn’t track, but culminated in a surprised, “This is wonderful.”
“I hoped you would enjoy it. It is a perfect summer wine. Say what you will of European vintages, California produces some of the best in the world.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, but I do know I like this.”
Brian brought their salad and set it onto the table between them. Though he gestured for her to eat first, Adelmo dug in with gusto while she nibbled politely through the salad, then the appetizers. It was usually all she could do to eat a full meal at D’Angelo’s, where the portions were hearty. If she wanted to save room for dessert, she had to go slow. CC’s provided all the baked desserts, and there was no way she was going home without a slice of Johanna’s cake.
She moved food around the plate while Adelmo plowed ahead. Who was this man who knew how to choose a wine, and yet who ate with the abandon of a ranch hand after a cattle drive? Charming and stylish, dressed in lavender and clogs, yet able to swing from a rafter into a loft space to fetch her a box.
“What is it?” Adelmo’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.
He caught you, sugarbeet. Savannah sat straighter. “I didn’t mean to be so obvious.”
“We are here to come to know one another.” He set his fork down. “And this is my official interview. Ask whatever questions you like.”
“I was just wondering”—why a man as obviously cultured and accomplished as you are has agreed to be foreman on my little hick-town farm—“why you came to America to study.”
Adelmo dipped a calamari ring over and over. Popping it into his mouth, he leaned slightly forward. “My family sent me to study here in the United States. I have many siblings and cousins, but there were only funds for one of us. I was the brightest, the most ambitious. I would learn all there was to offer and bring my knowledge home to the family farm. At first, I did. Then I learned more. I learned things about farming practices and how they impact the world at large. I am an environmentalist, first and foremost. My father and uncles were not pleased after I changed my major, but I have sent a good portion of my earnings from teaching and lecturing back home to the family.”
“Like they do.”
“Exactly.”
Savannah laughed. “Well, not exactly. I’ve never been able to pay them what they’re worth.”
“A little goes a long way where we’re from,” Adelmo said. “But I was able to send home substantially more. Ease my conscience, so to speak, for staying in the States. Because of this, our farm has grown from an obscure rural operation to a well-respected organic farm. I am passionate about the farm-to-table movement, and I believe in staying local. Part of the reason much of the produce found in supermarkets has no flavor is that it is picked before ripening so it can be sent around the world. The process, the varieties, the chemicals needed to feed a global environment not only creates flavorless food, but cripples small farms like yours. Makes them unsustainable.”
“I do well enough.”
“Because your locals can largely afford to pay a bit more for quality. An ancient way of life has become a boutique industry.”
“You said something about it being an ongoing issue with your dad and uncle.”
“Older minds.” Adelmo waved a hand over his head. “They open reluctantly. Doing things the right way is not always the most profitable way. Neither is it necessarily the most expedient. In the end, the process is worth the extra time and expense. They agree when it pleases them to agree, and fight with me when it does not. This is why I spend four months home every year. To make sure they are complying with agreements made.”
Adelmo pulled the baratta closer, cutting the stacked cheese, orange slice and basil into deliberate quarters. He ate a piece, chewed slowly, and then had another before spearing a third mini-stack to hold out to her. “Try this. It is extraordinary.”
Savannah hesitated, but she ate it off his fork. “Oh, wow. That’s something.”
“Finish it. And taste the mushrooms.”
“I’m good. Our dinners should be coming out soon.” She sipped her wine, gathering her own composure. His passion for the subject, eating off his fork, just sharing a meal and conversation with this man made her feel both comfortable and wary—as if she were just waking up from a prolonged slumber. Sleeping Beauty had a farm, e-i-e-i-o!
“Your farm offers a chance for me to practice what I preach,” he said. “I have been in academia far too long.”
“Then why not just go home to your family farm?”
“Ah, the family farm.” He chuckled softly. “The family farm comes with la jefa, my mother. I love her dearly, but, as my father learned, she is loveable in doses. Small ones.”
“And yet Edgardo is going home to her.”
“He and Tío are getting too old for heavy farm work. My siblings and cousins have been running our farm successfully for many years. It is time for the older men to enjoy the prosperous life they have made.”
“I have to admit, I didn’t suspect either of them old enough to have a son your age. Is it rude of me to ask how old they are?”
Adelmo bit into a piece of buttered bread. “Seventy-five.” He grinned. “As of June.”
“Both of them?”
“They are twins. Did you not know?”
“I had no idea.” Savannah flopped back in her chair. “Edgardo led me to believe he’s the older brother.”
“He is. By about ten minutes.”
“Seventy-five.” She blew out a deep breath. “Until you showed up, I’d have said they were in their fifties.”
“That would be some feat, given my own descent into decrepitude, even for rural Ecuador.”
“Wow. I’m going to have to get my head wrapped around this.” She nibbled at a mushroom. Charming. Intelligent. Attractive. Elusive. Or had he not just deftly maneuvered away from her clumsy lead into why he’d consent to work her farm? Curiosity burned. Questions brought questions. Pasts brought forth pasts. The need to know warred with the need to hide. Curiosity won. “You are not a farmhand, Adelmo,” she blurted. “Why have you agreed to be one?”
He took a long, slow breath, went into himself. Savannah knew how that felt. Sort through what you can say and what you can’t. Give enough without giving too much.
“I assumed my father and uncle told you about me.” He met her eyes squarely. “It would have spared me having to do so. But you have a right to know who you have hired, and why I sought work on your farm. Perhaps sought is not quite the right word. It was my father’s idea, one that appealed to me.” He shifted in his seat but held her gaze. “I am hiding, Savannah. After a hard-won career in academia, I got involved with the wrong woman and paid the price. I’ve lost everything. My position, my credib
ility, the lifestyle I’d grown accustomed to in a city I loved. As you can understand, it is a sore subject, and one too personal to share in full with someone gracious enough to provide me, essentially a stranger, with the solace of anonymity.”
Savannah grasped his hand across the table. “Please, I’m sorry, Adelmo. You don’t have to say any more. I had no idea.”
Adelmo stared at their hands on the table, his expression flat. Unreadable. Then he blinked, curled his fingers through hers, squeezed and let go. “Please, no apologies,” he said. “Humiliating and painful as the circumstances are, it is good there is honesty between us. No secrets to get in the way of a friendship, eh?”
Her gaze fell. Secrets were all she had. They existed in a black hole of time she shared with no one. She left Georgia so she would never have to. And now Adelmo bared his soul, making her silence seem forced. Unfair. Cowardly. Yet silent she would remain. After so many years, if the words necessary to tell her tale did exist, Savannah didn’t know where to find them. “I’m glad to offer you a place to hide out for a while,” she said instead. “This has all been a bit…overwhelming, hasn’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
“You, being, well…you, and not who I expected. I have to be honest, Adelmo, I would never have hired you had I known. Wait a sec.” She put up an equivocating finger. “What I mean is, I never could have afforded you, what you’re worth.”
“I will do what is necessary, whatever you need to run your farm.”
“I have no doubt about that. None whatsoever. If you are still willing to stay now that you’ve seen just how small Savvy’s is, I am grateful for your expertise. But I’m thinking you were right about the menial tasks your father and uncle have you doing.”
“Forgive me. It was a poor word choice.”
She waved him away. “Don’t apologize. In light of all you just told me, it was the exact right word, if a bit pretentious.”
“You wound me, Ms. Callowell.” Ade covered his heart with both hands, let them slide away. “But you are correct. I am pretentious. It happens when one starts out a crusader and ends up a scholar too full of his own greatness he can no longer see his world clearly. I am an expert on matters of sustainable cultivation processes when I rarely get my hands dirty. The change in my circumstances happened against my will, but, perhaps, in the nick of time.”
Waking Savannah Page 5