The Complete Where Dreams

by M. L. Buchman

  “The same look that I saw in the mirror this morning.”

  Maria inspected her and now saw it blooming out of her. How had Maria missed it, the girl was radiant. A glance at the cook line showed Manuel was very focused on his cooking. How was it that Graziella looked radiant, Manuel was totally in control, and she was an absolute distracted mess with the attention span of a parakeet?

  Graziella must have noticed her attention and her scowl. “He fouled the sauce twice before Angelo came in. This is his third try.”

  Maria laughed and felt much better.

  “He is treating you well?”

  The young woman’s smile and sigh was confirmation enough.

  “When do we meet the man putting that smile on your face?”

  Maria focused on coarse-chopping the chocolate while Graziella rebuilt the honey-based sugar syrup for the jam.

  “Oh, I know him already, don’t I? Your special customer. The one Manuel cooked breakfast for. Your charity case?” She turned it into a question of surprise.

  “Hogan Stanford is many things, but it turns out that a charity case is not among them. At least not the way I thought he was.”

  “Who is Hogan Stanford?” Russell snapped a photo with that fancy camera of his.

  “Where did you come from?” Maria hadn’t heard him come in and didn’t know why he was aiming his camera at her. He shifted to the side for a different angle and she threatened him with the chocolate-coated wooden spoon she’d been using to stir with. He took the picture, of course, though he did back off a step.

  “I came from New York. But you know that. Not getting forgetful in your dotage, are you Ms. Parrano?”

  “Just because you turned out so tall and handsome and I can no longer lay you over my knee, don’t think that my spoon is any slower.” She had used it frequently to whack him on the knuckles when he and Angelo were young and constantly trying to snatch bits from her cooking pot before they were served.

  Graziella stirred the forming syrup to make sure that it heated evenly and didn’t foam, “Can I have a demonstration? It sounds like a useful skill.”

  “I am here by invitation, Maria,” Russell insisted. He backed off another step, just in case she decided to carry out her threat, and ran into a dish rack with a large clatter.

  “We thought that to advertise the new restaurant, we should introduce the people behind the swinging doors. ‘From our kitchen to your table’ kind of feel. Make it personal. I wanted to start with two amazingly beautiful women, you know, for appeal and all that.” He gave a knowing leer that looked quite comical because they all knew how besotted he was by Cassidy.

  Maria had to admit that it was a good idea and didn’t mind the compliment even though it was just so much fesserie. And while she didn’t like having her picture taken unawares, she knew Russell would make her look so pretty that she wouldn’t recognize herself. And with young and glowing Graziella beside her, Maria expected it would come out very well indeed.

  “So, who is Hogan Stanford?” He snapped a picture of her protest, but it didn’t save his knuckles from a quick rap.

  Hogan was impressed with himself when he visited Maria’s window. He didn’t hesitate, or avoid, or have to walk around the block three times. He simply queued up with the others, and other than a brief flash of a smile shared with Maria, he became just another customer waiting his turn. Someone was moving around snapping photos with a very high-end camera. Publicity photos maybe. Hogan almost felt as if he’d look like he fit into the scene.

  The December morning was clear and cold, at least for Seattle, upper-thirties. Maria had selected a sweater of soft gray. It was all vertically ribbed, emphasizing the trimness of her waist and her exceptionally fine full-figure.

  He allowed his attention to drift. Her neck, the clean lines of her well-defined Italian chin, and lips that he knew were so soft and opened with a soft sigh when…

  “Hogan?”

  He had progressed to the front of the line without noticing. That is, without noticing anything except how she looked.

  “You look incredible.”

  “Your Botticelli?”

  He rapped his knuckles lightly against the gilded window frame in answer.

  “Have you had breakfast yet?”

  When he shook his head, she set out a coffee and a cornetto. He made a show of carefully counting out five one-dollar bills, she’d teased him mercilessly about only having hundreds in his wallet.

  “Are you free this evening?” It felt so normal, asking his girl out.

  “Come to my condo after you are done at the shelter, I’ll make you a nice dinner. Now shoo. You’re blocking other customers.”

  He glanced behind, and there were several people behind him.

  “And you too are so pretty that you’re distracting me terribly,” she said more softly.

  He turned back startled. “Did I hear that right?”

  She made shooing motions. When he moved off, she called him back to take his breakfast. Okay, maybe he didn’t fit in completely. But the coffee was warm in his hands and Maria’s smile was warm as well.

  He moved off down Post Alley and turned downslope toward the park to enjoy the morning sunshine as he ate his breakfast. It overlooked Elliot Bay, which was an amazing sight on a sunny morning. He’d also be able to see the Ferris wheel and think about—

  “Hogan Stanford?” The voice sounded buddy-buddy. A moment later someone clamped a hand over Hogan’s shoulder. Hard. He looked over and up. It was the photographer from outside the restaurant, and he was a big man: tall, broad-

  shouldered, cliché-handsome. His camera was still clamped in his other hand.

  “Uh, yes?”

  “So, Hogan. Tell me how you’ve been doing, buddy?”

  Hogan tried to wrench his shoulder free. Managed it on the second try without dislocating anything or losing his cornetto. This guy looked easy-going, but his grip had been anything but.

  “Uh fine. Would you care to tell me who you are?” The man’s confrontational approach had taken Hogan back to one too many corporate meetings. He could feel his spine stiffen and his professional assuredness slip over him like an extra winter cloak.

  “Maybe,” the photographer looked at him as if there was no maybe about it. “We can work out a trade on that one.”

  They descended the steep half-block to Pike Place. They crossed the street together into the park at the north end of the Pike Place Market as if seeking a suitable site for the confrontation.

  It was still too early for the homeless who worked the park once the tourists came out, so the area was mostly empty. A small ring of grass trapped behind a low concrete wall and a wide walking area. Without Hogan quite being sure how, they ended up side by side, leaning on the steel rail that overlooked the viaduct roaring with morning rush hour traffic and the bay beyond. Sure enough, there was the Ferris wheel off to his left. But to his right…

  “So,” Hogan faced the big man. “Time to answer the question, or do I call over that friendly policeman?” He nodded to the man enjoying coffee and a cheese Danish a dozen feet farther along the rail.

  The big guy glanced over his shoulder. “Rent-a-cop, night security. Won’t help you a bit, but you don’t need protection from me. At least not yet.”

  “Oh. And why is that?” He did his best to sound disdainful, impressing even himself.

  “I…” the guy rubbed a hand over his face. And in the process almost erased the big bruiser expression from his face. He actually looked fairly pleasant as he continued. “I’m messing this up, but I gotta ask. Are you the Hogan Stanford who is putting that expression on Maria Amelia Avico Parrano’s face?”

  “What expression?” So, this was about Maria somehow. Was she part of some mafia organization?

  “The goofy one.”

  Hogan inspected the photographer again. He didn’t look like some mob enforcer. He looked like someone you’d see on the cover of GQ. A goofy expression?

  �
��I can only hope it’s me.” Hogan admitted. He really liked the idea that he wasn’t the only one feeling totally ridiculous every time thoughts of last night came to mind, which was constantly.

  “Aw.”

  “What? And who are you?”

  “Russell. I’m Russell Morgan. Maria is kind of like my mother, except I have a mother too. That sounds stupid.”

  Russell and Angelo. Maria had talked over dinner last night about raising the two boys.

  “Where’s your consigliere?”

  “Who? Oh, Angelo. Fretting over some new venison morel-mushroom sauce. Okay, maybe I came across a little heavy. But nobody has ever made Maria mess up in the kitchen, ever. Nor put that smile on her face. Angelo didn’t see it. I probably wouldn’t have without my camera. It shows things.” He did something with the controls on the back, flicked through the images, and then held it up for Hogan to see.

  Just moments ago: Maria sitting in the window, serving the person ahead of Hogan. The shot was mostly from behind Hogan, his own face was hidden, he was more of a soft blur in the foreground giving the impression of a longer line than there’d actually been at the moment. Then Russell selected the next photo.

  Hogan was now at the window, still from behind. And Maria’s face had lit up with that brilliant smile of hers. The one that made him think of sunny days and laughing women.

  “Oh.” It was all he could think to say. He hadn’t seen the change, he’d been too busy being happy to see her, even if just for that moment. That he had been the one to cause that change utterly floored him. He tried to think of something more intelligent to say, but failed completely.

  “So, why are you after her?” Russell turned the camera back off and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Are you always this crass?”

  Russell grimaced then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Ask my wife, she’d probably say I’m being a jerk, but I…”

  He trailed off and Hogan decided to help him. “You’re just being protective.”

  Russell nodded.

  “Well, I’m glad that she has people to protect her. Though she doesn’t strike me as someone who needs much protection.”

  Russell rubbed a hand over his knuckles as if they hurt. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  They spent a pleasant hour looking out at the bay and getting to know each other. He was getting to like Russell, who clearly adored Maria. He’d made his own success and walked away to discover himself. And in the process he’d fallen in love.

  It was something they had in common. Neither of them had to ever work again, but they weren’t built that way. They had to do something. Hogan had lost that, but was slowly rediscovering it at the shelter.

  Maria was right, Russell was a good boy. Twenty years Hogan’s junior and madly in love with his wife. Hogan didn’t know squat about wines, but even he had heard of Cassidy Knowles. A food-and-wine critic who had dropped out to create a wine cooperative of the vineyards of Washington State. She wasn’t aiming her sights at keeping Washington as one of the nation’s top three wine regions, along with Oregon. She aimed to make it better than Napa.

  A particularly fine sloop cruised along the waterfront. That got them onto one of Hogan’s favorite subjects, sailboats.

  “You’re a sailor? You’ve got to be kidding! How am I supposed to despise you if you’re a sailor?” Russell’s protest was vehement enough to turn heads of the first tourists of the morning, also leaning against the cold metal rail to watch the world go by.

  “Life is tough, isn’t it?”

  “Got a boat?”

  “Did,” Vera had hated sailing, so he’d finally let it go. Maybe it was time to look for a new boat. “Just a little cruiser, a Tartan 34. Miss her on days like this. Clear, good breeze.”

  Russell was just nodding in sympathy. A non-sailor would make some remark about a thirty-four foot boat not being small. A beginner would be impressed by the Tartan, she’d been a very classy boat. But someone who sailed bigger boats would simply understand. You could go deep sea in a thirty-four if you didn’t mind getting slapped around a bit. But what she was made for was just knocking around places like the Mediterranean and Puget Sound, maybe up the Inside Passage to Alaska, something he’d always meant to do, but hadn’t.

  “You?”

  “Yeah. Honey of a boat out at Shilshole Marina. She’s a one-of-a-kind fifty-footer. Full keel, just ten-foot-six on the beam.”

  “Fast.” Hogan remarked. A proof that he knew his boats, a compliment to Russell for choosing a boat that was about the sailing more than the comfort, and no comment on the length that showed he knew more than simply the numbers about boats. Whatever her condition, the speed would be the most notable factor in a craft that size.

  Russell’s phone beeped. He answered.

  “Yeah, down at the park rail.” He glanced over at Hogan. “How’s your coffee?”

  Hogan shook it to show that it was long gone empty, then he chucked it in a nearby can.

  Russell spoke once more into the phone, “Bring an extra.” Then he hung up.

  They continued talking about boats they had each admired.

  “Hey, Angelo. Give me my coffee.”

  Hogan turned to face the new arrival. This would be Maria’s son and he was very interested in meeting him.

  Where Russell was several inches taller than Hogan, Angelo was a couple inches shorter, though almost as broad-shouldered. He wore a white chef’s coat open at the throat, apparently glad for the cold air after the kitchen’s heat. He had those dark Italian good looks that made all women swoon. He was the male version of his mother’s intense beauty. No doubting their relationship. He wondered if there was any of the father in Angelo other than his build. Looking at the two men together, Hogan wondered how Maria had survived raising them.

  “Angelo, Hogan. Hogan, Angelo.”

  They shook hands then Angelo handed over a fresh coffee.

  “Where’s my cornetto?” Russell demanded.

  “Dude, Mama sold out half an hour ago. You gotta be quicker than that.”

  “Bummer!”

  Hogan decided to salt the wound. “It was crazy good. Some ginger-chocolate-strawberry mix that shouldn’t have worked but was amazing.”

  Russell groaned and knocked back a big swallow of coffee then was gasping out great clouds of steam into the chill air as he cursed, then sipped again more cautiously.

  “So, you like my mama’s cooking? I like you already, Hogan.”

  Russell glanced at Hogan then shot him a wicked grin before facing Angelo. “He likes a lot more than her cooking, buddy boy.”

  “Huh? What?”

  Russell rolled his eyes at Angelo’s denseness. “Your mama’s got a new boyfriend, one Hogan Stanford.”

  Hogan wanted to be angry at Russell for making the news a total bomb drop, but couldn’t quite work it out. First, he’d pretty much deserved that for ribbing Russell about the cornetto. And it was going to have to come out at some point, he’d just have preferred that it was Maria dealing with it rather than him. Assuming the relationship even went anywhere. Hoping it did.

  Angelo turned slowly, like a bull getting ready to charge, until he faced Hogan square on.

  “What was that?”

  “Yep!” Russell cheerfully overran anything Hogan might have said. “Pretty far along, too, is my guess looking at both of them. Don’t punch him, Angelo. Can’t be hurting those famous hands of yours.”

  “Punch him? I’m going to rip him limb from limb.”

  “If you do,” Hogan figured he better say something quick. “You’ll end up dropping your coffee. Your mother makes pretty good coffee. It would be a real pity to waste it.”

  Angelo blinked, now like a bull faced with a red cape held by a rodeo clown that he had no idea what to do with.

  Russell snorted out a laugh. “I know. Lot to take in, isn’t it? She’s hot stuff, Angelo, we’ve known that since before we grew our first mustaches trying to tick her off. It was
only a matter of time before some male on the planet wised up to what a dish she is.”

  Hogan could appreciate what Russell was doing. Having precipitated the whole upset for his own amusement, he was now redirecting Angelo’s attention away from Hogan. While he appreciated it, he would fight his own battles.

  “She’s an amazing woman, Mr. Parrano. She loves you very much you know.”

  Russell nodded, “She does, Angelo, though the lord alone knows why.”

  “You too actually, Russell.” His observation didn’t slow the man down a bit.

  “Makes her judgment pretty suspect, don’t you think? What about it, Hogan? You gonna trust a lady who loves the two of us like sons? Gotta be something wrong with her.”

  Angelo chucked his coffee aside, hauled back, and unleashed a huge punch.

  Hogan flinched even though it was Russell’s arm that took the brunt of the blow. Russell barely rocked back on his heels when it landed.

  Instead Russell laughed. Then, after making a smooth hand-off of his coffee cup to Hogan, he wrapped Angelo into a headlock and began rapping his knuckles on Angelo’s head, pretty hard.

  “Hello! Hello in there!” Russell was practically shouting in Angelo’s ear, then he winked at Hogan. “Just think, Angelo. Maybe they’ve already done the dirty deed.”

  Hogan shook his head in denial and Russell rolled his eyes sadly, as if marking Hogan a fool.

  Angelo struggled briefly once more before giving up. He mumbled, “C’mon!” somewhere in the vicinity of Russell’s ribcage then finally relaxed.

  Hogan felt sorry for him. Russell let him up. He reached for his coffee, but Hogan handed it to Angelo.

  “Hey!” Russell protested.

  Angelo merely sneered at him and drank from the cup. “Best man wins.”

  “That would be me then,” Hogan said.

  Both men turned to look at him speculatively.

  “First, of the three of us,” he knew he was risking danger with this one. “I’m the only one who hasn’t been beaten on this morning.”

  “That we can fix,” Angelo offered, but there wasn’t much heat behind it.