by Lisa Norato
“Hey, Rick. Hold up,” he shouted, then jogged back to the Victorian and up the porch steps to invite Richard Damien to their home for a family dinner.
*
At twenty to seven, Rick drove through the black iron gates of St. Ann’s Cemetery. He’d timed this quick stop before he was due to arrive at the Kearlys for dinner. Dusk shadowed the rolling green plots covered with symmetrical rows of headstones. He eased his sedan slowly around each bend, searching the numbered markers by the illumination of his headlights until he found the spot where his grandparents lay.
He placed flowers on the grave, then flipped up the cover of an oval frame on the headstone that revealed a photo of Gran and Gramps on their wedding day. He lifted the cover of another frame that showed them gazing into each other’s eyes on their forty-fifth anniversary.
Taking a step back, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s great to be back in the old house. You’d love what I’ve done with the place. And I have a cat. Boo Boo. Like I said, it’s great. I’m happy with my decision to move back to Elm’s Corner. It was the right move. It’s just that … now the renovations are complete, and I can furnish the place … and, you know, really make it my home … I feel … I don’t know … let down … lonely … like something’s missing.”
He sighed, admiring his grandparents’ loving expressions.
“I’m tired of being alone. Tired of shallow relationships. That’s it, right?”
The soft sounds of twilight enveloped him. A chirping insect. The rustle of dried leaves. Bare branches swayed in a breeze off a nearby pond. In the quiet, he was reminded of Gran’s gift when she’d known her time was near. A happy marriage and loving family had been her desire for him. At least it had been her hope when she’d given him her engagement ring.
He felt her presence lovingly encouraging him.
This dinner invitation from Jameson and Stella Kearly was his last chance to connect with Jamie. It wouldn’t be the quiet fireplace picnic he’d planned, but he’d still be enjoying an evening in her company.
When he arrived at what he believed to be the Kearly family home, he pulled over to double check the address. Yes, he had the correct number, but the residence’s modern construction was not what he’d been expecting. A meticulously landscaped lot sloped in the back with a lower level in the rear. Beautiful, yet he saw none of the historical architectural details Jamie loved in this traditional home with its two-car garage, stone façade, large, multi-paned windows, and oak trim.
Then he remembered this wasn’t Jamie’s house. It was her parents’. He had stolen away her dream home. And tonight he would be trying to win her over with her family as witnesses. He hadn’t felt this unsure of himself around a woman since his first high school dance with Samantha Banks.
*
“Oww!” Jamie stuck her finger in her mouth at the first sight of blood. She had scraped it on a cheese grater at the sound of the doorbell. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting the ring. She’d only been glancing at the clock every two minutes for the last half hour. Rick was right on time.
On the other side of the kitchen island, her mother smiled and shut off the stand mixer she’d been using to whip cream. “Would you get the door, Jamie?” It wasn’t a request.
Eyes glued to a pre-football game show on the widescreen in the great room, her dad hauled himself off the sofa and started for the foyer.
“Oh, mio! Not you, Jamie. Your daughter.” She scolded him with one of her looks, when really the poor guy’s only crime was that he had been too well-trained to jump to her bidding.
On the other hand, Stella was a little on edge and maybe a little overdressed in a silky print knit dress and heels. In true perfectionist form, she had organized every detail to make the evening a success, which meant securing a love connection between her firstborn and the newly eligible Attorney Rick Damien.
Jamie knew it was her own fault. She’d made the mistake of sharing the news of Rick and Vera’s breakup with her mother. She’d had to share the news with someone, and who else did she know who’d be interested? As expected, her mother hadn’t been surprised. In fact, her response had been, “Ah, see? Didn’t I tell you?” And being able to predict the failure of their relationship proved she was also correct about Jamie being the perfect woman for Rick.
Hence the invitation to dinner.
“Food speaks the language of love.” How many times had she heard her mother repeat the phrase? Which was why Stella had baked her Italian Love Cake for dessert.
Her father shook off the scolding with a grin and dipped a finger in the bowl of chocolate whipped cream. Her mother slapped his wrist with a playful “hey!” and they exchanged a flirtatious smile.
Her grandfather, meanwhile, turned from quietly tending his Bolognese sauce on the stove and shook his head.
With a sharp glare, her mother waved Jamie off. “Don’t keep him waiting. And Papa, when she gets back, I want Jamie to stir the sauce. Rick will watch and smell the flavors and feel the warmth of our famiglia and his heart will be lost.” She appraised Jamie’s appearance with a frown. “I wish you had worn a dress. Your hair looks sloppy. Too late now. Go. Go!”
Her brother Matt, chopping vegetables for the salad, chuckled. Jamie turned to him with a glare and wiped her Parmesan cheesy fingers on his sleeve.
“Hey! Crazy nut,” he called as she headed for the foyer.
Jamie straightened the hem of her fuzzy knit sweater over her low rise jeans as she approached the front door. A dress? Really? And there was nothing wrong with her hair. In her defense, she had worn knee high boots with a heel rather than going with her warm, comfy UGGs. Most times, she wore sweats and slipper socks for family dinners, but she had made the effort even though, clearly, Rick was only being polite in accepting her parents’ invitation.
Back at his Victorian, the unmistakable smell of Chinese takeout had emanated from the brown bag he’d brought home. Actually, it had smelled delicious. He’d probably been looking forward to a quiet night in. If given the choice, Jamie would rather be sitting by the fire with chopsticks and Boo Boo on her lap than enduring an awkward evening of romantic scrutiny. She seriously doubted Rick was in the mood to be pressured by her Italian mama into dating so soon after he’d been dumped by his accomplished celebrity showpiece of a girlfriend.
A deep breath and Jamie set her face in a smile, then reached for the door knob and swung open the large oak door.
“Hi, Jamie.” Standing on her stoop, bathed in light from the outdoor lanterns, wearing a wool pea coat and dark wash jeans, his brown hair tousled and slightly damp from what must have been a quick shower, and carrying an arrangement of lemon flowers and lime greenery, Rick gazed deep into her eyes with a warm, intimate smile.
“You came,” she said, feeling something stir within her. He looked genuinely happy — no, really happy to see her. Her body flushed with excitement at the intense interest shining in his eyes.
He frowned playfully. “Of course I came.”
“Of course. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome. Come inside.”
“These are for you,” he said, stepping through the threshold and handing her one of two bouquets of lemon roses and sunny Peruvian lilies. In with him swept the crisp night air with the smell of autumn dampness and his woodsy cologne.
“Thank you,” she said. He stood shoulders above her, close enough to cause Jamie to press back, flowers to chest. He smiled with those blue eyes locked on her as though he was seeing her for the first time, as if she was someone captivating and not his construction forewoman, someone feminine and pretty. Who was this man? He made her feel as though she was being courted.
She slipped past him. “Okay, well, this is the office and that’s the formal dining room,” she said, pointing out the rooms on either side of the foyer and leading him into a large, vaulted living area that included the kitchen and a generous nook. “But we’ll be eating in here. It’s cozier.”
“Rick, benv
enuti a casa mia,” her mother said, welcoming him to their home with a kiss for both cheeks as the rest of the family gathered around to greet their guest.
Rick presented her with the second bouquet. “Thank you for inviting me. I was going to bring wine, but owning a restaurant, I figured you already had a wide selection at your disposal. I thought you might enjoy this more.” He handed her the small bag he carried. “Espresso beans. I brought them back from Florence on my last trip.”
Her mom raised the bag to her nose and inhaled. “Mmm, grazie, Rick. You are a thoughtful man. Isn’t he, Jamie?”
“Yes, he is.” It was all Jamie could do not to roll her eyes.
Her grandfather Santo pulled a string of wide homemade noodles through the pasta maker. He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped forward to offer Rick his hand. “Benevenuto,” he welcomed.
“Thank you.” They shook and Rick’s eyes seemed to bulge as he glanced around the kitchen at the dinner preparations. “Homemade pasta. Wow. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Yeah, you’ve said,” Jamie interjected, for which she received a pinch to her upper arm from her mother.
Stella smiled her enchanting hostess smile. “It is but a simple dinner.”
“Well, it smells fantastic whatever it is,” Rick said. “And simple is the secret to experiencing the flavors of authentic Italian cuisine.”
“Bravo, bravo.” Her grandfather nodded his agreement. “You know.”
With a grin, her dad handed the man a glass of zinfandel.
Her mother snatched Jamie’s flowers from her and said pointedly, “I’ll put these in vases and set them on the table. Would you stir the sauce?”
“Your home is beautiful.” As he sipped his wine, Rick’s gaze wandered past the kitchen to the living area, taking in the tall fireplace, the built-in media center, and a view of the backyard through a row of wide windows. “But it’s not what I expected from a couple of restoration contractors.”
“This house is my mother’s style,” Jamie explained, making a show of stirring the sauce that didn’t need stirring. “My dad built it for her.”
“When I came to this country with my family, I was very young. We lived in tenements of old Victorian buildings in Providence for most of my childhood until we could afford a home of our own. And even then, it was an old house. A nice, comfortable home. But very old. So when I married, and married a man who built houses for a living, it was my dream to have a new house, a modern design, big enough for a family to enjoy and with an in-law apartment for my parents. And my husband, Jamie, he did all this for me. He built this beautiful house just the way I wanted, and then I spent my marriage turning it into a home for him. And that is what is most important. Old, new, a house should be a home.”
Her parents exchanged a moony-eyed smile before Stella returned her attention back to Rick. “Tonight we wish to help you celebrate the completion of your Victorian house, but you need to ask yourself what you must do to make it a home.”
Oh, good grief. Jamie turned her back on the scene, diverting her gaze to the bubbling meat sauce to hide her own embarrassment, her appetite dwindling with every swirl of her wooden spoon. If he hadn’t already figured out the trap he’d walked into, Rick must quickly be catching on.
She couldn’t see his reaction, but Jamie did hear him say, “You’ve given me something to think about, Stella. So, what can I do to help?”
“Nothing but enjoy yourself. As soon as the pasta is cooked, we will sit down to eat. My papa has made his Bolognese sauce with vegetables from his backyard garden. It’s been simmering for three hours. See how thick and rich it looks. Maybe Jamie will give you a taste.”
Jamie felt his approach. She smelled his cologne and glanced up to where he stood over her shoulder with his square jaw and confident grin.
“How about it?” he asked. “Can I have a taste?”
“Grab a spoon from that drawer over there.” She wasn’t about to feed him from her wooden spoon, knowing that’s what Stella was hoping.
He retrieved the utensil and returned to dip it in the chunky Bolognese, holding it before him as steam rose off his spoon. Turning his back on her family, he leaned in and whispered, “I see what’s going on, but I want you to know I don’t need encouragement from Stella. I’m happy to be here. Spending an evening with you. I was hoping you’d feel the same.”
His eyes searched hers. What was he trying to say with that deep, pleading look? The sincerity of his smile? Something about him had changed. Was it safe to let herself believe he could actually have a romantic interest in her? Jamie couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest. How should she answer? She didn’t know what to say. Caution held her back from admitting it, but she really liked him, too. And not just as a friend. So she simply nodded.
He sat beside her at dinner, grabbing the seat all on his own before Stella could prod him into it. He engaged in easy conversation with her family like the paisan her mother claimed him to be, and whenever he laughed he turned to Jamie to include her with his smile.
Through it all, her mom glowed. And the men in her family seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.
Weird, but to Jamie, Rick was behaving like the perfect boyfriend she’d never had.
He helped clear the dishes when they had finished eating and insisted on making the espresso himself. Jamie helped her mom serve dessert.
“I guarantee you are going to enjoy this, Rick,” Stella said. “I make it at the restaurant sometimes and it always sells out. Italian Love Cake.”
Rick lifted his fork to regard the square of cake on his plate, a rich marble with a cheesecake layer and topped with chocolate whipped cream. “I’m sure I will enjoy it, but why do they call it Italian Love Cake?”
“Italian because it is made with ricotta, and love because … well, mangia, cara?
Cutting into the slice, he lifted a forkful to his mouth and tasted. “Mmm, wow, delicious. I love this.”
“Ah, see. Now you know.”
Jamie laughed at the way he had fallen into that, warmed by his honest enthusiasm for food. You’d think he was Italian.
Rick turned with a private smile that made her feel as if he had read her mind.
Stella sipped her espresso. “We heard about your success on career day. I especially liked what you told the children about helping others and giving back to the community.”
He swallowed another bite of cake. “Oh, really? Jamie told you about that, huh? Well, I’m pleased to know I made an impression.”
“She asked,” Jamie said as he turned to her. “I told her you held your own. Don’t go getting a big head over it. I still think my great-grandfather’s hammer was more interesting than your pens.”
Matt laughed. “Yeah, the chance to touch that old hammer is every kid’s dream.”
“Hey, there’s a lot of history in that hammer,” her father said with an edge of insult.
Her grandfather set down his cup with a satisfied expression. “This espresso,” he announced. “It not bad.”
“That’s high praise,” Matt explained to Rick.
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
“You have enough to eat?”
“Plenty, thanks. Everything was delicious, but I’m not done yet. I am going to finish every bit of this cake.”
“Not everyone gets that cake, you know,” Stella told him. “It’s special. I have to be in the mood to make it. Tell us more about this job that helps people.”
Jamie could see in his smiling expression Rick was feeling the approval of her family.
He seemed to sit a little straighter. “Part of my job is to deal with Rochford Industries’ many requests for charitable donations. I investigate each charity and meet with their officers to learn about what they do. I present the ones I find most reputable and worthy and in need to the board. Once they’ve made their decision, I then negotiate the amount of the contribution and what terms will be attached to it. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be presentin
g a check at the St. Agnes Food Pantry and Health Center’s annual fundraiser. They provide food for low-income families and offer bedding, clothing, and household items for a nominal donation to their cause.”
Jamie licked some cream off the back of her fork. “We’re familiar with St. Agnes’s. Papa has donated dinner for four at Bellucci’s as part of their silent auction.”
“It is quite the social event,” her mother added. “I read about it in the papers every year. A big deal. You will be wearing a tux for this event, I suppose? And will be needing a date, si? I heard you broke up with that Vera.”
“Ma!” Jamie felt the heat rise to her face. It was her own fault. She’d made the mistake of telling Stella that Rick and Vera were no longer an item, not that Stella was surprised. Or sorry. In fact, she’d been overjoyed. Maybe a part of Jamie had wanted her mother to make a move that Jamie had felt too insecure to make herself. And truth was, Jamie had been enjoying this evening. There was something to be said for a guy who got along with her close Italian family. But now—
“That’s all true,” Rick said. “I was going to ask Jamie to be my date. I had expected we’d be alone when I got home from work and would ask her then, but I think this is better. She’ll be less likely to turn me down if I ask in front of her entire family.”
And just like that her world changed, it seemed. Along with her attitude. Instead of letting go of any romantic or tender feelings for Richard Damien and saying goodbye to his lovely Victorian and his sweet kitty, she was now looking forward to a date with him.
Chapter Twelve
He wasn’t the arrogant snob of her first impression, and only time could reveal him as the Prince Charming her mother believed him to be, but Jamie admitted it now — she had a crush on Rick Damien. She really liked the guy and was probably even a little bit in love with him.
She had fallen for his charm and been on the receiving end of his quirky humor. A humble, vulnerable, and caring man lay beneath that sophisticated, professional exterior. She’d watched him take a stray kitten into his home and genuinely fall in love with her. He’d touched her heart with his respect and care for the Victorian. He understood a house was more than four walls. No one appreciated that Stick Victorian’s history better than he. Rick hadn’t been blessed with a large family, but his love and connection to the grandparents who’d raised him endured.