by J. M. Stengl
He laughed in boyish delight. “I told ’em I’d kiss you first! Next time I’ll do it properly.”
“As if there’ll be a next time!” I turned away, my face flaming, and hurried back to my worktable, hearing laughter all around.
Oriede shook her head and handed me a clean apron. “After I just finished warning you!”
“You only told me they were hunting for mistletoe!” I protested while tying it around my neck and waist.
“Once armed, they’re all dangerous.” Valentina sighed. “Wish Luigi would try to catch me under the mistletoe.”
“Marco would, honey,” Oriede assured her. “You gotta set your sights on the right guy.”
“Oh, right, like you set the example?”
Their chatter and bickering amused me while I mixed and rolled my first-ever batch of biscuit dough. I had just finished arranging riciarelli, a fancy kind of almond biscuit, on a baking sheet, when I felt the body heat of someone behind me.
“Nice work,” a familiar voice commented. Startled and irked, I sat upright and looked around to meet Manny’s enigmatic smile. “Lady Gillian the baker,” he said with approval. “A woman of many talents.”
Heat rushed into my face, and it was a good thing I was already seated, because my legs felt rubbery. Strange. I didn’t often blush. The situation was just . . . awkward.
“Novice baker at best,” I muttered. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, he claimed the empty stool beside me, then addressed the cook at the nearby counter: “Elena, I’m here to help.”
“Good. I needed some muscle. You can stir this dough. My arm is tired.” She handed him a large bowl filled with ingredients, and he set to work.
While he chatted with Elena, Valentina, and Oriede, I focused on my biscuits. Annoying man, to show up and act as if he’d been away for a day, not months.
Once two trays of my creations were in the oven, I set the timer and looked for something else to do. But Manny again appeared at my side. “Next we’re making tronchetto di natale, and I claim you as my partner.”
I was already flushed from the hot oven, and he wasn’t helping matters. “I’ve got to watch my biscuits . . .”
Elena approached us. “I’ll take your biscuits out when they’re ready. You two sit down here and read through the recipe.” She directed us back to our table and indicated a printed sheet of paper. “We will start in a few minutes.”
She then turned to the room and tapped a spoon on a plate to gain attention. “Everyone, claim a partner and a table or counter. We must begin on the tronchetto di natale if we intend to finish today!”
Feeling tight inside, I resumed my seat beside Manny. He gave me a warm smile. “You look adorable in that apron.”
My traitorous heart skipped a beat, but I rolled my eyes. “Sure, I do. Where’s yours?”
He glanced down at his fitted black shirt and gray slacks. I had never seen him dressed so well. He pretty much took my breath away. “Good point,” he said, and turned to one of the gardeners. “Andreas, toss me one of those aprons on the hooks behind you?” He caught it, quickly donned it, and turned to me. “Adequate?”
“Adorable,” I threw back at him, trying to sound mocking. Unfortunately, it was too true.
His brows twitched as he grinned and slid the recipe over until we could read at the same time. Something inside me melted into a puddle.
Under Elena’s tutelage, fourteen of us created yule logs from start to finish. When they were cooled and ready, we decorated them in pairs. For some reason, Manny and I took way longer about this process than everyone else. Maybe because we talked too much and made silly mistakes. We totally missed the demonstration on fondant, but the recipe seemed clear enough, so we experimented with limited success. The others were showing off their finished creations while we were still trying to wrap our cake rolls in a solid sheet of icing.
“Yours is leaking cream,” I told him while we tried to seal the edges.
“I like lots of cream.” He sounded like a stubborn child.
“Do you have an idea how to decorate them?” I studied the smeared, floury recipe page.
He peered over my shoulder. “I thought maybe a star or a Christmas tree?”
I looked up, and those brown eyes at close range made me lose my train of thought for a moment. “Why don’t we do a Christmas tree on one cake and a star on the other?” I said brightly. “We can make and color the fondant decorations for both cakes at the same time.”
We settled on colors we could use for both yule logs, and started mixing, rolling, and cutting out our designs. Mine was supposed to be the Christmas tree, but the green went a weird color, and the ornaments wouldn’t keep their shape. “I think the icing got too warm,” I complained. “Even the star on top looks like a fried egg.”
He checked my cake, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then he glanced at me, and I saw the twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, just say it! I know it’s a mess!”
“It doesn’t look like a fried egg,” he said in a consoling tone. “More like a scrambled egg.” His white teeth gleamed in a teasing smile.
“Oh! You!” I shoved his shoulder . . . and enjoyed it too much. “Your star looks like a dandelion.”
“Then I’ll give it a stem and leaves, using your puke-green fondant.” He reached toward me. “Just a second, you have something on your face.” I held still, and he ran both thumbs across my cheeks. “That’s better.”
His grin told me the truth. I wiped off one cheek and checked my hand. “You just put flour on my face, didn’t you?”
I took a blob of brownish-red fondant and chucked it at him, but he caught it easily. “Now, now! We’ll have Elena down our necks if we behave childishly.”
I glanced around. Nearly everyone else was packing up and getting ready to leave. “Why were we so slow?” I wondered aloud. “Amateurs, I guess.”
“Not very focused on your work, I would say,” Elena commented, coming up from behind to give our finished creations a critical survey. “Um, maybe you should just wrap up these two, store them in the refrigerator, and we’ll serve them to the staff after Christmas.”
“What? You want to poison us?” Luca exclaimed after one look over my shoulder. “That Christmas tree could frighten small children, and what is that yellow thing? A nuclear explosion?”
Manny raised his brows, pursed his lips, and nodded. “Exactly what I was going for. Quite festive.”
While the others said their goodbyes, we stored our cakes in the refrigerator and cleaned our work space. Valentina and Oriede had long since taken their beautiful cakes home to their families, and even Jacopo and Elena were ready to leave. “We’ll be attending the Christmas Eve service tonight,” I heard Elena tell Manny. “I wish you could come with us.”
He merely smiled, so she turned to me. “Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll be in tomorrow to plan next week’s menus. If you’re hungry, get something out of the refrigerator. There are two whole tronchetto di natale in there, ready to feed a brave scrounger.” She grinned. “Don’t despair of your baking potential; your biscuits turned out beautifully, Gillian.”
“Well, that’s something,” I sighed.
“No hope for me though.” Manny pulled a face.
Elena gave him a look I couldn’t interpret, pressed her lips together, then grabbed his face, pulled him down, and gave him a kiss on each cheek. “Good night, you big bell’uomo.”
He was a handsome man all right, and he must have spent a good deal of time at the Ganza house for Elena to treat him so much like a son, I thought as we all wished each other Merry Christmas and said goodnight. Manny swept up the floury floor around our work station, and I wiped down the counter, using my newly acquired cleaning skills.
“I don’t know about you, but I would like to sample some of the evil Christmas tree,” he said after storing the broom. “And maybe scrounge around for something more nutritious to go with it.”
Feeling oddly nervous, I focused on rinsing out my cleaning cloth while I said, “I thought you might leave with the Ganzas. Don’t you need to be somewhere tonight too? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“I’ll drive home later. My mother is expecting me for her big Christmas party tomorrow.” He sounded less than thrilled by the prospect. “Too many people, too much fuss.” He shrugged. “But it’s family. One of my brothers refuses to come anymore, and I can’t blame him.”
My heart didn’t know whether to sink because he was leaving or rise because he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “When do you need to leave?”
He checked the wall clock. “Maybe in an hour. I’ve got plenty of time to eat.” His smile looked hopeful. “Do you mind keeping me company?”
“Of course not. I don’t have anywhere to go.” Just a big, empty house, all to myself.
He frowned. “No one invited you to spend Christmas with them?”
I shook my head. “But Elena will be here tomorrow afternoon.”
“Wait. There is no one else in this house tonight?”
I swallowed. “I’ll be all right.”
He frowned. “Just a minute. I’ll be right back.” I saw him pull his phone out as he stepped into the hall. I sighed. He was kind to care, but I couldn’t crash his family party or anyone else’s. I had a good book on my phone to read and no reason to wake early in the morning.
I stacked our bowls and spoons in the sink and filled them with water, as I had seen Elena do earlier. The kitchen looked mostly clean, and the dishwasher was running.
If Manny really did stay to eat something, I would join him. My stomach felt empty. I felt empty all through . . . except for the warm place in one corner of my heart, courtesy of Manny’s company and concern.
He returned a short time later. “Francesca and Lorenzo will come stay in the extra room in the servants’ quarters after the midnight mass, so you won’t be alone all night.”
I didn’t know where to look or what to do, so I focused on the floor at his feet. “Thanks. I hate to put them out that way on Christmas Eve.”
He approached me and lifted my chin. His eyes glowed with kindness. “They don’t mind at all. In fact, they all felt guilty for not realizing you would be here alone. Elena nearly cried when I told her. They are good people, the Ganzas.” He patted his flat belly. “Now, let’s eat.”
“I ate several broken biscuits while we were baking,” I admitted, “but I’m still hungry.”
We sat across from each other at the kitchen table and ate leftover ravioli, a vegetable salad, and slices of my tronchetto di natale, which tasted delicious despite its hideous decorations. Then Manny made hot chocolate, impressing me with his ability in the kitchen. “I have bachelor survival skills,” he joked.
“I can bake biscuits, so there,” I retorted.
“You sure can. I sneaked a few before Elena packed them away. So how has Lady B been behaving since her leave-me-alone wish?” he asked, cupping his mug between his large hands. “I’m sorry I haven’t been back to check on you all. Work has sent me far and wide recently, and there’s plenty more travel to come.” He didn’t look too thrilled about it, which was some consolation.
“You could always send a text,” I retorted without thinking first. “Or a voicemail.”
He met my gaze, then studied his mug. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. It would have been the middle of the night here before I had time to listen to your voicemail, and I hit the road early the next morning. The next time I had a chance . . . well, it seemed pretty much after the fact.”
This didn’t cheer me, so I simply answered his question. “Lady Beneventi’s attitude is different, I think. It’s hard to describe.” I frowned. “More wary, maybe? Not exactly humble.”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect humility.”
I took another sip and sighed. “I do know she is being very careful about her wishes. Arturo visits at least once a week, but otherwise I can’t think of any recent wishes. Life has been uneventful.” I tried to sound upbeat.
“Possibly a bit dull,” he commented with an empathetic look.
“Yes, at times. She was upset when she learned I wouldn’t be traveling with her, which was oddly gratifying.”
His expressive brows twitched upward. “I would consider that a compliment.”
I smiled. “I did.”
He swirled his cup and glanced up at me. “If you ever get too bored, you can always give me a weekly update, like you mentioned in your last voicemail.”
I stared at him. “But I’m the bored one with not much to tell. You’ve got the interesting life.”
He shook his head. “A variety of hotel rooms and dusty old buildings. Very little of real interest going on.” He sneaked another glance at me. “Your updates are entertaining. You make things interesting.”
My heart seemed to swell until it filled my chest. When it calmed down a little, I said, “Nobody has ever found my idle chatter entertaining. Irritating, yes. Interesting, no.”
“You see the humor in ordinary life.”
His tone of voice was a compliment, so I took it that way. “I guess I’m learning to.” I sighed. “But I sometimes say things that hurt people.” I rubbed my cheeks with my palms. “I guess maybe I do think too much about myself.”
“I guess maybe we all do sometimes,” he said, his voice sounding deep. Then he straightened in his chair. “Tell you what. I’ll trade you a text for a voicemail or photo.”
“Wait, why do I get just a text?”
“It’s something I can send no matter where I am. And my voicemail messages are dull, not fun like yours.”
“But it’s still your voice.” The words came out before I thought, and heat rose in my face again. I didn’t dare look at him.
After a brief silence, he said, “Okay, I’ll voicemail when I can. I can’t take photos at renovation sites, but I’ll send you photos of my meals. How’s that?”
I laughed, and the tension eased. From meal photos on social media, our talk turned to grandparents and other family, wandered off on school and childhood adventures, then migrated to travel and back around to food. Nothing deep or thrilling, yet I enjoyed that conversation more than any other I could recall. Neither of us had an agenda or a point to prove; it was just friendly talk. Not until the back door rattled did we realize how the time had flown past. My gaze flew to the clock, and I caught my breath. It was well past midnight.
Lorenzo and Francesca entered, smiling. “You two are still here?” Lorenzo commented, ushering his wife inside.
“No, no, don’t get up,” Francesca told Manny, who had already risen like a gentleman. “I thought you had to drive back tonight. You knew we were coming.” Her gaze shifted to me. “We would have brought you to the service with us if we’d realized, Gillian. Nobody intended to leave you here alone.”
I stood up too. “Thank you for coming. I would have been fine here alone, but it will be nice to know someone else is in the house.”
“Don’t let us disturb you,” Lorenzo said with a sly smile at Manny. “We’re both exhausted, so we’ll turn in now. See you in the morning, Gillian. Later, Manny.”
With a parting smile, Francesca followed her husband through the door leading to the servants’ quarters, and it clicked shut. I glanced at Manny, who was already looking at me.
“Guess I’d better hit the road now,” he said.
“It’s awfully late. Will you be able to stay awake?” I carried my mug to the sink and filled it with water.
He added his cup to mine. “Sure. I’ve got plenty to think about.”
I filled his cup too, enjoying his closeness. “Thank you for staying with me. I feel guilty about keeping you here so late.”
“Don’t. I stayed because I wanted to. Best Christmas Eve I’ve had in . . . well, as long as I can remember.”
My heart seemed to swell two sizes larger. I turned and smiled up at him. “Me too.”
He step
ped away and drew a deep breath. “I’d better get going.”
I watched him take his jacket from one of the hooks on the wall and shrug into it.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” I headed toward the entry hall, and he followed, turning out lights along the way.
As we approached the main doors, I noticed a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the light fixture. An impulse made me stop beneath it and glance up. “Merry Christmas, Manny.”
“Merry Chr . . . istmas.” He looked up as he spoke, and his voice trailed off. Then he grabbed my face and planted a quick kiss on my forehead. “Goodnight, Gillian. Thanks for a fun day.” His tone couldn’t have been more casual.
I scarcely had the wherewithal to say in a flat tone: “Right. Good night.”
He turned, almost walked into the door, stopped, opened it, and stepped outside.
I closed it behind him, moved to the window, and watched until his car circled the fountain and started down the long drive. He knew. He had to know he’d embarrassed me. I’d given him a flat-out invitation for a real kiss, and instead he gave me a quick kiss on the forehead.
I ran up the staircase, along the hall, and into my room. I shut the door and leaned against it in the dark. “What was I thinking?” I whispered.
In a daze I prepared for bed. I even crossed the hall to the bathroom and back without a thought of ghosts. Not until I was huddled under my covers, shivering with cold and some unnamed emotion, did I try to analyze Manny’s behavior. With no luck.
And if his actions were confusing, my own were incomprehensible.
Why play the mistletoe game? How stupid was that? I could have kicked myself. Way to destroy a wonderful friendship, you numbskull!
I slept in on Christmas morning. Why shouldn’t I?
It had to be past ten o’clock when somebody rapped sharply on my door. “Gillian? I have an urgent message.”
That sounded like Elena.
After a glimpse of my disheveled self in the ceiling mirror, I crawled out of bed and opened the door. “What’s going on?” Then worry struck. “Is Lady Beneventi all right?”
“She is well enough, but they’re sending her back today. And with her suite here empty and prepped for repairs!” Worry and resentment blended in her voice.