The comforting, warm bulk of her disappeared from his limited view, and Sara’s face hovered over him.
“What’s going on Deany? Are you okay? Shall we call the doctor?” Her face was a comforting picture of worry. He’d been feeling pretty lonely just minutes before, but her worry wrinkles reminded him that he had friends.
He hoisted himself to a sitting position and focused on steadying his spinning head. Stella bustled past with the camera, and he averted his eyes. “No doctor, thanks, Sara. But I’m clearly not okay, as you can see. You’re witnessing the result of me trying to stand in front of a live, video camera.”
“Oh, Dean.” Sara patted him on the arm, and Stella came storming back to the two of them, pushing Sara (who protested with a loud “Mama!”) out of the way.
“Enough of this stuff!” Stella was pointing her finger at Dean’s face; her face was such a picture of rage that he had trouble holding in a laugh. This woman was way too sweet to be scary. “If you want to get better you need to stay away from movie crap.” She turned to Sara, “Crap, right? Crap is a good word?”
Sara was also trying to restrain a giggle. “Yes, Mama. Crap is a good word.”
“Right!” She turned back to Dean, her finger still wagging menacingly. “Enough of this crap! What you need is some real work. Some work with your hands. You do proper work and then maybe your head will straighten enough for this play work you do. Can you do real work?”
The image of old man Foster and his shed popped back into his head. He hadn’t thought about him in years and yet here he was appearing twice in the same week. Maybe it was a message. “I can do real work. I can do carpentry.”
“Yes!” Stella threw her hands up in the air in triumph. “Now that’s real work. Not crap! You do that!” She turned and stormed out of the room.
Sara and Dean exchanged a look and then both burst into laughter. She walked over and hugged him.
“She’s opinionated, Deany, but she has a point. Maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off of things for a while.”
He was starting to see how serious this situation was. He’d thought the initial collapse an isolated thing. He’d agreed to go away for a while, just assuming he’d go back as soon as everyone had calmed down and continue as he always had. But how could he continue with his career when he couldn’t stand in front of a camera? Maybe Stella was right. Maybe he needed to take his mind off of things for a while? A job would be distracting and satisfying. He could also think of other distractions that he’d discovered in Borgotaro, but he wouldn’t be mentioning that to Sara.
He nodded at her. “I guess if Mama says it’s not crap, then it’s good enough for me. Do you think I can find anyone who would take me on? I mean I’ll do it for free.”
A slow smile spread across Sara’s face, “Yeah - I think we can find someone.”
20
Dean
When was the last time Dean had gone on a regular job interview? Had he ever? He’d taken his time prepping, wanting to give a great first impression. Now he was marching into town with the address that Atillio had scribbled down for him.
“You’re in luck!” Atillio had said, when Stella had brought up the question of carpentry work. “We just had a woman come in to the commune (the Italian name for the town hall) today asking for help. She said they were looking for an English speaking carpenter to work with the English speaking project manager. It’s like fate.”
His eyes twinkled across the room at Stella, who blushed. Dean wondered if there was something between them. That would explain his constant presence at the kitchen table, other than the obvious magnet of Stella’s fantastic food, of course. Atillio had scribbled down the address, then phoned back that evening and told him the next morning at 9:00 would be appropriate. The project manager would be waiting.
Dean took a left turn as per his written instructions and found himself on Via Bellinzona. The address scribbled on the paper was 1290 Via Bellinzona. Wait… this couldn’t be the right street. He checked again and then realized which house these instructions would lead him to. He slowed his steps while he checked the paper a third time. He glanced back toward the townhouse and saw Stella and Sara, baby in her arms, watching him from the driveway. They must have caught his backward glance because they smiled and waved at him happily.
“Traitors,” he muttered. He considered not going, but the thought of the hassle he would get from the Del Nevo women set his feet to marching down the hill. Two houses later and he was at the gate. It was still padlocked, but he knew where to go. He headed around the back and tiptoed up the stone steps, peeking through the dusty window of the back door.
There she was. All buttoned up, as usual, fussing around the table, arranging paperwork, and adjusting the placement of biscotti on a fancy plate. There was a more relaxed woman under there somewhere, but she wasn’t showing that side of herself today. She was all business. There wasn’t a hair out of place in the shiny bun that sat atop an impeccably made-up face. She was wearing a hip-hugging pencil skirt with a matching jacket over a cream colored, translucent blouse. He could just make out the lacy edge of her camisole above the top button of her blouse, and an unwitting shiver ran from his hips down to his toes. All he could think about was unbuttoning that jacket. He wanted to tease her until she giggled like she had at the Quara. Darn! He stepped back down into the grass. This was a bad idea, a terrible idea. There was no way he could take this job.
“What are you doing here?” He hadn’t even heard the back door open. She was glowering at him from the top step. The smell of coffee was wafting from the kitchen.
“You don’t want me here?” he teased, giving her his best movie star grin.
“Oh puhlease…,” Hazel said. “Like that smile would work on me. Save it for the teenyboppers, Mr. Action Hero.”
“Yeah, I think I will. I don’t see anyone young enough for me around here, anyway.”
“So, I've heard.” She stepped back to close the door.
I don’t think so, lady. He took the two steps in a single bound and grabbed the edge of the door before she could swing it closed. Was she completely disinterested or was she faking it? He intended to find out. “You’ve heard, have you? Surely you know that you can’t trust Hollywood rumors.”
“I know I can’t trust Hollywood anything!”
“Ouch,” he said, grabbing a handful of shirt over his heart and squeezing. “That hurts.” He stepped away, still keeping his hand firmly on the door.
“And so will your arm when I close this door on it. Did you just come to practice your fake charm on a challenging subject, or do you want something?”
He looked directly into her brown eyes. He could get lost in there. “I want something,” he said and was gratified when she blushed.
The few seconds of silence that followed lasted years, and during that time Dean had them married off with babies and living in his little cottage by the sea. She would love that cottage. Stop! What was he doing? This could not, would not, happen. He had a girlfriend, and a career, both of which were on the fritz. The last thing he needed was another complication.
“Yeah well, maybe you haven’t heard, given that you’re a movie star and all, but you can’t always get what you want.” Hazel pushed hard against his grip on the door frame, but he didn’t let go. He didn't want to leave, and he didn't think she wanted him to leave either. Something was happening between them.
“Listen, truce. Okay? All joking aside, I am here for a reason. Atillio told me that you’re looking for a carpenter.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. God, she was beautiful. “Yes? And?”
“And I’m here for the job.”
Her lip twitched. He watched her struggling, then, to his great pleasure, she lost and started to giggle. He should have been insulted but hearing that giggle drove all other thoughts from his head. “You’re not a carpenter!”
He waited for her to stop laughing. It took a while. “And how would you
know that I’m not a carpenter?”
“I know you’re not a carpenter because this whole smitten town has spent the last few days fawning all over you! I don’t think carpenters normally get that kind of attention.”
“Well for your information I spent my early adulthood as a carpenter.” He pushed past her and through the door. If he was going to have to put up with this kind of treatment, he was going to have a biscotti. “Homemade?” he inquired, as he took a bite of the crisp, buttery goodness, crumbs cascading onto the white tablecloths.
“Hey, they’re for the carpenter!” Hazel crossed the room quickly and reached out to grab the biscotti from his hand. His other hand shot up, and he wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist. Her eyes widened. She felt it too. Her pulse quickened under his fingers as he struggled to slow his own quickening breath. He let go and lowered his hand to his side but his fingers still burned from the current that had jolted between the two of them.
“I am the carpenter.” He took a single step back. He couldn’t be that close to her.
When he’d dropped her wrist she’d pulled it behind her back and was trying to rub it surreptitiously against her jacket, but he caught the movement, and she blushed. “Well, you’re not my carpenter.” She walked across the kitchen and left the room.
Well, that went well. She was putty in his hands (not). Now he was walking out without a job but with a serious crush. Somewhere under that china doll exterior was more of the Hazel that he couldn’t get out of his mind. The one who giggled with a free and open release of perfect joy, as well as the one who concealed her passion and an electric touch. This was complicated. He knew he should avoid her, but he wanted to find out more. Who was Hazel Blakemore?
21
Hazel
Hazel sat on the couch with her head in her hands, trying to catch her breath. She waited for the sound of the slam of the back door, confirming his exit, before she dared to look up. Indigo was standing directly in front of her, holding a biscotti in one hand and fanning herself with the other. Hazel had thought she was still sleeping. Unfortunately, she’d probably heard the whole thing.
“Whoooooweeee, sweetie! I thought the kitchen was hot from baking these biscotti, but now I know Dean McLean has lit a fire in you, and you’re hotting up this entire house!” Could her mother be any more irritating? She stood up, smoothed down her skirt, patted her hair and headed back to the kitchen. Indigo followed. “I mean I have seen some good fireworks before, but you guys were sending up some Disney quality stuff there.” Hazel straightened the plate of cookies and went to get the dustpan to brush the crumbs off of her formerly pristine tablecloth. She ignored Indigo. “I’m telling you, honey, I can already see the headlines… ‘Worldwide Movie Star Marries A Nobody.’ ”
“Thank you Mother; you’re always so full of charm. And no one is marrying anybody or even talking to anyone about anybody anymore. I didn’t see any fireworks; just a man who’s very difficult to be around, so I intend to avoid him from now on.”
“Mmmmm, hmmm. He’s difficult to be around alright. I myself find it difficult to be around him without jumping those hot, young bones. Looks like he might have thrown a wrench into your plan of rushing back to Jax and that awful job of yours.”
Indigo poured herself a coffee and sat at the table across from Hazel who had given up on the crumbs and collapsed into a chair. Hazel was trying to slow her breathing. The last thing she needed was for Indigo to notice how flustered she was. Dean seemed to have that effect on everyone; she wasn’t any different. Yes, he’d been teasing her when he arrived, but that didn’t mean he liked her. But when he’d grabbed her wrist? She’d felt it right down to her toes, and every important stopping point in between. When he’d taken his hand away, she’d felt a sudden emptiness and had almost totally embarrassed herself by grabbing his hand back. She’d shoved her hand behind her back quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“I am going back to Jax, and the job, Mother. It’s the only thing I can think about right now. So, I spent all morning making the rounds, trying to get us an English speaking contractor who could get me out of here faster. Who knew he was the only contractor available? I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“I knew it was him.”
“What do you mean you knew it was him?” Hazel heard the sharpness in her voice and dialed it back. Man, she was stressed. “I mean how did you know it was him?”
Indigo wasted no time digging into the biscotti - you couldn’t keep any food untouched around this woman. Hazel marveled at her ability to eat such large quantities of Italian food, yet still stay so thin.
“The mayor told me; when I went down to the commune to ask. He said that he’d just found out that Dean was looking for some work to help distract him from some movie business problem he was having. I told you he was having some problem, didn’t I? It’s all over the papers. Anyway, he said we’d better hire him because he’s the only English speaking carpenter in Borgotaro.”
“First of all, how do you know the mayor, and second of all… you didn’t feel it was necessary to share any of this information with me?”
Hazel looked frantically around the house and back to the lists sitting in front of her on the table. There were stacks of lists, piles of them. The amount of work that needed to be done was almost incomprehensible. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do it without a carpenter, and she couldn’t do it without someone who spoke English. She’d spent the last two days making appointments with the list of Italian carpenters that her mother had shared with her. Only one of them had shown up, and when she’d handed him her lists he’d stormed out, either disgusted, frustrated or amused, she just couldn’t tell. She didn’t understand a word he’d said beyond the occasional “Allora.” Her mother had told her that “Allora” meant “okay,” but he’d seemed to be using the word to express a lot more than that.
Indigo broke into her thoughts. “Everyone knows the mayor, darling. You need to get out more. And, I didn’t tell you because you were baking biscotti and I knew if I told you you’d stop baking, and maybe not see him and I wanted him to taste your biscotti. It’s delicious, and Italian men like for their wives to know how to bake.”
Hazel threw her hands up in the air and started to pace the kitchen. “He’s not Italian, Mother and I’m not… oh, forget it. There are just so many things wrong with that sentence I don’t even know where to go with it.”
“Italian or not… he is a carpenter. And he apparently enjoys biscotti, so…?”
“So, what, Mother? What are you trying to say here? Could you at least speak in sentences that make sense for once, and don’t make anything up.”
“No need to get snotty. Here’s a complete sentence, but you’re not going to like it! If you want to get this house renovated, and you want to get the money, and you want to go back to Jax and get your precious job back, you are going to have to hire Dean. Heck, the mayor even said he wanted to work for free! There’s no other option. He’s the only carpenter who speaks English, he’s motivated, he’s cheap, and as you’ve already experienced, he’s the only one likely to show up every day.”
She was right. Hazel was trapped in a corner. She had no other option. It was either hire the insufferable, distracting Dean or never finish. She paced faster. The panic was returning.
Then her mother did what mothers do best. She crossed over, put her hands on Hazel’s elbows to stop her pacing and wrapped her into a warm hug. Hazel felt all the stress streaming out of her and she hugged her mother back, hard. She was a tough one to deal with, was Indigo. Part of Hazel resented that she’d spent her life looking after her mother, both emotionally and financially, but she was still her mother, and Hazel loved her. No matter how often she felt like their roles were topsy-turvy, Indigo the mother tended to magically appear when she needed her most.
“Ugh, You’re probably right. I need to hire him,” she mumbled into Indigo’s shoulder. “It’s just a complication I don’t need.”
�
�What are you afraid of, sweetie? That you won’t be able to get along? I don’t think that’s going to be a problem once you start working together. Plus,… fireworks!” Indigo released her from the hug, snatched a biscotti from the plate, and left the kitchen, whistling.
Hazel sat back down at the table and straightened her lists. “Yep,” she said to herself, “that’s exactly what I’m afraid of… fireworks.”
22
Dean
Maybe Hazel didn’t like him. She’d left that room so fast after she’d practically given him an electric shock. Either way, she made his head spin. What was he doing here? Was he getting any better? No. It didn’t seem like he was going to find a job to distract himself either. Atillio had told him that Hazel was the only person in town looking for an English speaking contractor. No one else had any use for someone who couldn’t speak Italian. And Hazel clearly didn’t want him.
Hazel wasn’t his only worry. Why had Adam suddenly backed off on the pressure yesterday? Would he go behind his back with the director? And Isabella, was she over him? And more to the point, did he care if Isabella was over him? Was it over between them? He knew if Hazel were to give him the slightest indication she was interested in him that he would swoon all over her like groupies swooned over him. There was just something about her. She seemed to be just about the realest person he had ever met in his life.
“Just because you don’t have a job doesn’t mean you don’t have to work… here!” Stella shoved a grocery list into his hand. “No use moping here all the day. You help me.”
He stared at the list. Did he have the energy to go downtown?
“Hello? Dean!” Stella was clicking her fingers in front of his eyes and shoving him out of the chair with her other hand. “Outside… go!”
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