Flipped (Better With Prosecco Book 1)

by Lisa-Marie Cabrelli

  So she'd found out he was an orphan. Maybe her daughter wasn’t a fan, but Indigo was. Either that or his sudden appearance had prompted her to do some research. He tried to change the subject. “So you were a career woman, were you? What did you do?”

  “Oh, I still do it,” she said breezily. She stared into his eyes, unlike some fans who couldn’t even look at him. “I’m a cultural attaché. That’s what I’m doing in Italy.”

  Huh. Sara had said that the gossip in town was that Hazel and her mother had just arrived in Italy from the states. He glanced toward the stairs, eager to get back to Hazel and help her with the mopping, but he wanted to be polite. “And what does an attaché do exactly? I mean I’ve heard of the job, but what type of duties do you have?”

  Indigo flapped her hand, dismissing the question. “Oh, you know, attaché stuff, cutting ribbons and, you know, attachéing. But you don’t want to hear about me. I just wanted you to know you and Hazel were kindred spirits. There are very few of those in the world, you know.”

  “Huh,” he said, aloud this time. Did this woman have all her faculties?

  “Well, you know, I thought since you’d had this big falling out with your girlfriend and you are so traumatized that you can’t even finish the film, so that now they are looking for a replacement, you'd be cheered by the existence of a kindred spirit.”

  “Whoa, Whoa.” What was she talking about? “What? I haven’t fallen out with my girlfriend and they aren’t looking for a replacement. Who told you this?”

  He remembered his conversation with Sara. She'd seen a photo of Adam and Christopher Brooks in the paper, right? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to that?

  “In the papers,” she said. “Don’t you read them?”

  Indigo was clearly ‘in the know’. Dean hadn’t picked up a tabloid paper in Italy. It made him anxious just thinking about what he might read about himself. So the papers claimed that he and Isabella were fighting; well, that didn’t surprise him. It was becoming clearer to him that his relationship with Isabella might be a superficial Hollywood sham. Anxiety punched him in the gut when he considered which of his other Hollywood relationships might be a superficial sham; namely, his and Adam’s. What was Adam doing with Christopher Brooks?

  He couldn’t think about that right now. And he wouldn’t betray Adam by doubting him. Adam had been the pillar he had leaned on throughout his entire career. To find out that the pillar might be cracked made the entire world feel a little wobbly under his feet.

  “No, I don’t read them,” he said to Indigo and tried to smile. “Well, I’m going to go upstairs to help the non-damsel who is not in distress. It was great to meet you. You know, you'd get along with my friend Stella who owns the house where I'm staying. You should stop by and visit sometime.”

  All of his earlier light-heartedness had faded. He’d been looking forward to the job ahead of him because he’d been looking forward to spending time with Hazel. But kindred spirits or not, this wasn’t the right time to be flirting with another woman. He had way too much on his plate. He’d be worrying about this conversation all night now. Plus, there was the camera looming in the dark closet. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel its presence, especially at 4:00 am when he was awake and thinking.

  He headed for the stairs, distracted.

  “I’d watch my tongue if I were you!” Indigo called out after him.

  25

  Hazel

  Damn that man and damn this stupid leak. Why had she touched him? Every time she touched him she regretted it. She was having stupid feelings for a man. She didn't want a man just now. She wanted her job! Besides, this man was clearly out of her league and humoring her. And what was all that stuff about her being a damsel in distress? Hazel didn't need to be saved. Now she had this mop she could handle the clean-up just fine by herself. Especially with Stefano, and soon Indigo, out of the way. She’d sent them off on supply runs for the things they would need to fix the damage to the pipes and repair the ceiling.

  "What did that floor ever do to you?"

  She looked up and there he was, leaning on the doorframe of her bedroom, giving her that belly-flipping, lopsided smile and looking every inch the movie star.

  "I'm mopping!" She brought her attention to the mop and realized she'd spent the last few minutes pushing waves of water over the same section of floor, accomplishing nothing.

  "I see that." He leaned down and pulled off his shoes and socks and then waded through the puddle towards her, she flinched when he put his hand on her arm. Darn that electricity. "You don't think getting that water into a bucket might be more constructive?"

  She stopped and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. She was pouring with sweat already and the real work hadn't even started. She looked around the room at the extent of the disaster and realized she needed the help. How did she expect to be able, all by herself, to flip that mattress off the bed to dry?

  "Yeah," she conceded, "it probably would. Have you got one?" Dean splashed back through to the door and reached into the pile of equipment he had hauled upstairs, pulling out a large plastic bucket with a wringer attached. Indigo had gone through an "I'm going to start a cleaning company” phase and had bought about five of those. She'd never used them.

  "I'll help," Dean said. He had a mop of his own in hand.

  The floor didn't end up taking that long, although Hazel was distracted several times by the sight of Dean's forearms flexing as he worked his mop like a pro. That body must be spectacular on film. He caught her glance a few times, and each time sent her one of his sexy grins. It was nice working next to him. She didn't feel pushed to make dumb conversation, and he was as focused as she was on doing the job right. He didn't seem like a movie star at all. They'd mopped and washed the floor and hauled the two rugs downstairs and outside onto the warm grass. They got them all soaped up and then rinsed them with the hose, Hazel barely resisting the desire to splash him. They gathered up the bedclothes and curtains and got the washing machine running and then worked together to get the mattress tipped into the strong rays of the sun at the window. Finally, they balanced a box fan between two chairs to face the giant wet spot above their heads. Dean was worried that the entire ceiling might have to come down due to the threat of mold and the disintegration of the old lathe and plaster. He'd been fast, efficient, hardworking, without a whiff of the entitled Hollywood Diva. She was grudgingly impressed. Plus, she liked him a lot more at this moment than she was comfortable with.

  "Do you have somewhere to sleep?" Dean asked, as they stood surveying the clean, but empty room.

  "The mattress should be aired out by tomorrow. I'll just sleep in one of the other bedrooms tonight. There are five of them."

  "It's some house." Dean looked around him with the same appreciation she felt for all this house had to offer.

  "It'll be a lot of work," she said.

  "Not if you had help." She glanced over to him, but he was still staring at the elaborate cornices and giant arched window.

  "Yeah, I know." She waited, but he said nothing. "Listen," she said. "I need to get in the shower and get all this grungy sweat off me and I'm sure you'll want to do the same, but you must be starving. Do you want to come back for a meal? Indigo will show up soon, now that all the hard work is done and I'll send her off to pick up supplies. Nothing fancy. You could bring the wine if you wanted?"

  He turned and looked at her. His blue eyes sucking her all the way in. The sun was just beginning to go that hazy, golden color of the Italian dusk and it did him the favor of beaming in through the window just as he smiled. It was like they were in the scene of a movie.

  "I'd like that. I'll get cleaned up and come back in an hour?"

  Hazel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. There was a part of her that wished he was a diva. This man was growing on her and she needed something to actively dislike, or she was in deep doo doo. This was the kind of man who might haul her over the mountain she'd built between h
erself and her feelings. She'd avoided men for so long, romantically that is. They just got in the way. Now these unfamiliar feelings were threatening to overwhelm her, and she felt her comforting barrier of control slipping away. It scared her to death.

  She sipped her wine and then put her glass on the table. Leaning backwards in her rickety chair she stretched her arms over her head and let out a groan. She had taken a long bath to try and ease her aching muscles, but they were still sore. It felt good. She couldn't remember the last time she had engaged in any physical activity that didn't involve a machine. A workout made up of actual work was clearly more effective.

  She'd chosen the side porch of the house for their rendezvous because she'd seen the almost full moon rise last night. It had been so beautiful she wanted Dean to see it too. She wouldn’t read into that any further.

  "It's beautiful out here," Dean said. He'd pushed his own chair back from the table and was now lounging comfortably. He wasn't looking at the view, he was looking at her, making her blush. His hair was still damp and product free. It flopped irresistibly around his eyes and she longed to reach out and run her hand through it. He would think she was crazy.

  "Isn't it?" She turned again to the view. The moon was just a tiny slip of light peeking over the top of the largest mountain in the gently rolling mountain range that surrounded the town. Borgotaro spread out below them in the valley.

  "It's a great place, isn't it? Borgotaro?" Dean leaned forward to reach the salami plate. Salami was the only thing she had in the house. Stefano and Indigo were out shopping and Hazel was glad for these quiet, few moments.

  "It's like no place I've ever been." The moon was bigger now, and the light exposed the waves of mist rolling across the peak of Molenatico.

  "It's a lot different from LA, that's for sure."

  "What's it like? Living in Hollywood? All glamour and parties? Are you bored here?"

  Dean laughed and leaned back in his chair again. She was worried about that old chair under his mountain of muscle, but he seemed comfortable.

  "No, I'm not bored. I don't do glamour or parties. I have a little cottage on the beach and I mostly hang out there. I always felt out of place and this trip is confirming my suspicions that I don't belong where I've ended up."

  "You don't like being a movie star?"

  He was silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "Not really, no. But I do like the movies. I love my work..., I think."

  "You think?"

  He looked at her then and laughed again. Her questions probably made him uncomfortable, but she wanted to know all about him. "It's like today, you know?" She shook her head, not quite sure where he was going. "I loved today. I just love hard work. And despite what you might think, making movies is hard work. Especially the kind of movies I make. It's just that I've been thinking that I would probably love anything I did if it had that feeling of satisfaction from working hard. But the movies are my life. I don't know how to do anything else."

  "Oh, I don't know," she reached out her foot and nudged him in the ankle teasingly. "You were a wiz with that mop today. Maybe you have a future in the janitorial field?"

  They smiled at each other. The fireflies had come out. The moon was shining. They sat and listened to the music from the town's bars and cafes drifting up the mountain towards them.

  “So, I bought you a gift today.” Dean's voice was quiet, but it still made her jump.

  “You bought me a gift? Why?”

  Dean shrugged, “Because I saw it and I thought that you would like it. It seemed like something you would like, anyway.” Hazel considered the implications of the statement Dean had just made. He thought of her often enough, and well enough, to buy her a gift? Her belly fluttered. He reached underneath his chair and handed her a white plastic bag. She hadn’t notice him bring that in. The thin plastic slipped over the contents and she adjusted her grip so as not to drop it. “Sorry about the wrapping, or lack thereof, I thought you'd like it now.”

  She tipped the contents of the bag onto the table. It was beautiful. A classic, red and white checkered, Italian tablecloth but made from fine linen. She smoothed her hands across the dense, folded square and smiled. “It’s beautiful,” she smiled up at him. “Thank you. We'll use it right now.”

  She stood and unfolded the heavy square, it would add the perfect touch to this cozy outdoor space. Then Dean stood too, and she felt his hand still her own. “It comes with an invitation.” She was surprised to hear a tremble in his voice and she looked up at him. My God, those blue eyes were enough to make a girl agree to anything. What was he going to ask her? She must have looked scared because his eyes warmed. Her insides went a little jiggly.

  “Yes?” she said. He'd leaned closer and her breath hitched in her throat. She swallowed, hard.

  “I know it’s a tablecloth, but it’s so big that I imagined it as a picnic blanket. And then I imagined being out next to a river somewhere on a picnic. And then I imagined I was lying on this blanket next to someone. We'd just packed away the food and were just lying there, watching the dappled sun flashing through the leaves of the trees. I was holding hands with this someone, and in my daydream I had never felt more relaxed in my entire life. That someone was you.”

  As Dean had been telling his story he'd moved closer. His breath was warm and minty with toothpaste. His skin smelled like flowery soap, but did nothing to detract from his maleness. Now they were so close that the last words of his story were a whisper against her lips. What was happening? Was this happening? How did she feel about this? She had no time to decide - he was kissing her.

  Her knees literally went weak, and she reached out a hand to steady herself on the rickety table. His lips were soft, but strong, and she gave back as good as she got. The rush of emotion made tears spring into her eyes. When had anything ever felt so good? He pulled back, concern in his eyes. She tried to catch her breath, her heart racing. He must be able to see it underneath her light cotton blouse.

  “Was that okay?” he whispered.

  She felt a surge of panic rush through her. Was this what she wanted? Lifting her hand to cup his cheek she rubbed her thumb lightly across those dangerous lips. “Why did you do that?”

  He brought his hand up to circle her wrist and squeezed gently but didn't disrupt her caress. His eyes were closed. Maybe he was avoiding her gaze, knowing her eyes would tell him how she felt. Didn’t he know she was in Heaven? “I'm sorry. I don't know. I wanted to. I won’t do it again without asking first.”

  There was a bang of the kitchen door and they heard yelling and laughing. Stefano and Indigo burst through the side door onto the porch, oblivious to what they had interrupted. Indigo crossed to the table and dumped her pile of packages. Dean dropped his hand quickly but needn’t have bothered. As usual, Indigo was way too intent on talking to notice their intimate position.

  “Stefano took me to the best shop! And I practiced my Italian. Ohhh, lovely cloth! Where did you find it?” She didn’t wait for an answer but finished unfolding the abandoned cloth, moving the bag of goodies to a chair. “We got balsamic onions and little red peppers with tuna, and pesto and stuffed zucchini. We got alici, which are little anchovies, apparently, and some roast beef. And a bunch of other stuff too.” As she rattled on she pulled dozens of little boxes and packages out of the bag and spread them across the table. Was she under the impression they were feeding an army here tonight?

  “What have you guys been up to?” Indigo turned to them expectantly and Dean sent Hazel a conspiratorial wink.

  “Nothing,” they said together. Indigo gave them a weird look, shrugged, and said, “Let’s eat!”

  Dean reached for a plate from the stack Stefano had brought out and cleared his throat loudly.

  "I was just asking Hazel to take a break tomorrow after all of this stress today and join me for a picnic. You wouldn't mind, would you, Indigo?"

  Indigo's head popped up like a meerkat, her gaze sweeping back and forth between them.
Hazel shot Dean a dirty look. Getting Indigo involved? That was cheating.

  "Mind? Of course I wouldn't mind! I can't imagine Hazel on a picnic, though. You should go, Hay. It will chill you out a bit. Get you grounded with Mother Nature. And don't wear any shoes. Earthing increases the circulation of your neutrophils."

  Dean gave Hazel a confused look, and she shrugged. Indigo was beyond explanation.

  They sat down to eat. Stefano took the seat opposite Indigo, and Dean slid in opposite Hazel. Their knees banged together under the table and he gave her another of his vertigo inducing smiles. Oh, God. She was in trouble.

  "Well?" he asked again.

  "Oh for goodness’ sake, Hazel, go on a picnic!" Indigo said. "Think about your neutrophils."

  Stefano was nodding vigorously. "Yes, your neutrophils," he said, having no idea what he was saying.

  "Honestly, Hazel," Dean said, grinning mischievously, "how could you even contemplate neglecting your neutrophils. You need this picnic."

  She might regret it but she took a deep breath and plunged. "Okay, I'll go on the picnic. Now can we shut up about neutrophils and eat this amazing meal?"

  Luckily, Indigo was at the table so Hazel could leave her to manage the conversation while she got lost in her own thoughts. Indigo was telling a smugly smiling Dean about her trip to the hardware store today and how the owner had been most unhelpful. Hazel felt sorry for all the residents of Borgotaro who had to deal with Indigo.

  Was she making the right decision? She was walking a dangerous path. It was the kiss that had done it. Had she ever been kissed like that? Had she ever before been kissed like she was the only woman in the world he had ever kissed before? Let’s be honest Hazel, she chided herself, you can’t even remember the last time you were kissed, can you? Regardless, her body was happy to inform her that that had been a good one.