by Casey Dawes
Standing in front of the crystal wine glasses, she made her decision. She wasn’t giving up, no matter how many bankers turned her down. She’d find a way.
Minutes later, she walked out of the store and gently placed the long wooden pin on the passenger side of her car. Glancing up, she saw the Italian deli across the street.
She definitely wouldn’t master ravioli by the weekend, but she could have a taste of Italy for dinner.
• • •
Saturday morning Elizabeth awoke early. Another restless night left her tired. What would the day be like with Alicia? Would the girl constantly remind her of Joe? Or would Elizabeth be able to get past her parentage?
Accompanied by her second cup of coffee, she opened her email. Her eye immediately caught the address she’d been looking for: Marcos.
“Ciao bella,
“I have made my arrangements and will be leaving for California by the end of the week. I will be in Napa for some days and then hope to travel to Santa Cruz. Will you be available? Or do you know a realtor I can contact to take me around. You have intrigued me with this vineyard area. It has a very old history.
“Either way, I hope you will be able to come to dinner with me every night I am there. I am anxious to see you again.”
“Ciao, Marcos.”
Elizabeth hesitated. She wouldn’t know until the end of the day if Alicia could handle a Saturday. True, times were slow during the week, but people still traveled from San Jose to catch the lingering rays of summer on the weekends.
Later. She’d answer Marcos’ email later.
Alicia arrived promptly, her butterfly tattoo covered by short blouse sleeves and the nose ring replaced by a tiny diamond stud. Her nails were clean and polished, make-up discreetly applied.
She looked like someone ready to work.
Elizabeth’s heart lifted. “Welcome,” she said. “I thought we’d work side-by-side today so you can see how the store operates from beginning to end. Sound good?”
Alicia smiled at her with Joe’s smile and Elizabeth’s heart cracked in pain. She pushed it aside. Alicia hadn’t caused her father’s infidelity.
“That would be good,” Alicia said. “Is everything okay? You have a funny expression.”
Elizabeth turned toward the back of the store to hide the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. You can put your things back here.”
Alicia proved to be a quick study. Elizabeth was impressed by her knowledge of cosmetology, and her ability to pick up procedures and follow them. As she got to know the girl, the pain receded, and Alicia became a person in her own right. Stress began to lift from Elizabeth’s shoulders and she began to enjoy her business again.
She practically flew home in anticipation.
The first thing she did when she got home was to answer Marcos. “Yes, I will be able to spend time with you.”
Her heart beat faster as she clicked the send key.
• • •
Marcos’ heart beat a little faster as he finished up his vineyard tour in Napa Valley. Unfortunately, his last stop had delayed him and he left the wine country later than he’d planned, leaving him snarled in Friday tourist traffic. As his rental crept behind cars meandering down Highway 29, he cursed the traffic. Didn’t Americans ever work?
It was three in the afternoon before he finally edged past the last vineyard, and onto the highway. He allowed himself to look at the blue skies and think about what he’d seen in Napa. A lot of vineyards were perfect for Cabernet, but they were all beyond his budget, even with recessionary prices. None of the land was suitable to grow Burgundian grapes. Too hot.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music as he admired the view of the bay to his left. Egrets stalked the swampy land to the south, a sharp contrast to the anchored battleships. California was a contrary place.
What was it going to be like to meet Elizabeth in her native territory? He could charm anyone at home; he knew his way around. But in a strange place? How could he order the best dinner in the restaurant when he didn’t know the chef?
He merged onto the Benicia Bridge and promptly screeched to a stop. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. Porco vacco!
Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d be late meeting Elizabeth at the restaurant by seven, a bad beginning when you wanted to impress a woman.
His thoughts stopped whirling as if they’d also hit the stopped traffic on the bridge. Why did he care so much? What was it about this woman that was different from the others he’d dated or slept with over the last decade?
As he inched the car forward across the bridge, he pondered. Madonna! It was ridiculous to think like this. He’d only met the woman a few times. He wanted to create the best wines the world had ever seen. He didn’t have time for a woman.
Then why couldn’t he get her out of his head?
As he emerged from the mouth of the bridge, the highway got wider, allowing the cars to speed up a little. A flashing sign announced another slowdown ten miles ahead. Marcos sighed. He’d have to stop and call Elizabeth, tell her he’d be late. A coffee shop sign at the next exit caught his eye.
He pulled off, convinced the barista that he really did want a black espresso without any extra milk or flavorings, and was about to get back into the car when his cell phone rang.
“Hello?” Who could be calling him in America?
“Hi Marcos,” Elizabeth said. “Where are you?”
He told her the name of the last town he’d gone through.
“Oh, dear. You’ve still got a long way to go and you’re going to hit San Jose right at rush hour. The traffic to Santa Cruz from San Jose is miserable on a Friday night.”
“I fear I will be late for our dinner. We will need wait until tomorrow to see each other.” He hoped Elizabeth hadn’t heard the disappointment in his voice. No need to let her know his growing desire.
“No we won’t!” Elizabeth sounded triumphant. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m making dinner for you tonight.”
“But I hate to put you to all that trouble. And I have no idea when I will get there.” He glanced over at the highway that was still clogged with cars.
She laughed. The sound was rich and warm. His spirits lifted. “I’m cooking soup that we can eat whenever you get here.”
“I’ll bring the wine,” he said. “And I’ll do the best to move this traffic along so I don’t get there at midnight.” He obtained directions to her home and hung up.
Getting back into his car, he hummed a tune as he pulled out of the parking lot. Whatever was happening between him and Elizabeth lifted his spirits.
• • •
By the time Marcos rolled into Elizabeth’s driveway, it was already eight. As soon as he pulled the car to a stop, she stepped out the front door.
He hesitated before he got out of the car, the awkwardness of distance catching up with him.
“Ciao,” he said and waved in her direction. He felt like a grade-school geek with his first crush. “I’ll be a moment.” He plunged into the trunk of the car and searched. After a few moments, he triumphantly held up a red blend from one of Napa’s boutique wineries and walked to the door.
He thrust the bottle at her, instead of kissing her the way he wanted, catching a whiff of lemon and sea breeze. She was wearing the perfume he’d sent her.
“I have brought more wine for you to enjoy,” he said. “In return for your kind hospitality taking me around to see the vineyards.” His voice was stiff and formal.
“Thank you, Marcos.” She touched his arm.
A shot of heat emanated from her hand.
“Let’s go inside,” she said. “The soup is ready, the bread just came out of the oven and you must be starved.”
“Your ga
rdens are lovely,” he said as she led the way on the stone-paved curved sidewalk. The pathway was lined with bright chrysanthemums and asters. Well-trimmed bushes edged of the soft adobe home. “My mother was a gardener and she often required my assistance.” He shrugged. “I still garden. Only now it’s vineyards.”
She smiled at his weak humor. Nothing was sexier than a woman’s smile. Especially when the man was acting like he’d never been alone with a woman before.
Succulent aromas of oregano and onion wafted from the kitchen. “Smells wonderful,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
Every time she smiled, the need to kiss her became greater.
“Sit in here,” she said. The table was set with brightly colored plates and bowls. A cut glass vase with vibrant flowers dominated the center and a corkscrew lay near his setting.
“If you’ll take care of the wine, I’ll bring out the soup and bread,” she said.
“Can I help with anything else?”
“Not now. Thanks.” She gestured at the corkscrew and rapidly walked from the dining room.
He opened the bottle and poured a small amount in one of the crystal glasses on the table. After swirling the wine, he sniffed. A faint hint of blackberry and current emanated from the wine. He took a sip, nodded, and poured wine into the other glass before filling his own.
Elizabeth came back into the room, a full tureen in her hands. He made a gesture to help, but she shook her head. “Hot,” she said as she placed the dish on a woven trivet.
Like you. He shifted from one foot to the other.
“The soup smells magnificent. What kind?”
“Minestrone.”
“And you made it yourself?” Dumb remark. He’d be lucky if she still wanted to go with him tomorrow.
She looked horrified. “I would never serve a guest soup from a can.”
“I’m sorry. I have done … what do you American’s say? Put my shoe in my mouth?”
She laughed. “Foot. We put our foot in our mouth.”
“You must be very talented then. It is difficult, I think, to put a foot in the mouth.” He studied her, wondering if she would understand his feeble attempt at humor.
She stared back at him as if trying to figure out if she was being insulted or kidded. “Easier than you think,” she finally said, a pretty blush creeping up her neck. “I’ll get the bread.”
When she returned with a basketful of bread, he said, “Thank you for creating this dinner. It is kind of you.”
“You’re welcome.” She gestured to the soup. “Please, help yourself.”
He ladled the vegetable-laden soup into his ceramic bowl and helped himself to a slice of bread.
He watched her take her own servings, desperately trying to think of something to say.
They clinked their glasses and each took a sip. As the liquid fire slid down his throat, he looked over the rim of his glass at Elizabeth. Desire, heated by the wine, raced through his veins.
To distract himself he took a large mouthful of his soup.
Mistake.
Elizabeth’s mouth twitched as he manfully swallowed.
“Hot,” she said. “I did tell you.”
He nodded and took a bite of bread to numb the burning sensation. The crisp crumb of the crust gave way to light mouthfuls of buttery bliss.
Silence reigned for a few moment while they sipped their wine.
Finally, she said, “I think we should start our trip with Stargold tomorrow morning. That way you can see some of the vineyards that might be available on Montebello Ridge. Then we can tour Saratoga, go south to Hecker Pass and see some of the places on Redwood Retreat Road. They’re all good Cabernet growing areas in the mountains.”
He smiled. “You are indeed a generous and talented woman, Elizabeth.” He raised his glass. “I salute you.”
He looked down at the soup. His stomach was close to growling and he decided to take the risk. Scooping up another spoonful, he smiled as flavors exploded in his mouth. Rich hints of parmesan cheese merged with hints of sage and thyme. “Magnifico. It is like I remember from the best restaurants in Italy. You are a talented chef, Elizabeth.”
She looked down at the table for a moment. Her luminous eyes were full of gratitude when she looked at him and said, “Thank you. I like to cook. It’s nice to have someone appreciate the effort.”
“It is how I feel about my winemaking. I understand. So … ” He dug in for another spoonful of soup. “Tell me about the winemakers in the mountains. Do they teach themselves? Go to school?”
“A combination, I think,” she said.
They spent the rest of the meal talking about winemaking. He was impressed with her knowledge.
“How is your shop doing? Have you been able to get a loan?” he asked her over coffee and biscotti.
Her smile sagged. “The banks aren’t cooperating. The closest I’ve gotten is the credit union. They want me to put in some of my own money, in addition to using the shop for collateral.”
“That can be hard, but it is going the right way, is it not?”
“I suppose.”
Marcos refilled the wine glasses. “Do you not have the money? Or are you afraid to invest?” He realized he might be overstepping his role. People could be sensitive about money. “I am sorry if I am asking an embarrassing question. It seems natural to be open with you.”
She gave him one of her light-up-the-world smiles. “No problem. That is a good question.” She took a sip of her wine. “I have the money, but like every woman in America, I am afraid of becoming a bag lady in my old age.”
He tilted his head. “Bag lady?”
Elizabeth’s laugh tinkled in the air. “A woman who lives on the street with all her belongings in a shopping cart, or a bag. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s very sad, really.”
“I think that is why in Italy we have a big family and go to church every Sunday. That way, if our faith in God lets us down, we have relatives to bother.”
Elizabeth laughed again, this time the laugh was full of energy, warming his heart.
“I’m afraid my relationship with God isn’t what it was and I don’t think Sarah will support me in my old age.”
Marcos leaned back in his chair. “I was faced with something similar when I went to buy my vineyard in France. I was afraid to make a risk. I talked with my daughter, since it was her inheritance I was gambling with. Do you know what she told me?”
“No.”
“She said to follow my dream. All the money in the world couldn’t make her love me any more than she already did.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “I think your Sarah would say the same thing.”
Elizabeth tapped her wine glass, silent for a few moments. “Maybe. I’m not sure exactly what to do. A friend has offered to invest, but I’m not sure I want the interference that would come with the money.”
“Your friend is a man, I guess.”
“An ex-boyfriend.”
“Ahh. Very bad combination — money and exes.”
She laughed again and he smiled. The sound of her laugh buoyed him. He would have to make sure to make her laugh a great deal during their time together.
Days that would be too short.
He saw Elizabeth stifle a yawn. “I must be going. I need to check in at the hotel and do some business before I sleep. Thank you again for your hospitality.”
Elizabeth stood with him and they walked to the living room.
Awkwardness returned as they stood before the closed door and stared at each other. Unable to resist, Marcos leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.
And, because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her again. This time his lips touched hers.
Chapter 12
When Elizabeth a
woke on Saturday morning, she still tasted Marcos’ lips on hers. As kisses went, it was only a brush, but the fact she wanted more scared her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be anyone’s one night stand, but what other future could there be for them?
If only her body was as obedient as her mind. While showering, she luxuriated in the feel of the soapy sea sponge gliding over her skin, perking her nipples to round nibs and electrifying the sensitive spot between her legs.
She twisted the knob to cold to drive lust out of her mind and leaped out of the shower when the icy needles penetrated her skin.
The effort didn’t work. She slipped on her finest French lace bra and panties, a form-fitting cashmere sweater, and jeans. Strappy black sandals with three-inch heels tempted her. Totally impractical for walking around vineyards. She stuck with practical sneakers, but took the heels. Just in case.
She shivered.
Make-up perfected and a pair of topaz earrings dangling, she pulled her car out of the garage and drove the short distance to the hotel Marcos had told her he was using.
When she walked into the lobby, Marcos was sitting on one of the couches, reading a paper. He stood when she entered the lobby, looked her over, and smiled. He tossed the paper on a nearby table and walked rapidly to her. Taking her hands, he said, “You look ravishing this morning. I’m looking forward to our day.”
Then his lips brushed hers. Again.
Heat rushed through her and she longed to pull him closer and explore his mouth with her tongue.
This wouldn’t do.
She slid her hands from his. “The car’s outside.” She turned away from him and led the way out the door, sure her cheeks were flaming red. Her heart raced as she tried to steady her breathing.
Marcos caught up with her and took her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he pulled her to a stop. “I have embarrassed you. I should not have kissed you again.”
“Um. No. It’s probably not a good idea.”
“I see.” He scrutinized her, as if he was trying to determine how sure she was about the statement. He finally released her hand and looked around the parking lot. “Somehow I think that is your car.” He pointed out her red sports car.