by Shirley Jump
Rebecca's Take-a-Chance-on-Your-Heart Stuffed Artichokes
6 large artichokes
1 teaspoon lemon juice
3 slices day-old bread, ground into bread crumbs
3 anchovy filets
2 cloves garlic
2 tablespoons capers, rinsed and minced
3 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
4 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper
6 tablespoons olive oil
6 tablespoons water
Just like with a man, remove the outermost spiny leaves of the artichoke to get to the best layers beneath. Cut off the stem and the tips of the tallest leaves, then hollow out the inner bristly "choke." Now you have the best of the artichoke, without all those silly walls it puts up to keep from getting hurt.
Put the prepared artichoke in a bowl of water deep enough to cover it, adding the lemon juice while you're working on the stuffing. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Mix the bread crumbs, anchovies, garlic, capers, parsley and four tablespoons of oil together. Season with salt and pepper. This is the stuffing that will bring out the best of your artichoke. It's like the final ingredient you bring to the perfect match for your heart.
Drain and stuff the artichokes. Place them stuffed side down in a roasting pan, close enough to snuggle together. Mix the oil and water and drizzle over them. Trust me, this will be wonderful.
Cover tightly with foil and bake for an hour. When it's done, the artichokes will have tender hearts, filled with flavor and bursting with joy. Everyone deserves a happy ending, especially when it's waiting right under their noses.
Chapter Fifteen
Hell, Maria had decided, was a constant diet, filled with nothing but vending machines stuffed with zero calorie sodas and lettuce. She walked over to Gift Baskets in the early Friday morning April sunshine, avoiding the inevitable Boston construction and a few hoots from the orange-vested workers. She picked her way past the pothole puddles and faux Rolex vendors hoping to convince the tourists a bargain could be found under the old Central Artery.
She shouldn't have walked to work. She should have traveled in a bubble. The constant smells of the bakeries, the rolling cart vendors, the breakfast restaurants—all nearly undid her.
Three weeks of hell. And seven damned pounds to show for it. That wasn't enough to make a dent in the way her pantyhose fit, never mind her pom-poms.
A businessman strode by her, a six-pack box of Dunkin' Donuts in his hand, and she nearly tackled him out of need.
Finally, the shop came into view. Maria ducked inside and shut the door, backing herself up against the glass, lest she be tempted to run back outside and assault the doughnut-bearing investment banker. "I can't be alone out there," she said.
"Crime up in your neighborhood again?" Rebecca asked.
"No. Damned bakeries are increasing their aroma output."
Rebecca nodded, her brown ponytail swinging in emphasis. "Maybe you should take to wearing a gas mask."
"Oh, that would be attractive."
"You could call it smog apparel. Start a new trend. Make millions."
Maria came away from the door and crossed to the coatrack. She hung up her coat, then stowed her purse behind the counter. "And retire someplace where no one can cook and the only food product is salad fixings?"
"When you're rich, everyone loves you, even if you're as big as the Prudential building."
Maria joined Rebecca at the counter and helped her set out the new display of gift items for spring. "So you're telling me I should get rich instead of thin?"
"Come on out back, and while we talk, help me with this basket order so we can both get rich."
Maria followed Rebecca and the two of them set to work on a birthday basket for four-year-old Timothy Barnes. The forty-eight-inch high parental guilt gift was just big enough to hold the motherlode of toys Timmy's mom had purchased, along with candies and treats. Rebecca was delivering it to Timmy's classroom later that afternoon, timed to induce proper classmate envy and one-upmanship in the swanky Charlestown neighborhood where the Barneses lived and competed with the Joneses.
"You're doing great," Rebecca said to Maria, handing her a stuffed Steiff teddy dressed up as an aviator.
Maria tucked the bear in front of the "Happy Birthday, Timmy" sign and added four boxes of toy cars on either flank. "This isn't exactly rocket science. Just a few toys and some cookies. We do these all the time."
"I didn't mean the basket, silly. I meant your diet. It's showing, in your face and hips. You're looking good."
"You notice a difference already?" She hated to admit it, but the Chubby Chums had been a help. Maria had gone to all three meetings last week and despite Bert's Eeyore-on-suicide-watch perspective, she'd found enough motivation to stick to her diet.
"Of course. You're gorgeous to begin with, but now you're starting to make us all look like Macbeth's witches on a bad day." Rebecca laughed good-naturedly. "The mailman about killed himself handing you the mail yesterday. Most days he dumps it on the counter and backs out fast, giving the rest of us ordinary folk a little grunt."
"It was only because Lester had on his glasses yesterday. The man is what, sixty-four?"
Rebecca wagged a toy drumstick at her. "Men's hormones are the last thing to die, believe me. The heart, the brain, the liver. All of those can quit ticking and the testosterone just keeps going."
Maria twisted some blue satin into a bow and secured the decoration with a piece of thin floral wire. "Well, there's only one man I'm looking to impress."
"That Dante you mentioned?"
Hearing his name caused a catch in her breathing. He'd been on her mind, in her dreams, ever since that Tuesday night with the chess game. And the wine. And the kiss...
He'd been right, damn him. She hadn't been able to forget him. But that was only because he was a good kisser. Not because she had some masochistic need to tie herself to one man forever.
"Dante has made it clear I'd impress him in a tent and flip-flops." Maria shook her head. "No, I have my sights set on Antonio. We knew each other in high school."
"An old flame—"
"With a big torch."
Rebecca laughed. "That's the best kind to reunite with." She unrolled a large sheet of shrinkwrap and wrapped it around the finished basket while Maria turned the gift and helped her. "So, dish. When are you seeing him?"
"He's in town this weekend, but..."
"But you're avoiding him because you have no need for wild sex?" Rebecca pressed the back of her hand to Maria's forehead. "Are you ill? Maybe I should get you over to Mass General."
"I just don't feel"—Maria waved vaguely at her shape— "ready."
"What? I've never known you not to feel ready for a man." Rebecca grinned and leaned closer to Maria. "Besides, when the lights are off, everyone looks ten pounds thinner."
Maria laughed. "You have a point." She grabbed her cell phone off the counter and flipped it open, scrolling through the recent calls until she got to Antonio's number. "All right I'll call him. Give myself a little treat for the weekend."
And get my mind off Dante once and for all.
Rebecca withdrew a cookie from the leftover pile on the counter and wagged it at Maria. "And if it doesn't work out with Antonio, there are always cookies. Fat-free, of course."
Antonio's deep greeting carried through the cellular connection and Maria forgot the dessert in Rebecca's hands. "Hi, Antonio. It's Maria."
"I thought you'd never call," he said. "I’m in Boston. Alone. That's no way to see a city."
"What part did you want to see?"
"What's the view from your bedroom window?"
She swallowed. Who needed Guido's when there was Antonio? Damn. She thought of the half-assed attempt by Harvey the Exterminator to make something happen in her bedroom four months ago. "Where are you?"
"Where do you want me to be?"
The bell over the front door rang and Rebecca headed out to the shop. Now th
at she was away from Rebecca's encouraging glances, Maria's belief that she really would look slimmer in the dark disappeared.
"Maria? Can we get together tonight?" Antonio asked.
"I can't I'm—" She racked her brain for the excuse she'd given the last time but came up empty. Living on rabbit food and air didn't seem like a good enough reason not to see him.
"Don't say no. See me tonight for dinner. Drinks. Anything you want. We can catch up or"—he let out a low chuckle—"make some new memories."
Maria glanced down at herself and shook her head. In ten more pounds, maybe. "Antonio—"
"You know, I've always thought you were a smart woman," he said. "If we go out tonight, we can talk. I can get your ideas. Pick your brain and maybe"—another sexy laugh traveled through the phone lines—"more than that."
"You think I'm smart?"
"The brains of Einstein and the looks of Aphrodite. Perfection in one woman."
A man who wanted her for her mind, not just her body? Was that possible? Rekindling the flame with Antonio on an adult level fulfilled fantasies they didn't even run on the Playboy Channel. For a second, she allowed herself to think about the best of both worlds— being in bed with him and being appreciated for her mind.
Then she went back to being in bed with him. Mamma mia.
She took in a breath. "I don't look exactly like Aphrodite anymore."
"Ah, you will always be beautiful to me." She could almost hear him smiling on the other end. "Come, go out with me. Don't say no. You'll break my heart."
"You're such a cliché."
"I’m Italian. It's in my blood."
She laughed. "You're a hard man to resist."
"I try. So will you be there?"
Maria considered for a minute. If she unearthed the stomach flattening, aka sausage casing, underwear from her lingerie drawer, wore all black and put on high heels to make her legs look slimmer, then she might be able to pass for a size eight. In dim light. She'd leave her hair down and not eat anything over two hundred calories for the rest of the day. "It's a date." She sputtered out her address.
"No. It's a pleasure." Then he was gone, leaving her with a smile on her face.
Maria hung up, breathless, then headed out to the front of the shop to find Rebecca. "I need a Diet Coke and a trip to Victoria's Secret."
Rebecca laughed. "Sounds like you have a date tonight."
"Am I too late?"
Maria wheeled around. Dante stood in the doorway, Candace beside him, the open door against her hip. For a moment he seemed so much realer—more manly— than Antonio ever had.
A crazy thought. It was only because Dante was here and Antonio was not.
"Too late for what?" Maria asked.
"To ask you to a picnic for two on Castle Island."
"I've already made plans."
Dante took a step closer, his gaze on hers. "If those plans change—"
You and Mamma will fit me for a ring and a house on a cul de sac.
No, thank you.
"I know where you are." She cocked her head. "Why aren't you there right now?"
He held up a small white box of cookies from the shop. "These. I want them."
He wasn't here to see her. She'd just made plans with another man, so why did she feel disappointed?
"We have a dozen of those in the case," she said, slipping into business mode.
"I want more. Much more."
"We can get another few dozen baked up tomorrow."
He shook his head. "More."
She paused. "Are we talking cookies?"
"Of course. Aren't you?" His grin looked about as innocent as a monk at a Vegas slot machine with a roll of quarters up his puffy sleeve.
"You have a sudden sweet tooth or are you ordering these for something special?"
"Franco thought they'd make great after dinner treats for our customers. I tried one and have to agree. You could attach a card advertising your shop to them." He grinned. "You kiss me and I kiss you."
"Isn't the phrase about scratching backs?"
His grin turned devilish. "I don't have that kind of itch."
She thought of that kiss at her door and something inside her melted.
"You, ah, might want to see a doctor about that."
He put the box of cookies into his inside jacket pocket. "So, are you up for a rematch?"
"Rematch? Of what?"
"Our chess game. I believe you owe me a chance to win back my dignity."
No. She was not going to go there again. Too much temptation. She had Antonio, after all, and that's who she wanted. She pulled out an order pad and scribbled the restaurant's name and address at the top. "Business first. Total humiliation later."
Dante leaned against the counter. "I'll need enough cookies for every diner we have each night." He did a few quick mental calculations and gave her a number.
Maria nodded, making notes in the columns. "You could try our Chocolate Treasure Cookies for special customers. They've got a roll outside and chocolate on the inside. People call them our "surprise is inside" delights. They're great for customers with birthdays or engagements, anniversaries, things like that."
"Good idea."
"And if you have customers who come in regularly, you could put together a little gift basket"—Maria crossed to the workbench and withdrew a square four-by-four-inch dark cranberry basket with gold trim—"like this with some cookies in it. Once in a while send them a special gift as a thank you."
Dante considered the basket, turning it over in his palm. "There are a few people who have been coming to Vita since the day it opened. That would be a nice way to really show them my appreciation."
"Building goodwill is always a good idea."
"You're absolutely right." He smiled. "You're a smart woman."
Two men in one day to say that. Must be something in the smog today. If she heard it any more, she'd be signing up for Mensa.
"Thanks."
"I mean it. You know your stuff. I'm not just talking about what you did with the food critic either. These ideas are the kinds of things that will make Vita a bit different from the other restaurants. Set us apart, give us that touch people remember. Make it live up to its name." His gaze softened and he put the basket back on the counter. "And my dad's vision."
"Well, good." Maria swallowed, wanting to touch him, to somehow show she'd heard the emotion in his voice, but not quite knowing how to do that. She opted to do nothing because it was easier than saying words that would build any more of a connection with him. "I'm glad I could help."
"So," Dante said, his voice changing in pitch back to normal tones, "how do I do that with you?"
"Do what?"
"Build goodwill." He twirled the basket on the smooth granite surface. "I think it's going to take more than some wicker and a few cookies."
"Why do you keep trying? I told you, I'm not interested."
"In me? Or dating?"
"Both."
"Bull." He gestured to her cell phone. "You made a date for tonight."
"With a man who has no use for marriage and doesn't expect anything out of me."
Dante gave her a lopsided smile. "Now where's the fun in that?"
She wasn't going to answer that question. Not now, not later. Not until she was seventy-five and no one cared if she was married.
She didn't want commitment and predictability. Both were traps that sucked in her heart and made her trust. Then, when she least expected it, she'd find another woman under the man who "loved" her because Maria hadn't been enough for him.
She put on her professional face, totaled up his order and raised her pen to the date section. "When would you like the first delivery?"
"As soon as you're available."
"Sorry. Not my department." She gave him a pleasant, noncommittal smile. "Rebecca is the ambassador of goodwill. And good cookies." Maria tore off the order sheet and handed it to Dante. "She'll take care of you."
He took the pape
r, folded it and put it in his shirt pocket without looking at it. "You wouldn't be avoiding me, would you?"
"Of course not." But even as she said the words, she knew they were a lie. She was in charge of sales. She could both assign and personally take over an account. Neither Candace nor Rebecca would care. She told herself it was easier this way. Distance herself from him now— before all the wine and linguine reeled her into the exact web her mother wanted to weave for her daughter.
He leaned in close, the look in his eyes half tease, half desire. And maybe, a flicker of disappointment, too. "Like I told you before, you're a really bad liar. And I intend to prove it to you."
Then he was gone. And Maria knew she was in trouble. Dante was as stubborn as her mother.
If Biba Pagliano and Dante Del Rosso ever joined forces, Maria would be a goner.
Nonna's Theory-of-Men Tri-Colored Fusilli with Vegetables
1 red onion, sliced
3 cloves garlic
Olive oil
1 big zucchini
Thyme
Marjoram
1 pound fusilli
Basil leaves
Salt and pepper
1 large red pepper
1 large yellow pepper
2 tomatoes, chopped
Fresh parsley
Grated Parmigiano Reggiano
Don't be asking me for measurements now. I cook the old way—throw it in by instinct. It's how you should choose a man, too. Trust your nose; it'll tell you if he's a good choice or if you should put him on the curb for the pigeons to crap on.
Dice your onions and garlic, then sauté them with the oil. Next, slice the zucchini into little sticks. Sauté it with some thyme and marjoram in the same pan. Dip a ladle in the pasta water, drop it into your pan, then cover and simmer your zucchini till it's as tender as a man's true heart. If he isn't nice to you, you don't need him. Life's too short for men with no manners for a lady.
Cook the fusilli until al dente. Meanwhile, add lots of basil, a bit of oil, some salt and pepper to your zucchini. Go with your instincts. They'll tell you the right choice to make. In life and in cooking.
Dice your peppers, sauté them for a bit in a separate pan, just to soften their hard shells (like a man who needs a swift kick from a woman to get his smart ass in gear), then add the chopped tomatoes. Salt as needed.