“Don’t sweat it. She’s up front. There’s no way she can hear us.”
Sterling offered me two plates with his sandwich and sides of balsamic apple coleslaw. “Lunch?”
“Thanks. Call if you need me. I’ll be in the dining room with Mom.” I left them to continue the cleanup.
Mom sat at a window booth. I slid in across from her. “Compliments of Sterling,” I said, handing her a plate. “Sorry it took me a minute. Thomas stopped by to say hi.”
“No problem. I was catching up with some friends anyway. This looks incredible.” She glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “He’s really coming into his own, isn’t he?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t have to give him much direction, and he’s constantly testing and experimenting with new ingredients. It’s so much fun to watch him develop.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“I hope we don’t lose him. Or any of the team for that matter.” She glanced at the coffee bar where Andy was pouring shots and dancing to the beat of the music playing overhead.
“Have you heard something?”
Mom shook her head. “No. It’s just that as Sterling gains more confidence and experience he’ll be able to parlay that into a traditional chef position. I wouldn’t put it past someone like Richard to try and poach our staff.”
That was one of the cons of the baking business. It wasn’t uncommon to mentor young pastry chefs only to have them leave to launch their own bakeshops or go to work for bigger operations. The same went for restaurants. I couldn’t begin to count the number of sous chefs Carlos had trained who went on to open their own restaurants. Carlos’s philosophy was that it was a cycle. Each of us had once been on the other side of mentorship. He believed that as seasoned chefs it was our duty to give back and teach the next generation. So much so that he made a point of visiting each grand opening of the chefs who had come up the ranks with him.
If Sterling landed a job at one of Ashland’s premier restaurants I would be thrilled for him and equally devastated. If he went to work for Richard, I would die. But I knew he would never consider a job offer from Richard Lord, even if it was twice what we could pay him. I also knew we were going to have to focus on staffing soon, not only because of the expansion but because eventually Stephanie and Andy were going to graduate from college. Neither of them had talked specifics, but it was likely that their future with Torte was limited.
“True,” I said to Mom. “But let’s focus on that later. Right now, let’s talk about happier things—like the party at Uva and the wedding. The last I heard you were thinking fall? Is that still the plan?”
She nibbled on her sandwich and salad. “Yes, I’ve resigned myself to a fall wedding, not that it’s anything to scoff about. Fall here is one of the most majestic and beautiful seasons. The good news is that every venue we’ve looked at has availability. We’re hoping to nail down a date by the end of the weekend. I’d like to get invites out in the next few weeks.”
“I think fall will be beautiful.”
Her face perked up. “Don’t you think? The colorful trees, the fall produce. You’ll have to start dreaming up something with apples.”
“Count on it. Have you seen Lance?” I asked, glad to have a reason to change the subject.
“Briefly. We said hello in passing, but that’s it. How is he?”
“Better.” I filled her in on my earlier conversation.
“Hmm.” She considered my words after I finished. “Doug had mentioned something about checking on a few things for Lance, but I had no idea that he was a member of the Brown family. What pressure.”
“Exactly. And Lance wants to invite his brother to the Uva launch, even though he might be plotting to kill their father.”
Mom’s face clouded. “I suppose I could make a joke about that going hand in hand with Shakespeare, but that seems in poor taste. Do you think there’s legitimacy to Lance’s story or could it just be Lance being Lance?”
“My thoughts exactly. I think it’s highly possible that Lance is exaggerating, but then again we’re talking about millions and millions of dollars and people do crazy things when it comes to that kind of money.”
She took a bite of the tangy coleslaw. “Sadly, that’s quite right.”
I finished my sandwich. “In other news, Carlos and Ramiro arrive in two days.”
“How are you feeling?”
I bit my bottom lip. “Honestly? Nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous to meet someone before.”
“You mean Ramiro?”
I nodded.
“Honey, he’s going to adore you. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
She squeezed my arm. “I know so.”
Before we could continue, the sound of someone clearing their throat made us both turn our heads. The Professor stood next to the booth holding a bouquet of pale pink peonies. “Flowers, for my lady.” He gave a half bow.
“Doug. What are you doing here?” Mom’s cheeks warmed with color.
I was happy to see him, but wished there was a way I could keep them both out of Torte until the wedding. The longer either of them were here, the more likely they would start to question our marathon baking.
He placed the flowers in her arms. “May I?” He pointed to the empty space on the bench next to her.
“As if you need to ask.” She scooted closer to the window to make room for him.
“What are you two lovely ladies up to on this brilliant afternoon?” The Professor stared at the box of invitations.
I reached for one of the invites. “These are for our grand reopening party at Uva.”
The Professor pushed a pair of thin glasses onto the bridge of his nose and read the invitation. “Yes, wonderful.” He placed his arm around Mom’s shoulder. “I must admit, I do wish that we might have found a way to pull off a midsummer wedding.”
Leaning into his shoulder, she smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Doug. I was just telling Juliet that I think the stars have other plans for us. Don’t you think fall will be a gorgeous time to host a celebration?”
“Yes.” The Professor removed his glasses. “I hear the words of George Eliot: ‘Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.’” He covered Mom’s hand with his. “I cannot imagine anyone else with whom I would want to fly off in search of new autumns.”
Maybe Thomas was right. The Professor’s heartfelt poem didn’t make him sound like he had a clue what we were really planning.
Tears welled in Mom’s eyes. “I agree, Doug.”
They shared a sweet kiss. My heart swelled, and then momentarily sunk. I hoped that they would both like the surprise, and that I hadn’t overstepped my bounds. I was about to excuse myself, when I remembered my conversation with Lance. “Before I go, can I ask you something?”
The Professor stared at the chalkboard on the far wall where we posted a rotating weekly quote, along with coffee and pastry specials. He read this week’s quote aloud, “‘Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.’ One of my favorites from the Bard. How fitting. And, yes, please ask me anything.”
“It’s about Lance. He told me that you’ve been helping him do some background checking into his family.”
“That’s correct.” His face was passive.
I decided that there was no point in tiptoeing around the subject. “He told me that he thinks his brother is trying to kill his father.”
The Professor rubbed his beard. “Indeed?”
“Yes.” I explained Lance’s theory on Leo wanting access to the Brown family fortune and how Lance had hired a PI.
“I see. It sounds as if I might be overdue for another conversation with Lance.”
The Professor had a way of playing his cards close to his chest. “I would advise you to steer clear of our dear friend’s family feud,” he continued. “I’ve learned that not
hing good comes of immersing ourselves in someone else’s family dynamics. And in this particular situation I fear that there is something most concerning in the midst.”
“Right.” I nodded and stood. “You two lovebirds enjoy yourselves.” I returned to the kitchen, undeterred by the Professor’s warning. Lance was in trouble and I had to help.
Chapter Six
The next week passed in a frenzy of wedding details. Mom delivered the remaining fake invites to the downtown business community and to no one’s surprise the guest list tripled overnight. I kept her out of Torte’s kitchen with dozens of menial checklists for the renovation project. Roger had been a godsend. When I told him that I was having a hard time keeping Mom away, he agreed to occupy her with paint samples and trips to the tile store.
With two days to go before the big bash, Torte was bursting at the seams. Trays of hand-pressed tarts lined the walk-in fridge. Boxes of decorating supplies, stacks of cakes, and tubs of frosting took over every free square inch in the kitchen. I’d been running back and forth between the winery and Torte, which left my feet aching and had me never quite grounded in one place or the other. Chef Garrison’s team had been a dream. They had helped prep dozens of appetizers and gone beyond the call of duty, assisting us in stringing up garlands and arranging tables in Uva’s barn, which would serve as the dance floor and dessert buffet.
The entire vineyard had been completely transformed for the wedding. Thousands of twinkle lights and paper lanterns had been stretched from the trees and wrapped among the vines. A wooden arch entwined with garlands of greenery had been erected on the top of the hillside looking over acres and acres of lush grapevines. I couldn’t envision a more beautiful spot for Mom and the Professor to share their vows.
In addition to the outdoor spaces we would utilize the deck attached to the tasting room to serve dinner. Guests would wind their way through tables loaded with appetizers, meats, and salads. The layout would hopefully make serving and restocking the dinner buffet relatively easy because Chef Garrison’s staff would be working in the kitchen directly off the deck.
Picnic tables and chairs had been arranged throughout the grassy hilltop, and a wooden dance floor had been installed in the barn, which was my favorite space. Jose, Uva’s previous owner, had renovated an old dilapidated barn on the property, salvaging huge timber beams and a stone fireplace. An iron chandelier with tapered candles hung above the dance floor. The warm interior smelled of chestnut and oak. It was the perfect spot to house our desserts. I couldn’t wait to see my tiered wedding cake displayed in front of a low-burning fire, to watch Mom and the Professor take the first turn on the dance floor as husband and wife, and to toast them with a celebratory round of champagne.
Everything was coming together as planned. Fingers crossed, it looked like we were ahead of schedule. The only thing remaining would be the flowers and food, which were perishable and would be delivered the morning of the wedding.
As if dividing my time between the winery and bakeshop wasn’t enough to frazzle my nerves, the fact that Carlos and Ramiro were arriving in less than an hour had me running on high. I was acutely aware of my pulse rate as I directed the team on the last remaining tasks and left for the airport. Carlos and Ramiro had flown out of Spain with layovers in New York and Portland. I could only imagine how exhausted they were going to be when they landed in Medford. I had already prepared a simple dinner—a Greek pasta salad with artichoke hearts, marinated chicken, cherry tomatoes, red onions, black olives, goat cheese, and fresh basil that I tossed with a lemon vinaigrette. I would serve it with homemade parmesan-and-olive bread, salad, and Carlos’s favorite chocolate cake. If Ramiro was up for it, I thought I could give him the quick tour of Ashland. Lance offered to give them an exclusive behind-the-scenes tour of OSF and front-row tickets to whatever shows they wanted to see. I had Mom and the Professor on call. I wasn’t sure if Carlos and Ramiro would want company or just want to go to bed and try to stave off jet lag. Either way, dinner and a crisp bottle of white wine was chilling in the fridge. I told Mom I would call her once I got to the airport and let her know if she and the Professor should come by or not.
I took the long route from Uva, past miles of sepia-toned hills and dotted with green vineyards. As I followed Ashland’s back roads, there were signs posted warning of aggressive deer and wildfire danger. My stomach swirled as I left the two-lane highway and steered Mom’s car onto I-5 north to Medford. It was a short drive and one I could almost do with my eyes closed, but today it felt as if time was sluggish. The car moved like molasses. Anticipation pulsed through my veins. I couldn’t believe that I was finally going to meet Carlos’s son. What would he be like? I hadn’t spent much time around teenagers. What if he hated me?
Stop it, Jules, I scolded myself. If Ramiro was anything like Carlos I was sure that I would love him instantly. I just wanted to get the initial meeting over with.
The Medford airport was small with one main terminal that housed a gift shop, restaurant, and information booth. I found a parking space and opted to go inside to meet them.
Airports see more love than maybe any other place on the planet. I watched as a couple embraced and kissed each other in a passionate good-bye. A family waiting next to me reunited with a bunch of bright balloons, happy tears, and enthusiastic hugs. Would that be us? Or would my first meeting with my stepson be awkward and stilted?
I held my breath and tried to force my heart rate to return to normal. Suddenly, I spotted Carlos, walking arm in arm with a young teen who could almost have passed as his twin. Ramiro was taller than I expected. He had the same olive skin and dark hair as Carlos and a slight swagger to his walk. I sucked in a breath. This was it.
“Julieta!” Carlos broke into a jaunt. When he made it to me he embraced me in a lingering hug. He smelled of sandalwood and musk. His familiar touch made my stomach queasy. “Mi querida, you look wonderful.”
Ramiro lagged behind. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his sandals.
“You must be Ramiro,” I said, breaking away from Carlos. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Sí, me too.” He greeted me with a kiss on each cheek.
“You look so much like your dad.” I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The teen girls who hung around Torte after school were going to swoon at the sight of Ramiro. Like Carlos, he had the same chiseled features, dark hair, olive skin, and impish grin. His brown eyes held a hint of playfulness about them.
Carlos tussled Ramiro’s hair. “Sí, sí, he is handsome, no?”
“Yes,” I agreed.
Ramiro pushed Carlos away. I could tell that we were embarrassing him, so I changed the subject. “How was the flight?”
“Long.” Carlos twisted from side to side.
“Yeah. That’s an understatement.” I looked to Ramiro. “What would you like to do? I have dinner waiting for you at my apartment. I can show you around town, or you can just crash.”
“Crash?” Ramiro scrunched his face, making him look younger than fourteen.
“Oh, sorry. Sleep.” I grinned. Ramiro had grown up with his mother in Spain. His English was remarkable, but I had to remember that American slang probably didn’t get translated into his textbooks.
“Ah. Crash. I was thinking about the plane and trying to understand your meaning. You mean sleep.” Tiny flecks of gold sparkled in his eyes when he laughed. “I’m fine. I would like to see Ashland. Papa, is that okay with you?”
Carlos wrapped one arm around Ramiro and the other around me. “Sí, let’s go explore.”
I wondered if people walking past us would think of us as family. I’m sure I must have looked like the odd woman out, sandwiched between two Spanish men with my fair skin and light hair. Regardless of whether I looked the part Carlos was my family, and now Ramiro was too. My nerves calmed as we waited for their bags. The anticipation that had been bubbling inside dissipated. Ramiro and I had much to learn about each other, but at least the initial meeti
ng was over, and given his playful spirit I had a feeling that we were going to get along just fine.
“The hills look like Spain,” Ramiro commented in the backseat as we drove into Ashland. His observation made sense. Ashland boasts a Mediterranean climate with long days of summer sun. At two thousand feet above sea level, our fair city is nestled in the Siskiyou Mountain Range, allowing for cool evenings and bringing abundant wildlife—free-range turkeys, herds of deer, cougars, coyotes, and even black bears—into neighborhoods and backyards. Native Ashlanders simply waved hello to deer running loose on front lawns on their way to the market or theater. Tourists, on the other hand, often stopped to pose for pictures and videos with our four-legged residents.
“We should take him to Uva,” Carlos said. I was acutely aware that Ramiro was in the backseat, as I steered off the freeway onto the back road leading into town. We hadn’t had a chance to speak about the winery, and I didn’t want to burden Ramiro with what might be a long, drawn-out conversation.
“You want to go there first?” I met his eyes. A shot of adrenaline pulsed through my body. Regardless of how many times I had tried to ignore and abandon my feelings for Carlos, there was an undeniable pull and chemistry between us.
“Sí.” Carlos glanced behind him. “I have told Ramiro all about the winery. The beautiful slope, the rocky soil, and our plans.”
“Our plans?” I raised a brow. Carlos hadn’t mentioned anything about the future or even why he had decided to buy a stake in the vineyard.
His bronzed hand touched my knee. I clutched the steering wheel to try and control my emotions. “We have plenty of time to talk about the future, mi querida.”
Ramiro smiled at me in the rearview mirror. I wondered what Carlos had told him about us. Had he explained our separation or glossed over the fact that we were worlds apart?
In front of me the road switched from pavement to dirt, offering a welcome distraction from what was next for Carlos and me. We wound up the bumpy road, past rows and rows of grapevines to the crest of the hill. Uva sat, like a mighty fortress, at the top. “Here we are,” I said, pulling into an empty space in front of the building.
Till Death Do Us Tart Page 5