“Hey now, don’t despise the freckles.” My father took another drink of milk, then closed the jug and put it away. A couple of seconds later he opened the freezer and grabbed a carton of ice cream. “You come from a long line of freckles, darlin’.” He pulled the top off the ice cream carton and grabbed a spoon from the drawer. My mother groaned.
“I know, I know.” Still, I’d hoped my portfolio photographs would make up for the head shot. Sure enough, I found three of the pictures I’d shot at recent weddings beautifully inserted into the story.
Unfortunately, I also found a few of Drew Kincaid’s. I should have expected that.
“Ooh, I love that one.” Mama pointed to one of Drew’s pictures. “Hey, look! It’s Brock Benson . . . again.” She gave a drawn-out sigh, a blissful expression on her face. “Every time I turn around, there he is.”
Oh, if only life were like that.
Mama gazed at Drew’s photo of Brock all gussied up in his “I’m getting married” tux. “That man’s quite a looker.”
From across the kitchen, my father let out a belch, then muttered, “Why, thank you. I’ve often been told I’m a looker.” He ambled out of the kitchen, ice cream carton in hand.
Under ordinary circumstances, Mama would’ve scolded him for eating ice cream for breakfast. This time, however, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Brock. “I don’t remember you showing me the photo of Brock Benson before, Hannah.” She pressed the magazine back into my hands. “But it’s wonderful. Great angle. A lot better than that one.” She pointed down to a photo I’d taken at a wedding last spring.
I released a sigh. “Mama, I didn’t shoot Brock’s wedding. Drew Kincaid did. That’s his photo, not mine.” I pointed to the one I’d shot. “This is mine.”
Her eyes widened. “Oops. Sorry.”
I pointed to Drew’s slick, perfectly aligned head shot and winced. “That’s him. That’s the competition. Drew Kincaid.”
Again, Mama pulled the magazine from my hand. She let out a slow whistle. “That’s the competition?”
“Yep.”
“Can we just concede right now?” She looked up at me with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Mama!” I grabbed the magazine back from her, wanting to savor the article, but I found my gaze riveted on Drew’s handsome face. Those captivating eyes held me spellbound, as if he’d stepped into the room alongside me. And—perhaps for the first time—I noticed a teensy-tiny splattering of freckles along the edge of his nose.
Looks like we have more in common than photography, Jacquie Goldfarb.
Er, Drew.
I couldn’t help but give him another look. His light hair stood in stark contrast to his deep tan, and the expression on his face spoke of contentment. Happiness.
Then again, why wouldn’t the guy be happy? He got all the breaks.
“Well, one thing’s for sure, Hannah Grace,” Mama said as she faced the sink full of dirty dishes. “We McDermotts might fight to the finish, but with competitors like that, it’ll be a lovely fight.”
“A lovely fight?” I let out an unladylike snort. “I somehow doubt it. According to Dad, the Kincaids and McDermotts don’t get along. I guess this is no time to sign a peace treaty.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Mama glanced over her shoulder at the picture, and a girlish smile turned up the edges of her lips. “I might be willing to sign.”
“Mama!”
She giggled and went back to work, her hands now deep in suds. “I’m sorry I almost threw away your article. Guess I should pay more attention to the mail.”
“I guess so.” I finally ripped open the breakfast bar and took a little nibble. “I have to go. Not quite sure when I’ll be back, exactly. Kind of depends on how much work is involved. The Rossis have a big family, so pray for me. It’s going to be a challenge to get this done.”
She turned toward me once again, and her face lit in a smile. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t I come with you? That way we’ll already be together. We can go on from there. And maybe I could help you in some way. You know? Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Her expression told me it sounded fun to her.
“Hmm.” I paused to think this through. Might not hurt to have someone else there to assist.
At once my pride kicked in. What would it look like to Bella? I didn’t want her to think that I couldn’t handle things on my own.
“I’m not sure,” I said after a moment.
Mama sighed and reached for a dish towel to dry the bowl in her hands. “I understand. You’re a grown woman. You don’t need your mama tagging along.”
“It’s not that. I just don’t want you to be bored.” I offered what I hoped would look like a convincing smile. “And it’s going to be really chaotic. They’ve got kids. Lots and lots of kids.”
“I love children. You know that.” She gave me that same “why don’t you get married and have a few?” look I’d seen so many times.
Good grief. How would I get around this?
“I’ll tell you what.” I grabbed my mother’s hand, an idea taking hold. “You come by Club Wed around noon, okay? We should be wrapping up by then. There’s someone I want you to meet before we head out for the day.”
“Bella Neeley?”
“Well, Bella, yes, but someone else too.” I filled her in on the Food Network connection, and for a minute there, I thought she might faint.
Mama could barely get a word out. “You’re—you’re—you’re telling me that Rosa—the very Rosa who makes all of that great Italian cuisine—lives here, on the island?”
“Yes. She’s Bella’s aunt. It took me awhile to figure it out too, because Rosa’s last name is Rossi. Bella’s is Neeley, but that’s her married name.”
“I—I—I see.” Mama began to pace. “And I get to meet her? And Laz too?”
I nodded, praying Bella would go along with the idea. Had I spoken too soon?
“There is a God, and he loves me!”
Her joyous outburst surprised me. “Well, of course, Mama. We’ve always known that.”
“Oh, honey, you don’t understand.” My mother’s eyes filled with tears. “I watch every episode of The Italian Kitchen. I record it and watch while your father’s at work. He would never understand my passion for Italian food. I’ve been sneaking around for months, wishing, hoping, dreaming about manicotti. And ravioli. And garlic twists. And tiramisu.”
“Ah.” I smiled. “I’ve actually eaten Rosa’s manicotti. It’s wonderful.”
“You—you have? I’m so jealous.”
I gave my mother a detailed description, which had my mouth watering in short order. Mama began to gush—now in Gaelic—about how much she would love to cook Italian food. About how my father, God bless him, had the dullest digestion in the world. About how, if it were up to her, we would eat a wide variety of foods from around the globe, starting with Aunt Rosa’s famous garlic twists.
I had to admit, this whole thing was making me hungry. Hopefully Bella wouldn’t mind if my mother stopped by for a quick hello. Surely not.
Off Mama went in Gaelic once more, her words flowing like honey. I couldn’t make out all of it, but I did catch something about her desperate need to spice up her life. After a couple of minutes, she went into hot-flash mode and opened the freezer, waving the door back and forth to cool herself down.
Finally she paused and smiled at me. “How can I ever thank you?”
“Oh, no need.”
Please, dear God, let Bella go along with this.
“This is going to be the best day of my life.” Mama tugged at her apron strings, finally pulling them loose. “I must get ready. I want to make a good impression.”
“Well, you have several hours. No rush.”
“This is a day I will never forget. Bless you, sweet girl. Bless you.” Mama dried her hands, gave me a huge hug, then sashayed out of the room, humming “Oh Happy Day!”
Heart, don’t fail me now.
I ushered up severa
l pellet-gun prayers, begging God for help. Why oh why had I promised Mama something so huge without asking Bella first? Would I live to regret this?
Deep breath, Hannah. This will work out fine.
I somehow managed to calm down, and my thoughts eventually returned to the article in Texas Bride. I flipped the pages of the magazine back to read the article in its entirety as I headed out to my car. In spite of the weird head shot, the rest of the article proved to be amazing. I couldn’t have asked for better advertising for Picture This. Oh, and what perfect timing! I could hardly wait to get a copy of this article into Bella Neeley’s hands. Once she saw how many times I’d credited her, the deal would be sealed. I would move to the number-one slot on her list, no problem.
I just had to keep endearing myself to her in the meantime. That meant pulling off the photo shoot of a lifetime this morning with her family. Oh well, no big deal. I’d done family shoots before. Dozens of them. I’d never lost a family member.
Yet.
I drove down the seawall, noticing the lazy gulf waves as they lapped the shore. In so many ways that poor shoreline, speckled with seaweed and sand dunes, reminded me of myself. It seemed I always took a beating from life. Well, not today. Nope. Today, like my ancestral clan, I would fight back and win. I might even make a little cash along the way.
I arrived at Bella’s house at ten o’clock, as planned. The massive Victorian home loomed ahead of me, its gingerbread trim exquisite and its veranda inviting. What would it be like to live in one of these old restored homes? Likely I’d never know. Still, visiting one was almost as nice.
After checking my appearance in the rearview mirror, I bounded from my car, camera bag slung over one shoulder and magazine pressed underneath my arm, ready to share it with Bella. Oddly, I found Drew Kincaid arriving at the same time. It didn’t take long to figure out he had a copy of the magazine on hand too.
Oh no you don’t. I’ve got this one covered, buddy. Bella’s going to read my copy. My oatmeal-encrusted, bent-page copy.
“Well, hello.” His face melted into a buttery smile. He folded the magazine in half and shoved it under his arm. “Are you following me or something?” A lock of wavy hair fell casually on his forehead, and he brushed it away with the back of his hand.
“Um, no.” Don’t flatter yourself. I kept walking toward the house.
“I’ve got an appointment with Bella to talk about an upcoming, um . . .” He appeared to be stumbling over the word. “Actually, I don’t know what she wants to talk to me about. She just told me to get here at ten o’clock. You?”
A niggling suspicion ran through me. How dare Bella kick the confidence out from under me by inviting Drew Kincaid?
Why did you bring him here today of all days, girl?
“I, um, I’m here to shoot the family,” I managed at last.
“Shoot the family, eh?” He leaned in close and whispered, “What did they do to deserve that, I ask you?”
It took me a minute, but I finally caught on just as I reached the veranda. “I meant a photo shoot, obviously.” The eye roll that followed shared my thoughts on his attempt at humor.
Before I could rap on the door, it swung open and Aunt Rosa came bounding out, shaking her fist at an unfamiliar boy and hollering something in Italian. I couldn’t make out much of it, but she looked plenty mad.
Well, until she saw me. Then her scowl morphed into a smile. She took me by the hand and grinned. “Come. I’ll feed you breakfast.”
“Oh, no thanks. I’ve already had—” My near-empty stomach growled, and I realized I’d left the rest of my breakfast bar sitting on the kitchen counter at home.
“I made frittata.” She gave me a little wink and pulled me inside.
Okay, so maybe a little breakfast was in order.
Drew trailed along behind me, and soon we were both inside Rosa’s kitchen, where the smells wafted up to tempt my senses like nothing I’d ever experienced. Boy oh boy. If only Mama could get a glimpse of this! She would totally flip. After gushing all over Rosa, of course.
Minutes later, the room filled with the sounds of dishes clanging, silverware clinking, and voices overlapping.
Tres came rushing into the kitchen with Bella hot on his heels. She stopped and looked at Drew. Then me. Then Drew. Then me. Finally, she clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no.” Bella pulled her hand back. “I can’t believe I did this. I double booked the morning, didn’t I?”
Yes, and this would be a good point in the conversation to send Drew packing, don’t you think?
She gave him a winsome smile. “Drew, would you mind hanging around until we’re done? Hannah’s going to photograph our family.”
“Sure.” He spoke to Bella, but his gaze never left Rosa and the food. “Sounds yummy. Er, good.”
Great. Now I’d have to photograph the family with Jacquie Goldfarb looking on. Just what I’d always dreamed of.
Tres took off running out of the kitchen, and before long I heard the voices of several children in the next room.
I pulled the magazine out from under my arm and put it on the counter. I could hardly contain my joy as I spoke. “Bella, did you see that the latest issue of Texas Bride is out?”
“I did.” She reached over and ran her finger across the sticky cover. “Just got my copy this morning. I’m so excited that—”
“That all of Texas now knows how great Club Wed is,” Drew said with a sweep of his hand. “That reporter really sang your praises, Bella. Great promotion for the wedding facility. It’s going to be wonderful for your business, I’m sure.”
“Well, I daresay you two added to the excitement with your kind words about us.” She flashed a smile Drew’s way. “For that, we’re very thankful.”
Grandpa Aengus’s words “Níor bhris focal maith fiacal riamh” flitted through my mind. I knew the literal translation: “A good word never broke a tooth.” Of course, Grandpa’s version made a bit more sense: “A compliment never hurts.”
Yep, Grandpa. This is the perfect time to compliment her.
If only I could come up with something brilliant to say.
Drew waggled a brow. “You’re becoming a phenomenon, Bella. You really are. Before you know it, people will be coming to Galveston from coast to coast. From other countries, even.”
“That would be so cool.” She giggled. “I think it will be great for your studio too.”
Say something, Hannah. Anything.
“Well, I, um . . .” I began.
“You think?” A boyish grin turned up the corners of Drew’s mouth. “Well, if my business takes off, I’ll give you the credit. I really can’t thank you enough, Bella. You’ve been such a door opener, and I’m so grateful. First Brock Benson’s wedding, and now the piece in Texas Bride.” He bowed gallantly at the waist and then rose. “My career and I thank you.”
Shoot me now. Why didn’t I say that?
“You’re welcome, Drew.” Bella gave him an encouraging nod, then turned my way. “I’m sorry. What were you saying, Hannah?”
I’d just opened my mouth to say something sure to impress when Tres came running in the room, being chased by an older boy. “Mama! Mama! Deany-boy hit me.”
The older boy, chubby and looking a little rough around the edges, took to shoving the littler ones around. I wanted to intervene but didn’t. Beside me, Drew cleared his throat. I half expected him to reach out and grab the kid in the blue shirt by the back of the collar.
The boys ended up in a squabble, the noise level rising substantially. Since no one intervened, I pulled out my camera, zooming in on the older boy, who scowled at Tres. Through the eye of the camera, he almost looked like a prizefighter. Almost. Half devil child, half mama’s boy. Typical Italian male child, right?
Stop it, Hannah. Don’t judge.
Still, I couldn’t help but think of Grandpa Aengus’s words regarding kiddos, especially naughty ones: “If you have a headache, do what it says on the aspirin bottle: take two, and keep aw
ay from children.” Surely even he would’ve run for the hills right about now, McDermott or not.
Finally Bella caught the bigger boy by the shirtsleeve and held him in place, then gestured with her head toward the door. “Hannah, meet my brother Armando.”
I shifted the camera a bit until the cocoa-brown eyes of one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen came into view. Pulling the camera down, I stammered, “H-hello.”
His eyes appeared to sweep over me, and those lips—those gorgeous, sexy lips—curled up in a delicious smile. Oy. Now here was a typical Italian male. A fine specimen, to be sure. His thick, dark hair tapered neatly to the collar of his shirt, and dark tendrils of hair curled on his forehead.
Oh, mama mia!
I didn’t mean to stare, but who could look away from such a magnificent creature? His arresting good looks compelled me to focus on him.
“Well now.” His dark eyes flashed with interest. “Hello to you too. Guess it’s a good thing I decided to come back home for this photo shoot.” He took my hand and gave it a kiss, then released it with a wink.
Saints preserve us.
As Armando headed to the other side of the kitchen to greet Rosa, Drew stepped behind me and leaned down so close I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. “Watch your back, McDermott.”
“W-what?”
“Just guard yourself around this guy,” he whispered. “I’ve met him a time or two before, and I can tell you he’s trouble. Not at all who he makes himself out to be.”
Anger rose up inside of me. “I’m pretty sure I can take care of myself, Drew.” As I stared into his eyes—his beautiful blue eyes—I was less sure by the moment. And while I wanted to look over at Armando, the only face holding me captive right now was Drew’s.
Armando came close once again. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as he gave me another sweep with his eyes. Rarely did a man look at me with such interest. I hardly knew what to make of it. Still, it felt mighty good to have a handsome man’s attention, especially with Drew Kincaid looking on.
Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel Page 7