by Casey Dawes
“That would be nice.” She reached her hand to the sugar bowl.
He cleared his throat.
She realized what she had done and pulled her hand back. Heat rose from under the neckline of her dress and she kept her eyes on her coffee.
“I believe that I will begin my trip in Napa and Sonoma. I want to taste what they are doing with the Cabernet. Maybe there will be a vineyard that an owner is forced to sell at a cheap price.” He looked at her and smiled. “Then I will come to the mountains of Santa Cruz.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “Perhaps until then, we can email each other. You can tell me more about your lotions and I will tell you about my wine. We can learn to be friends.”
She nodded, unsure of what to say. She really should discourage him.
He pushed the card across the table. “Do you have a card?”
She nodded, dug in her purse and handed him a business card.
He glanced at it, slid it into his pocket, and gestured for the check.
As they walked back to the hotel, Elizabeth found herself longing for his touch. But what would be the point? Thousands of miles would soon separate them.
“It was nice,” he said when they reached the lobby. “I wish it could be more, but I leave for France in a few days. And you leave — ”
“ — the day after tomorrow.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “I remember.
“I guess this is good-bye, then.” She held out her hand.
He shook it. Then he lightly touched her shoulders and kissed each cheek in turn. “We do not say good-bye — we say arrivederci — until we see each other again.”
“Arrivederci.”
His hands still on her shoulders, he said, “You are very attractive, Elizabeth, inside and out. I am glad to get to know you and I will look forward to seeing you in California.” He stared at her for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her lightly on her lips. “Arrevederci,” he said again before he turned, waved and was gone.
She stared after him for a moment, a hollow feeling in her chest.
“He is a good-looking man, no?” A voice beside her startled her. Rosita had stepped silently into the lobby. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she was answering the first question or the second.
“Bueno. I’m glad my cousin behaved. Have a good night.” Rosita bustled back toward the kitchen.
Elizabeth floated up the stairs to her room.
• • •
Elizabeth inserted the key into the lock, her mind racing as she determined what to say to her daughter.
Sarah was sitting up in bed, television blaring incomprehensibly while she read and made notes on the small pad she carried everywhere. She dropped everything when Elizabeth opened the door. “I’m glad you’re home! How was your dinner date? I was getting worried.”
“He was very charming. And I was fine. At my age, I’ve learned to take care of myself.”
“R-i-ght. Are you going to tell me about it?”
“What’s to tell? We walked to a nice restaurant, had a lovely dinner and walked back.” Elizabeth tucked a hair behind her ear and kicked off her heels. Aah. Cobblestone sidewalks and stilettos did not mix well. Her ankles ached.
“What did you eat? And whatever did you talk about?”
“Nosy, aren’t you?”
Sarah grinned and squirmed out of the covers to sit cross-legged on the floral coverlet. “I’ve never seen you like this. What’s the word they use? Oh, yeah. You’re glowing, Mother. What happened?”
Glowing? “We talked about our children and our businesses. For dinner we had … ” As she undid her hair and removed her earrings, Elizabeth listed the food.
“Did he kiss you?” Sarah demanded after she finished.
“No.” Elizabeth walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and leaned against it. She’d lied to her daughter for the first time in a long while. The whole scene reminded her of escaping her mother’s inquisition when she’d come home from a date with Joe.
And, just like she had with Joe, she touched her lips with her fingers, imitating the touch of his lips on hers. A shiver went through her and she curled her toes. To be sixteen and foolish again, instead of thirty-eight and worldly wise.
Hah.
As she began to take off her makeup with the lotion she’d picked up earlier in the day, she saw the jar of Amoré out of the corner of her eye. What would have happened if she’d worn a little of it on her date?
Another shiver ran through her body. She thrust the fantasy aside and concentrated on the texture, smell and feel of the mixture on her skin. Could she ever create something as luxurious? She didn’t know anything about chemistry. With a high-school diploma, how could she expect to launch a line of beauty products?
What had Marcos said? Anything was possible if you had the heart and hands to do it?
She stared at the woman in the mirror. All her life she’d put her dreams away for someone else. Her mother was gone, Sarah was moving on, and her relationship with Bobby was over. Marcos was a fairy-tale fantasy.
It was time for Elizabeth Ladina to take her life into her own hands and heart.
• • •
Elizabeth hummed under her breath the next morning as she went into the bathroom to get ready for the boat trip she and Sarah had planned for Genoa and Portofino. She’d be sad to be leaving Italy, but she was eager to get started with her new plans.
“Wake up, sleepy head.” She poked Sarah in the ribs. “We’ve got to be in Genoa to meet the tour from Milan in an hour and a half. It’s a beautiful day! The sun is shining and not a rain cloud in sight.”
Sarah groaned and stuffed her head under the pillow. “Why are you so perky, Mom?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I’m excited!”
Sarah poked her head out. “Must be the new guy.”
“No. It’s my new plan. I need to pick your brain at lunch.”
A few hours later they were meandering through the caruggi, the ancient narrow streets of Genoa, following the bright orange flag of the tour guide as she guided them through the town, stopping at selected shops that no doubt paid for the privilege of tourist visits. But Elizabeth didn’t care. Nothing was going to spoil her mood.
After a brief boat ride, they were dropped at a restaurant-clustered area of Portofino. They were on their own for lunch, and quickly found a quiet table at a small restaurant.
“What are you thinking, Mom?” Sarah asked after they’d both ordered risotto with seafood.
Elizabeth took a small notepad from her purse. “Since you’ve decided to live your own life and leave me with nothing to do, I’ve decided to expand my business. I was inspired by the lotions we saw yesterday. My problem is I have no idea where to begin!”
Sarah smiled at her. “What does your friend Annie say? Always begin with a list?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Good idea. Problem is my mind is spinning so fast I don’t think I could come up with a proper list.”
Sarah shrugged. “Then write what’s in your head. You can sort through it later. That’s how Rick and I plan. I list everything that’s in my head and he sorts it out.”
Again a frisson of unease went through Elizabeth. “How close are you and Rick?” she asked.
Sarah broke off a small piece of bread and dipped it in olive oil. “Are you asking if we’re sleeping together?” She popped the bread in her mouth and chewed it slowly, her eyes never leaving her mother’s.
Startled by Sarah’s boldness, Elizabeth said, “Yes, I believe I am.” In her heart she feared she already knew the answer.
Sarah finished chewing. “Yes. We are.” She raised a finger. “And we’re being very careful.”
The two were silent for a few moments. Elizabeth strugg
led with conflicting thoughts. Sarah was in her twenties. It was common for girls in college to have sex, wasn’t it? At least she was being safe. But accidents happened. What would Sarah do then?
“I just don’t want you to lose your chance, honey,” Elizabeth began.
“Don’t be disappointed in me, Mom.” Sarah said at the same time.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. She wished there was something she could say or do to keep her daughter safe. But the time was past. She no longer had control over Sarah. “I’m not disappointed. I’m scared for you.”
“I know. But we’re being careful. Trust me.”
“I guess I’ll have to.” Elizabeth sipped her wine, her heart heavy with fear that history would repeat itself.
As if by mutual agreement, they put the topic aside for the rest of the meal. Instead, Sarah peppered Elizabeth with questions about her ideas for a product line. When they were done with their meal, Elizabeth felt overwhelmed with details, but more confident that she could move forward when she got home.
More shops, more walking, and more ancient buildings filled the afternoon. They made the steep climb to the top of Castello Brown and savored the view of Portofino and the Mediterranean beyond.
They drifted down side streets back toward the harbor, poking into some of the shops, ignoring others. A kitchen shop caught Elizabeth’s eye and she immediately darted into it. Gadgets, dishes and knives crammed the shelves and hung from the ceiling.
Sarah had followed her into the store. “Wow! This is amazing!” She began to pick up things and examine them, Elizabeth following suit.
“Wonder what this is?” Elizabeth said to her daughter. She had a rectangle of wood broken into one-inch squares in her hand.
“Ravioli sampa,” a short woman in a black dress and white apron said.
“I don’t understand — ” Elizabeth began.
“Ah, American. Ravioli press. You make ravioli with it. Very old way. Is good.” The woman bustled off to another corner of the crowded store.
Elizabeth studied the press. The old wood appealed to her. “I think I’ll get it.”
“I thought you were making lotions, not ravioli,” Sarah said.
I thought I was, too. “It’s just a souvenir. It’ll look nice hanging in the kitchen.”
As she paid for her purchase, Elizabeth wondered at her attraction to the old press. She liked to cook, but still she couldn’t see herself spending days and days with pasta the way her grandmother had.
They were leaving the store when Elizabeth’s cell phone rang. “Hello?” Who could be calling her in Italy?
“Ah, I have dialed correctly.” Marcos responded. “It is Marcos.”
“Oh, I hadn’t expected to hear from you.” She glanced over at Sarah who was mouthing, “Who is it?”
“Marcos,” Elizabeth mouthed back.
Marcos continued. “Now that we have had dinner together and you have seen I am not a serial killer, I was hoping I could persuade you and your lovely daughter to see my vineyard tomorrow. I would pick up a picnic lunch. It would make me happy to have you see my work.”
Should she accept another date Marcos? Well, it wasn’t really a date. How could it be a date with her daughter along. There would be no chance for him to steal a kiss.
Damn.
“Let me check.” Elizabeth covered the receiver and spoke to Sarah. “Marcos would like to know if you want to see his vineyard tomorrow.” She shook her head at Sarah, indicating her daughter should say, “No.” Elizabeth’s stomach was queasy, indicating seeing Marcos again wasn’t a great idea.
Sarah didn’t get the message. “An Italian vineyard? That would be fantastic! A great way to spend our last day in Italy!”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “We would love to go,” she said to Marcos.
Chapter 4
The pungent odor of cured meat and ripened cheese greeted Marcos as he walked into the small grocer’s shop the next morning.
“Ciao, Sofia,” he called to another cousin, this one more distantly related that the others. She greeted him in rapid-fire Italian. “So Marcos, what do you need today? I’m busy.”
He looked around the store. There was no one but him in the narrow confines of the store. Meat was hanging everywhere and cheese rounds were stacked in corners. Pyramids of polished vegetables threatened to fall with the touch of a finger.
But no other customers.
“I don’t need customers in my shop to be busy, Marcos. Now come, come, what do you need? I’m making ravioli and don’t have time to fiddle with you.”
“I have met the most beguiling American,” he began, his thoughts on the charming woman he’d taken to dinner.
“Ah … you need a woman-lunch.”
“Actually, two women. She has a daughter in college.”
Sofia’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you after the woman or the daughter? The daughter would be a little young for you, Marcos. You’ll never see the other side of forty again, you know. Besides you have a daughter of your own. When’s the last time you saw Gina?”
Sofia had never been one of his biggest fans. No matter how hard he tried or how many bottles of fine wine he gave her, she’d never forgiven him for divorcing AnnaMaria.
And he’d never told her why the divorce had been necessary.
He sighed and waved his hand in the air. “No, Sofia, it’s not the daughter. It’s the mother.” The memory of Elizabeth made him smile.
“But American, Marcos. If you have more children we will never see them,” Sofia chattered as she assembled the feast: balls of mozzarella swimming in cloudy water, slices of salami, mortadella, and capicola, aged provolone, small green olives in brine, and a loaf of fresh-baked bread.
He laughed. “I think you’re rushing things, Sofia. It is only a lunch. And her being American is perfect. We can enjoy our time here, and I can see her when I travel to California to look at vineyards. We can keep it casual.” Which is all he ever wanted from a relationship these days.
“So you never have to commit to anything before you break her heart.” Sofia raised her arms in frustration. “To you it is only a lunch. To a woman, it is an invitation.”
He shook his head as she rattled on in rapid Italian, but her observation made him pause. How had Elizabeth viewed the invitation to the vineyard? Did she see it as more than the simple act of friendship it was intended to be? Time to change the subject.
“And I see Gina in two weeks.”
“I’d better get to see her, too.” Sofia slammed the cheese on the cutting board and sliced off a hunk. She wrapped the cheese in paper and thrust it into a wicker basket. “You’ll supply the wine, yes?” Sofia handed him his lunch. “And bring my basket back.”
“Yes, Sofia. I always bring your basket back, don’t I?” He pulled out his wallet to pay the amount on the bill she’d scratched out on the back of a paper bag.
She took the money and stuffed it in her apron pocket. “Go then. But make sure the American doesn’t fall for the romantic Italian with a stone for a heart.”
He kissed her on the cheek and left the store, his mind rumbling with new questions. What was he doing with Elizabeth? Since the breakup of his marriage, he’d dated some women and slept with others. But Sofia was right, he’d kept them all at arm’s length. That’s what had made time with Elizabeth perfect. They could enjoy each other’s company and there was a built-in distance to keep the relationship from getting too serious.
But the remembrance of the quick brush of their lips made him want more. It had been a long time since he’d felt as comfortable with a woman as he did with Elizabeth. For the first time in years, he wanted more than a simple companionship. The stone heart Sofia had accused him of having had developed a crack.
And, as Sofia had so helpfully pointed out, the woman who
caused the break lived half a world away.
• • •
Maybe, Marcos thought as he paced the small hotel lobby, the same pull wouldn’t be there when he saw Elizabeth in the daylight.
Laughter exited the tiny elevator before the two women appeared.
Luck wasn’t with him. The crack widened a fraction.
He walked toward Elizabeth and Sarah, a broad smile breaking across his face. “Bella! You both look wonderful. I’ve picked up a most magnificent lunch from my cousin, the sun is shining and it’s a wonderful day to be alive in Liguria!”
“Are all the people in town your cousins?” Elizabeth asked.
“It must seem that way, but no. In Italy, we buy from who we know.” He shrugged. “And who we know are usually our cousins!”
Elizabeth’s smile invited him into a place where he could relax and be himself, odd-ball sense of humor and all.
Catching his breath, he said, “My car is right outside. It will take us about an hour to get to the vineyard.” He led the way through the lobby, sending a brief wave to Rosita.
“Where are you taking my guests today?” she asked.
“The vineyard.”
“A beautiful day for it.”
“Si.” He held the door for the two Americans, and they stepped out into the fragrant air of a summer day in Liguria. Bright bougainvillea lit the stucco walls, reminding him of childhood summers, and enticing him to let go of his worries for the day. He seated the women in his Alfa-Romeo, rolled the top down, and cruised into the hills toward the vineyard.
Soon they were driving under the canopy of thick-leaved trees. Fuzzy clusters of nuts hung from many of the limbs. “Chestnuts,” Marcos said to the women, playing tour guide. “Liguria is known for them. The poorer people who live deep in the mountains make everything from them — porridge, pasta, and furniture from the hardwood.” If he kept reminding himself that the day was no more than a picnic with a few acquaintances, he could keep his growing attraction to Elizabeth at bay.
“I can’t believe it’s so much like Santa Cruz. Ocean, a little bit of flat, a lot of hills, high mountains and little twisty roads,” Elizabeth said to her daughter.