“So they say what the government tells them?”
She laughed. “Not hardly. They’re considered very liberal.”
“Is liberal bad?”
“Depends on who you listen to.”
“Ahh. America is very confusing sometimes. Italy confounds me, but I understand that chaos. It would take me forever to understand American ways.”
Another bit of distance between them.
Elizabeth parallel parked in a narrow spot in front of the Italian market. “Are you coming inside or waiting here?”
“I must come to see how Italy looks in America.”
Elizabeth pushed down her discomfort. Everything had been off since she’d asked about partners in the vineyard. But this was her stop and she was going to enjoy it, men be damned. One more reason not to get caught up in a relationship.
A bell clanged as they entered the store. Immediately, Elizabeth was transported back to her summer visit to Italy. Food boxes with foreign labels vied for shelf space with ornately painted ceramics. Wooden cutting boards and rolling pins teetered against large bins of flour, rice and pasta. Pungent odors of garlic and oregano wafted from a back room.
“Ahh,” Marcos said. “It is well done.” He looked at her and smiled, the warmth returning to his eyes.
Her heart softened, encouraged by Marcos’ smile. “I want to learn to make ravioli,” she told him. “I’m hoping they can point me to a recipe.”
He shrugged. “It is only flour and egg.”
“Flour and egg rolled the right way.” A short dark-haired woman in a bright flowered frock emerged from behind the shelves. “But the pocket filling must be
delizioso
!”
“Yes!” Elizabeth smiled. “Can you show me?”
The woman shook her head. “I do not teach classes. But I have a book that will help you. I understand the lady does videos on YouTube to teach Americans about ravioli.”
The proprietress led the way toward the back of the room where she stood on her toes and pulled down a paperback with the tips of her fingers. She handed the volume to Elizabeth.
The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken.
“If you’re going to make ravioli,” the woman continued, “you need the right flour. Come here.” She briskly walked to the other side of the store where bags of flour nested on deep wooden shelves. Catching her enthusiasm, Elizabeth trotted behind her.
The clerk plucked out a bag and she handed it to Elizabeth. “The best for pasta making.”
Elizabeth tried to balance the heavy bag, but felt the book start to slip from her grasp.
“I’ve got it,” Marcos said, touching her arm as he grabbed it. An immediate pulse went through her and she looked up to see his blue eyes staring into hers. Her skin sparkled with energy and desire.
“Ahem,” the shop owner said. “I don’t think much pasta-making will occur tonight.”
Elizabeth released herself from the spell. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”
The woman took her arm and walked her over to an aisle of gadgets. “It’s obvious what came over you.” She jerked her thumb at Marcos. “He did. And I don’t blame you a bit. Grab it while you can, honey. He’s too gorgeous to let get away.”
“Uh … sure.” Elizabeth said. Marcos may be good looking, but she still didn’t know what she was going to do with him. She forced her attention back to the clerk.
“Now, do you have a pasta maker?”
“No, I was going to use a rolling pin. I read on the Internet it was the best way to make pasta.”
“At least the Internet got something right. Then you need a rotella.” She picked up a small utensil that had a crinkled wheel at one end. “To cut the ravioli. That should be all you need, for now.”
The woman bustled to the cash register, Elizabeth following behind. Marcos joined them, handing the book to the woman who expectantly held her hand out. She rang up Elizabeth’s purchases, then reached under the counter and added a huge chunk of dark chocolate. “You need this,” she said. “For later.” She glanced at Marcos, leaned close to Elizabeth and whispered in her ear. “Aphrodisiac.”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh and handed the woman a credit card. As she waited for the transaction to clear, she wondered if the woman was right. Was the opportunity too good to let pass even if there was no future? Would making love to Marcos produce the same wonderment that kissing him had?
She shook the thought from her head. Too much, too fast. She needed to find out the secret he was hiding.
“Good luck,” the shopkeeper said.
After they got into the car, Marcos asked, “What was she saying to you?”
“Girl talk,” Elizabeth said and started up the engine, chuckling to herself.
“About … ?”
“I think she’s got the hots for you.”
“The hots?”
“She wants to … you know … hots!”
“Ahhh … I see.”
NPR chattered as Elizabeth pulled onto the mountain highway.
“That means,” Marcos said slowly, “I must have ‘the hots’ for you.”
Oh hell.
• • •
Elizabeth dropped Marcos at his hotel and drove home to change clothes for dinner and refresh her makeup. After she was done, she took a glance in the mirror. Highlighted eyes, sultry lips, a low-cut blouse and slim skirt were saying, “Yes,” even if her mind was saying, “No.”
Should she change? Or see what happened?
Looking at her watch, she realized she didn’t have time to change, even if she wanted to. Maybe if she kept the focus on Marcos, try to uncover whatever he was hiding, he wouldn’t notice her clothes.
Right.
She drove a little faster than normal through the back streets of Costanoa to the hotel. Once again, Marcos waited in the lobby.
He was gorgeous. The casual elegance of a white shirt unbuttoned lower than an American male would be comfortable with contrasted with creased flowing pants that accented the lower half of his lean body in all the right places. He took her breath away.
He smiled at her, a look that demonstrated he knew exactly what part of his anatomy she’d been examining.
“Shall we go?” He said as he walked up to her, smelling like fresh cloves and citrus.
“Yes. I have reservations at the Blackbird and we can’t be late. You’ll love it there. The food’s great … sometimes the service is slow … but it’s worth the wait. My favorite is the lamb with mint. I try not to think about it being a lamb … well, maybe I won’t have that tonight — ”
“Shh.” Marcos put his hand on her arm and steered her toward the door. “The dinner will be fine. I am with a smart, beautiful woman who makes me feel special. She adds all the spice to the food I need.”
The charge of his words and the heat of his hand made her skin sizzle. She was going to have a very difficult time refusing his kisses tonight.
She took a deep breath and then asked. “Were you able to get in touch with the other vineyard owner?”
“Yes. We can see him at one tomorrow. Perhaps we can see another winery or two when we go there?”
“Sure, if there’s time.”
The conversation remained casual until they reached the restaurant. Elizabeth was unsure how to bring up the questions she longed to ask. What did he mean by untrustworthy partners? How had his relationship with his wife ended? Had she cheated?
Or had he?
Elizabeth slipped her car into the parking place. Marcos helped her out and up the steps to the wooden boardwalk that served as the sidewalk in that part of town.
The Blackbird was housed in a squat clapboard building on the main road. Pale yellow walls were accented with off-white antiques and latticework. Mismatched tables and chairs topped highly polished, but uneven wood floors.
Would Marcos approve?
“Different,” Marcos said.
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked after they were seated. “Different?”
“I mean unusual. It is, how do you say,
antiquato
?”
“Antique? Oh, maybe quaint.”
“Yes. Quaint. I am glad you brought me here.” He lightly touched her hand. “It is a unique place.”
She looked up to see him staring at her, a slight smile on his face battering at the wall she was trying to build against him. Heat began to rise through her body.
“My name is Kathy.” A young, bright voice interrupted them. “I’ll be your server this evening.” Kathy went on to list the specials and then asked them if they wanted anything other than water to drink before their meal.
“I think,” Marcos said, “We should have a Syrah since the lady is having lamb.” He looked at Elizabeth. “A favorite winery for Syrah?”
“Martella,” she answered.
“Good choice,” Kathy chirped. “Do you know what you wish to have for dinner?” she asked Marcos.
“We wish to relax and take our time with our meal. After you come back with the wine, I’ll be able to tell you what we wish for appetizers.” He gave her the smile that had melted the waitress in Italy.
It had the same effect on Kathy. “Whatever you wish, sir.”
Unfortunately, the smile also melted Elizabeth. “I think you impressed her,” she said.
He smiled at her. “There is only one woman I wish to impress.”
Very deep trouble.
The waitress brought the bottle of wine and showed it to Marcos. He gestured toward Elizabeth. “It was the lady’s selection.”
“Of course.” Kathy turned the bottle to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth read the label and nodded, startled by Marcos’ courtesy. Neither Joe nor Bobby would have let her pick the wine, much less participate in the tasting ritual.
Kathy uncorked the wine and laid the cork in front of Elizabeth.
Elizabeth glanced up at Marcos and he smiled when she didn’t pick up the cork to sniff it. The proof was in the wine. She swirled and sniffed. Aromas of ripe fruit tickled her nose. A sip confirmed the flavor and a smoky finish rounded the taste of the wine in her mouth.
Marcos looked at her eagerly, as if he were a young boy waiting for the first summer’s ice cream.
She smiled and nodded.
He waited until both glasses were full before he tasted. As he sipped she watched him enjoy the taste of the wine in his mouth for several seconds, wondering what it would be like to sample the magnificent Syrah accented by the spice of Marcos’ mouth.
Immediately, she stuffed the thought back into the forbidden box in her mind. She had to resist the temptation of this man.
“Ahh,” he breathed. “Well done. Excellent choice for our meal.”
She smiled, her cheeks warming with his compliment.
Once their wine was served. Elizabeth turned the conversation to the vineyard they’d seen in the afternoon. “Is it totally hopeless?”
He shook his head. “No. In fact it is ideal. Because it needs so much work, I can probably negotiate the price lower than what he is asking. I sense he is tired. The death of his wife has made the place less interesting to him.”
“I wonder what it would be like to have a love that lasted a lifetime,” she said.
“I wondered the same.” He put down his glass and caressed her hand. “
Bella
, I am very attracted to you.”
“But — ”
He raised his finger. “I know. You have mentioned the obvious so many times I have come to believe that you really do live in California and I live in Liguria. And it complicates things.” He put his hand down and caressed her again. “All I am asking is that you open up a little to me and to the unknown possibility.”
“How can I when I don’t know you.” Or the secret you are hiding.
He leaned forward. “The knowing happens when we spend time together.”
But the more they knew each other, the more she’d be open to hurt. She started to speak and he raised his finger again. “When I buy a vineyard here, I will need to spend time in California, particularly if the place is like the one we saw today. There is much to do. We will be able to get to know each other.” He shrugged. “Then we can surmount the impossibility that we live on different continents. It will be easy.”
Nothing about you will ever be easy.
Their server checked in with them and Marcos gave her the order he’d confirmed with Elizabeth.
He took another sip of his wine. “Even if I can get the owner of the vineyard to lower the price, it’s going to take a great deal of money to get it into shape. The rootstock looks good and the vines will thrive once they are properly pruned. If I were able to close by early January, I could clear enough to start pruning by March.” He smiled at her. “Of course, it would go faster if I had help.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Me? You expect me to remove scrub brush?”
“It is no different from gardening, I think. The weeds are just a little bigger.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“We’ll see.”
The challenge glove had been thrown. He was daring her to do something, anything out of her comfort zone. And damn it was tempting.
The dance continued through their meal. She’d attempt to keep the conversation on neutral subjects and he’d counter with a double-loaded statement. At the end of the dinner, her nerves were on fire from desire and denial.
“Perhaps tomorrow you will let me drive?” Marcos asked as they settled into her car.
She arched her eyebrows at him.
“That looks like a ‘no’,” he said. “I am a good driver. You went with me in Italy.”
“That’s why I won’t let you drive. Too risky.”
“Ah.” He was silent for a moment. “Why are you so afraid of risk?”
Elizabeth halted the car at a four-way stop sign. She revved up the hill toward his hotel before she answered. “I take risks in my business. That’s enough for me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
No. She wasn’t sure. But she wasn’t about to let him know that.
“Why don’t you let me off here,” he said when they reached the darkened end of the parking lot.
She pulled over and stopped, her heart racing.
He stepped out of the car, came to her side, opened the door, and extended his hand.
She placed her hand in his and stepped out of the car. He tucked her hand under his arm and began to walk down the sidewalk, away from the hotel.
“I imagine the moon is quite beautiful when it is full and shining brightly on the cove,” he said. “Tonight I am glad it is only a sliver.”