When a long sheet lay across her table, she stopped to pull out the ricotta mixture she’d made days ago in anticipation. She spread it across the bottom layer, covered it with a second layer of dough and cut the squares.
While the tender pockets boiled, she poured a second cup of coffee, still ignoring the disaster around her. At the ding of the timer, she pulled out a few raviolis and shaved parmesan cheese over them.
She sat down with her bowl and began to eat.
The back door slammed open. “What the hell happened here?” Sarah’s voice shrieked.
“I made ravioli. Have some. They’re delicious.”
Elizabeth stepped off the plane in Genoa the day after Christmas. As she navigated the hallways and lines of Italian customs, she kept repeating her mantra, “Heart and hands, heart and hands.”
In the days since the ravioli explosion in her kitchen, she’d looked at her life with new eyes. She realized she’d spent most it making up for a mistake she’d made as a teenager. Letting go of her self-imposed disappointment was going to be difficult, but she was determined to do it.
The coach, Carol, had helped her sort through a lot of her thinking. A week before Christmas, Carol had proudly announced that Elizabeth was done. Lara had never sued her. And, right before she got on the plane, the bank had called her to let her know her loan had been approved.
It was going to be a banner year.
The only thing causing her worry was Sarah who appeared to be tired all the time.
She pushed aside her concern and smiled when she saw Marcos standing on the other side of the custom’s gate, a bouquet of red roses in his hands. His eyes lit up when he spotted her. But when he turned to say something to the young woman next to him, Elizabeth’s steps faltered.
Marcos snaked through the crowd, the woman close behind him. When he reached Elizabeth, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth on hers.
Heart and hands.
Elizabeth sent her nagging worry to the back of her mind and slipped into the kiss. Her tongue caressed his, absorbing the smokiness of coffee and lust. He increased his pressure and she drifted into a place where no one else existed.
A cleared throat interrupted their passion.
“
Buone Natale
!” Marcos said as he disengaged from her embrace. “This is my daughter, Gina.”
The young woman held out her hand. “
Buone Natale
, Elizabeth. My father has talked so much about you that I feel I already know you.” She turned to her father. “Give her the flowers, take her bags, and let’s go. You know Nana will be unhappy if we are late for lunch.”
The power of Nanas.
Marcos laughed and did as he’d been told.
Elizabeth smiled as he took her hand and led her out of the airport. It was going to be a beautiful Christmas holiday.
Before I moved to Montana, I spent 16 years on the Central California Coast. My husband and I met there, discovered we liked wine-tasting and proceeded to write two books on the subject. Once we completed the first of these projects without any blood-letting, we figured it was safe to get married — at a winery, of course.
We also liked to take day trips in the region. In a small gift shop, tucked up a hill in Sausalito, I discovered
The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken
. Being a New Jersey native, the book intrigued me. So does the idea of making ravioli, but I haven’t ventured into that sphere of cooking yet. Should you want to take the plunge, the author of the book, Laura Schenone, has many informative YouTube videos.
Finally, if you’re curious about the fictional town of Costanoa, be sure to stop by my website (
www.stories-about-love.com
), to discover the real restaurants, shops and locations behind the California Romance Series.
I look forward to bringing you back to Costanoa again with my next book.
Annie strode into her boss’s office to answer his summons.
Maybe I’m finally going to get a bonus this year!
It would be great to be able to sock that money away in David’s college fund.
She grabbed the printouts off Randy’s chair and dropped them to the floor with a thud. “It’s going great, Randy,” she said. “The next piece of the project is nailed down and we’re still on track.”
“Close the door, please,” he said.
“I’m counting on this project to showcase what I can do for the company.” Annie shut the door and plopped down in the chair, her pen poised over her pad as she leaned forward. How should she react? Surprised? Matter of fact?
Randy cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck. “I’m afraid the project has been terminated.”
“What?”
“JCN needs to cut costs,” he started. “Ten thousand people are being laid off from the company.”
“There’s got to be another project somewhere.”
Randy pawed through the papers on his desk. “There
is
another project you can apply for. You’d be great for one in New Jersey and they could use your skills. It’s complex and government-mandated — one of those impossible situations you’re good at handling.”
“I can’t move to New Jersey.” She’d been to New Jersey once — boardwalks, billboards, and Bruce Springsteen. Not a place she could ever imagine living. And she couldn’t drag her son away from his friends. He was only fifteen.
“C’mon, Annie. Give it a chance. I’d hate for the company to lose you.”
She shook her head.
New Jersey may have been fine for Frank Sinatra, but it wasn’t fine for her. It had taken so long after her divorce to feel secure again. She had her friends, her home, her cats.
“There’s nothing in the company in this area for someone with your skills. I looked. If you aren’t willing to apply for the job, then I have no choice. I have to lay you off. Even if you do apply, there’s no guarantee that you’ll get the job in New Jersey. You may be laid off anyway.”
Her stomach dropped and the bitter smell of Randy’s coffee became nauseating. She stared out the window, not really seeing the rain-greened California hills, unable to believe what she was hearing. What was she going to do? Randy’s voice streamed around her, and her mind snagged phrases like “severance package,” “layoff procedure,” and “resume class.” She gripped the arms of the chair as if she was trying to steady a rocking boat.
An ache began in the back of her neck. She needed this job. No one else was going to support David or provide medical benefits. She was going to have to do something to keep a salary coming in. And with the economy the way it was, chances of finding a new job soon would be slim, especially for a thirty-five-year-old woman. Unemployment wouldn’t cover her mortgage, much less her other expenses.
Maybe she could learn to like New Jersey. After all, she liked Bruce Springsteen. Boardwalks and billboards might grow on her. There
was
an ocean, even if it wasn’t the Pacific.
But what about David? Would her ex fight her for custody if she tried to move their son out of state? Her stomach roiled and she forced back the tears welling in her eyes.
Never cry in the office. Never.
“You have six weeks before the layoff is final.” He gathered papers into a folder. “In the meantime, look these over. Annie?” He held the papers out to her. “I really hope you change your mind.”
She took a deep breath, looked Randy in the eye and took the folder, feeling like the proverbial truck had just slammed into her.
But she wouldn’t show it if she could help it.
So she threw back her shoulders and marched to her eight-by-eight office. Gently closing her office door behind her, she hurled her pad, pen, papers, and keys on her desk. Damn! She ran her hands through her curls. It would make her already frizzy hair stand out like Young Frankenstein’s, but she didn’t care.
Tears rolled down her face. She was tired of being the strong one, handling everything by herself. And now this. She’d worked at this company for eight years. How could they lay her off? Or worse, send her to godforsaken New Jersey?
She slid her laptop and Randy’s folder into her canvas bag and put on her “gently used” Burberry raincoat. Her head held high, low heels sounding a brisk staccato on the cement walkway, she strode out into the chill March air to the parking lot.
Her mind raced as she opened the door to her Prius. How could she move to New Jersey, leave behind her friends, and abandon the small beach bungalow that had been her sanctuary ever since the divorce? On the other hand, how could she give up a job that provided security and benefits for her child? David was going to go to college soon. Being laid off would destroy the nest egg she’d built for his college fund. Her ex wasn’t going to be any help. He could barely take care of himself. She slammed the door a little harder than she meant to do.
What would David think about moving to New Jersey? Could she make him understand? David was doing his part. He kept his grades up and practiced soccer faithfully. She was so proud of him and she couldn’t let him down.
She stared out the window, idly watching the moving clouds and changing light patterns as the sun peeked in and out. The recession had hurt Silicon Valley hard. She’d been working long enough to make it to management, the worst place to be during a recession.
She should at least look into the job in New Jersey.
Tomorrow I’ll figure out what they’re looking for and find out how to apply.
A small ray of hope filled her. Maybe a move would be okay. She could make a list and see what it would take. She glanced out the windshield. In a cone of sunlight, she spotted a soaring hawk. She trailed its spiral flight on an updraft, its red tail gleamed in the small patch of sunlit clouds. An omen that New Jersey was the right path? Or a signal that she was doing the wrong thing?
Tears threatened again, but she forced them back. She was still in the JCN parking lot and no one at the company was going to see her cry. She pressed the start button and started home.
She drove automatically, oblivious to the towering redwoods fading in and out of low-lying fog as she climbed the mountain highway. Her mind churned over the scene in Randy’s office, her emotions twisting and turning with the curves of the road.
“Some choice,” she muttered. “Lose my job or go to New Jersey. Start all over again. Find a new place to live. Pack up all my stuff!” Her knuckles whitened as her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to pack up a house?” she yelled at the curve-ahead sign.
She zoomed up the hill, thoughts reeling through her brain, trying to still her emotions with logic. She’d made a good living through perseverance and hard work when no one thought she’d be more than a check-out clerk. This was a little bump in the road; that was all. No one was going to take away all she’d achieved, even if it meant she had to move to New Jersey.
Rapid raindrops pummeled her windshield, forcing her attention back to the road. She didn’t need an accident on top of everything else. What she needed was some relief. On impulse, she turned north on Highway 1 instead of south toward home. For years, the Ocean Reads bookstore had been her sanctuary from the craziness of her marriage. A cup of tea and a new romance novel would give her some downtime before she tried to convince David that moving would be a good thing.
She drove into the covered parking garage. Right on cue, a faded, wired-together Volvo pulled out of a space. She swung in with ease, beating out the Volkswagen bus headed for the same spot. At least something was going her way.
Inside Ocean Reads, she shook the raindrops from her coat and glanced around. Everything was as it should be: locals sat on the banquette under the clock, parents and children pored over brightly colored books in the children’s section, and patrons hunted through the used book boxes for bargains.
Her shoulders relaxed as she began her usual routine, wending through the sections of the bookstore, her fingers caressing the stories of other people’s lives, loves, and imaginations.
She browsed stacks of books on the current fiction table, migrating to the piles of romance novels. The covers showing multi-muscled men made her sigh. Fantasy had been her escape from real life since she was a kid — especially when reality was the pits. Fictional heroes weren’t the trouble that real men were, either. One book cover showed a rugged Stetson-topped cowboy posed in front of prairie grasslands; in the distance, snow-capped mountains towered. She stared at the cowboy, imagining herself carried off on horseback to a remote cabin in the Rockies, her worries forgotten.
Perfect.
She picked it up and walked toward the register.
And stopped short.
There he was. Long and lanky, with broad shoulders and slim hips. Thick dark brown hair brushed the top of his collar. Rippling muscles strained against his pale blue shirt as he carried an enormous stack of books to the front of the store. All he needed was the Stetson.
I haven’t seen him before. He must be new. I would have noticed.
Her eyes drifted down to the curve of his butt cradled by tight blue jeans.
Definitely would have noticed.
She strolled forward, keeping her eye on the man. If she worked her way to the front before he did, she could glimpse his face. Would it be as wonderful as the rest of him?
The clerk turned and caught her staring. Sky-blue eyes burned into hers. His thin lips twitched slightly and he gave her a nod as if he were tipping a hat.
Heat moved up Annie’s neck and warmed her cheeks. Jeez, she’d been caught gawking like a schoolgirl. Escaping out of sight to the magazine section, she spotted the latest
Cosmopolitan
. “Fifteen Ways to Spice up Your Sex Life!” No way. She needed something boring, something to tamp down the steam rising within her. Food and flowers — every woman’s refuge when she didn’t want to think about sex. Her hand skimmed the glossy covers and pulled out one to hide behind.
You’re being ridiculous
, a voice from the Greek chorus that lived in her head announced. Annie ignored it. Her eyes strayed back to the
Cosmo
cover. It wouldn’t take much to spice up her sex life; it had been so long since she’d been with a man she wasn’t sure she’d remember what to do with one.