Valentine Kisses
North Beach Bakery Book One
Reina M. Williams
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to places, establishments, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and the work of the author’s imagination.
Copyright © 2021 Reina M. Williams
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Cover design via Canva/photo estefaniavizcaino
All rights reserved.
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First Digital Edition/February 2021
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
Vincente stared down the hill into the curves of the San Francisco streets. Somewhere in the crush of buildings, a green of park in the center, sat North Beach Bakery. He’d avoided the place for years, doing his part to keep the peace between the Bianchi and the Marchesi families, sending employees in his place to buy the not-to-be-rivaled baked goods.
So much for his rule about avoiding the bakery. With Uncle Enzo and Celeste Marchesi getting married, the families would be connected again. So, he’d agreed to do this favor for Uncle Enzo in escorting Celeste’s granddaughter, Gina, to a charity ball, along with the older couple. Gina had to be in her early twenties by now, but he only remembered her as an awkward, sincere, smart teen working at the bakery whom he’d tried to be kind to, since her family had been going through some hard times. He could relate.
That was another reason he’d agreed to be Gina’s date to the heart health charity ball: to honor the memories of his parents, who’d passed when he was fifteen. His mom had died of a heart attack while driving, and his dad was also fatally injured in the ensuing accident. Grandpop and Grandma Theresa had taken him in, and his family, and his faith, had supported him through the grief.
This isn’t the time for thinking of the dead. He said a quick prayer for peace and patience.
Turning back to Uncle Enzo’s door, he cringed. Vincente wasn’t a charity ball kind of man, or a last-minute-plans one either. Tugging at his tux coat, he shrugged, trying to ease the grip of his suit. The jacket tightened across his shoulders and back like his sense of duty had finally caught him in a bind. He rolled his shoulders forward. He hadn’t even worn a tux at his own wedding. He rocked his neck side to side. His life was different now. His wife, and the man he’d been five years before, were gone. Now he lived by a new set of rules, one that kept his life calm, his family on an even keel, and his goals accomplished. Except one.
He huffed out a breath and checked his tie. If he had to wear this, he’d at least make sure it was smooth and his tie straight.
“Vincente,” Uncle Enzo said, gripping his shoulder. Vincente hadn’t even seen him walk out. “Are you well?”
Vincente shook his head and stepped toward the limo. He shouldn’t have agreed to do this. He should’ve just donated a few thousand to the women’s heart health group instead of getting roped into taking Grandpop’s place at the charity ball. But Grandpop and Uncle Enzo were right: Vincente’s parents would want him to do it, to honor his mom’s memory and raise money so someday no one would go through what his parents had. Besides, he said yes to his grandpop and great uncle when he could.
They sat and Pete pulled away, heading down the hill to North Beach Bakery.
“You’re not well? Do we need to go back?” Uncle Enzo broke into his thoughts again.
“I’m okay. Just not excited to be doing this. But since Grandpop got stuck in Carmel, and you said Celeste’s granddaughter was looking forward to going... I’ll get over it and try to make it a good evening for her.”
Uncle Enzo nodded. The other wrinkle was it being Valentine’s Day weekend, no less. A weekend Vincente had, somewhere in his hope-dimmed heart, thought he’d be with a special someone. Instead, a widower of five years, he was standing in for Grandpop, escorting Gina Marchesi to a ball. He was no Grandpop, who was a legend at charming women of all ages. Vincente rubbed his palms on his slacks. Some goals couldn’t be accomplished no matter how many rules and lists he made. He’d married out of such a practical mindset before and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. But that was one mistake he didn’t know how to course correct. Letting love find him seemed too unpredictable, and it wasn’t working.
“We thought it would be a nice gesture to bring Gina along, since she and Celeste haven’t spent much time together these last six years Gina’s been away. Vittorio thinks you and Gina will get along, and maybe you can smooth the way to peace with her family. My brother is trying to win over the Marchesis, but I fear it will be a losing effort.”
“I haven’t seen Gina since she was sixteen.” He’d moved away when he’d married his late wife after they’d finished college. He shook his head, both to displace the regrets, and vague memories of young Gina. Unlike her father, she’d treated Vincente with respect and kindness. “They can’t stop you marrying Celeste, but I know you both want peace in the families.”
His uncle and Celeste, both in their seventies, deserved this second chance at love. Vincente also wanted to end this ridiculous drama between his family and the Marchesis, which was another reason he’d agreed to go tonight. Though if Gina were still that quiet, clumsy girl he’d known, they’d be in for a long night, as he wasn’t much of a conversationalist either.
They stopped in front of the bakery, a North Beach favorite for fifty years. Tucked in a row of old buildings, the bakery took up the ground floor of a three-story Edwardian, while flats where Frank Marchesi Jr. and his family lived filled the other levels. Two sets of rounded bay windows curved above a wide green and white awning which indicated the storefront. Though the building seemed sound, it could use an update to the cracking cream-colored paint and thinning awning. He and Uncle Enzo walked in, and Vincente was taken back to the times he’d stopped in at the bakery. Gina, all gangly legs and shy smiles, helping her grandpa Frank ring up customers or stock the shelves, including an extra cookie or two in his order. Celeste’s famous cookies and breads scented the air along with Italian roast coffee, even though the cases were empty, as they were closed for the night.
Celeste, nearly as tall as lean and dapper Uncle Enzo, wore a burgundy gown, her short white hair in waves. After kissing Uncle Enzo’s cheek, she turned her usual serene smile on Vincente. “It’s been too long, Vincente. Glad to see you.”
“You too.” He avoided the bakery since he’d moved back five years before, because usually Frank Marchesi, Celeste’s youngest son, manned the counter. Frank didn’t like him or his family, for reasons he didn’t really understand.
“Gina will be right down. Would you like to sit?” She motioned to one of the old square wooden tables that lined the compact space. Shelves with various Italian specialty items stood against the far walls, while posters of the Amalfi Coast occupied the others. Vincente’s family was also from the region, and they maintained a house in Vico Equense, near some of his Italian cou
sins’ properties.
“I’m okay, thanks.” He paced to the shelves, trying to shake the discomfort of the evening and the hostility waving off Frank, who appeared, putting chairs up on the tables.
Vincente greeted him, but Frank only responded with a grunt. The stocky, dark-haired man’s greenish-blue eyes seemed to want to drown Vicente with a look. Respecting his elders was something Vincente had been taught, but at thirty to Frank’s fifty-something, he believed the respect should be mutual, or at least default to basic politeness.
Frank’s voice boomed out while Vincente was perusing the shelves. “You watch out for your grandma,” he said.
Vincente turned and stilled. His thoughts about what Frank just said, and implied, faded as he took in the beautiful woman standing next to Celeste. Gina...glowed. And she had a body that caused him to do a double-take—smooth lightly bronzed skin, reminiscent of his favorite golden-white sandy beach; ample curves highlighted by her low-cut white dress, her waist flaring in slightly, then giving way to rounded hips... He tugged at his collar and focused on the poster-covered far wall, hoping to stop his speeding-toward-inappropriate thoughts. All people deserved respect, and as Celeste’s granddaughter, Gina wasn’t someone he should think of as a possible romantic partner. Not that she would be interested in him. From what he’d heard, she dated men, but that was nearly the extent of his knowledge about adult Gina. Now, he wanted to know more.
Celeste introduced them, but instead of shaking hands, Gina gave him a small wave and took her Grandma’s arm on the other side of Uncle Enzo.
“Night, Dad,” Gina called. “Don’t wait up.”
Vincente scrubbed his hand over his mouth to hide his amusement at how Gina stood up to her dad’s presumption, and followed the three out of the bakery, trying to keep his eyes off of Gina’s enticing curves and his mind off her quick comeback. Snap out of it.
But he couldn’t, as he sat across from her in the limo, listening to her chat with Celeste, admiring not just her outer beauty, but her wit and intelligence, while she and Celeste ranged topics from the latest jazz albums to San Francisco history to the Beat Poets. How had the skinny, awkward, sometimes melancholy teen turned into this gorgeous, vivacious woman? He didn’t need an answer, and he let himself bask in her glow, if only for the limo ride. Then he needed to put a cap on his enjoyment. Because admiring or dating a family-adjacent woman was against his rules.
Again, not that she would want to date him. She hadn’t even given him a second glance. They soon pulled up to the Fairmont. He couldn’t take in the scenery, as Gina gathered his attention as surely as a flame did a moth. What a cliché. He really shouldn’t have had those couple of drinks before picking up Uncle Enzo, but it had been a long week and he’d needed a quick pick-me-up. He should’ve had coffee instead.
The gold and blue Venetian Room at the Fairmont was showy, with its gold-damask-covered walls and cream, gold, and blue accents, heavy fabrics and opulent accessories a foil for the red and black sea of formal wear. Gina stood out, with her white gown and her flowy hair, as if she were a mermaid miraculously placed on land. Or more like a goddess emerged from dewy spray.
He shook his head. She’s a woman, with feelings and thoughts and obvious intelligence. Stop idealizing her.
The up side was she made him want to be his best self. He’d have to see. Maybe they could at least be friends.
The dance floor in front of them teemed with people. Some sat at the cloth-covered tables dotting the room. A bar stood in a corner. He shouldn’t have another drink, though, not unless Gina wanted to join him.
Vincente stood still for a moment longer. Shoot, he was staring at Gina again. Fortunately, she was talking to Celeste, so she probably hadn’t noticed. He’d sure noticed her, and he didn’t like it. He’d been comfortable in his rule-driven life these last years, nothing shaking his focus. Gina shook him to his core, and he couldn’t get away, as he’d made a promise to Grandpop and Uncle Enzo. He’d just have to double down on closing off his feelings and get through the night. Whatever he felt, he had to focus on his task.
GINA PULLED HER SHOULDERS back as Grandma and Enzo moved onto the dance floor. When she’d heard that it would be Vincente Bianchi escorting her and not his grandfather, she’d hesitated, but Dad was insistent that she go to keep an eye on Grandma. Gina had decided that this might be her one chance at a date with her teenage crush and then she’d get him out of her mind once and for all. He couldn’t possibly live up to the dream Vincente she’d built in her mind. Once she’d put this fantasy aside, she could really focus on why she’d moved home: save North Beach Bakery, Grandpa Frank’s legacy.
She rubbed a hand on her hip. Her rhinestone-encrusted stilettos were almost as uncomfortable as the dress she wore. But both her sleek, low-cut white dress, and the high heels, had seemed like a good idea when someone had sent her new dresses and shoes to choose from for this night. The gesture of some mysterious godperson made her feel like Cinderella getting ready for the ball. And here she was, her younger self’s dream come true, dressed up and on a date with Vincente Bianchi.
Though she could’ve seen Vincente soon enough, what with Grandma Celeste engaged to his great uncle Enzo, she wanted to meet Vincente without her family right there. Grandma would spot her flirting from another room, which would be embarrassing and a hassle and a half if Mom and Dad found out she had a crush on Vincente. She’d managed to keep it hidden for the last eleven years, since she was thirteen, so why ruin a good secret?
Gina studied the room, shifting on her feet at feeling Vincente’s presence beside her. The grand room shone with nostalgic opulence. A cream-colored side door stood in a far corner. Handy to know, in case she needed to make a quick escape if she did something embarrassing. Sometimes her impulsiveness didn’t work out well.
Vincente leaned forward, apparently trying to catch her eye. “Would you like to dance?”
She glanced at him. He stood tall and crossed his arms. The scrutiny of his deep-set brown eyes told her of his intensity and intelligence. That much about him hadn’t changed. He used to chat with her about Italy and its fairy tales as if she were his equal, not a middle-schooler to his then college-aged self. If anything, he was even more magnetic than she remembered.
“Yes, a dance.” She glanced away and tugged on her earlobe, her dangling earring jingling. Music drifted around the room: Tony Bennett. Grandma Celeste and Grandpa Frank used to dance around North Beach Bakery to Tony Bennett. Laughing, sometimes letting her dance between them. Or her dad would lift her in his arms and twirl with her. She swallowed and blinked. Everything had been right back then. She had to find—or make—that world again.
Vincente eased his posture and offered his arm. She hesitated then looped her arm under his and they walked forward, her face heating. The blast of warm air from a vent didn’t help. He was also stronger than she’d imagined, his bicep bulging just enough to show he worked out on the regular. Her awareness of Vincente heightened with the scent of coffee, and bodies close together, dancing. Not just dancing, but the implication of romance, the excitement of flirting, of new attraction.
They wove through the crowd to the dance floor. Vincente gripped her closer to him, as if to keep her from being jostled around. His lean body pressed near hers gave her an all-too-familiar tingling and thought-dampening sensation.
Before she had time to gather her wits, he slid his arm around her waist and grasped her right hand, maneuvering her into a dance. She had little choice but to place her left hand on his shoulder. His muscles hardened under her touch, which made her soften. She tried to edge away. Having a dream come true was a lot more uncomfortable than she’d imagined. And he was all too real, all too appealing, and all too...dreamy. She stepped back abruptly.
Vincente cocked his head at her odd movement. “Uncomfortable?” He moved her around with the grace of an athletic dancer, like Gene Kelly appeared in those old movies she used to watch with Grandma Celeste.
Gina lifted her hand off his shoulder slightly. Too much contact with him threw her.
“How is it for you, being home?”
“It’s different.” It had been warmer in LA, but inside she’d grown colder. Being home warmed her, but going soft from the heat wasn’t helping. “What about you?”
“I’m settled in. While I didn’t grow up here, it’s home.”
Great, another point in his favor. This was her home too. From the heat and sensations his touch produced, she was about ready to crawl out of her skin like she’d have to peel herself out of her dress later. She turned her face to the side and blew out a breath.
“So, you left your life down south?”
“Yes. How’s your life?” She wasn’t ready to reveal anything to him yet.
He raised his dark eyebrows. “Fine.”
Oh, good one, Gina, you just asked him the same thing twice. This wasn’t going well so far. Where was the woman who could command anything from a work meeting to a barroom?
She was being shouted down by fourteen-year-old Gina, who was practically screeching and bouncing: You’re dancing with Vincente Bianchi!
“You working at the bakery?”
“Yes,” she murmured at a swell in the music. She tried to keep her hands away from the swell of his muscles.
“What’s that? You’re working for them?”
“Yes. You’re familiar with that, aren’t you?”
“You’re full of questions.” His deadpan expression cut into the satisfaction she’d felt from being in his arms. She wasn’t getting anywhere.
“So are you.”
“Seems we’re at an impasse.” He smiled, a brief flash of mirth.
She forced herself to frown. He was too handsome and smart. Or just the right amount. And just as crush-worthy as ever. Except now she wasn’t a gangly teen. She was a woman who was on a kind-of date with her teenage crush, and she was embodying fourteen-year-old Gina all too well. Doubt chilled her, unwelcome cold in a new fermentation. Her faith in herself, her choices, her family, her religion, had withered and hardened, a piece of dough left out too long.
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