“I’d like the ring to be part of happiness, to carry on the love I felt for Marina.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died a few months ago, peacefully, at the convent.”
“That’s the convent in Italy you send money to?” Leave it to Grandpop to have these stories. Vincente didn’t. He hadn’t really lived his life, hadn’t experienced an overwhelming true love like he wanted. He sat back and gripped the armrests of the chair.
“Yes, the sisters deserve support.” Grandpop rose and took his glass to the bar. He turned back to Vincente. “You take the ring, nipote. Never know when you might need it.”
Vincente narrowed his eyes at Grandpop, suspicious. “I’m not even seeing anyone.” He’d seen a lot of Gina. His body lightened, the aches soothed by the flash of Gina gazing up at him as they’d sat together.
“Love strikes when you least expect it.”
Vincente knew that. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. Sometimes, even when you loved someone, the relationship failed. He saw no reason it would be different with Gina. Not that he loved her. He rocked his neck, the tension creeping back. This thing with Gina was so sudden, unexpected, happening fast.
“Not for someone like me.” He was too ordered and practical to not see love coming.
Grandpop clapped him on the back and chuckled. “You’re in for it.” He shook his head and offered Vincente the ring again. “Humor me. Take the ring.”
He shrugged. “Sure, I’ll keep it for you.”
“Good. Get back to work.”
“I will.”
“We’re throwing Enzo and Celeste an engagement party this Saturday. You’re expected.”
He gripped the door. “Why a party? They’re getting married next month.”
“Not if Frank has anything to say about it. We need to do something to mollify them.”
“He probably won’t come.”
“Leave Saturday free. Starts at six.” Grandpop strode through to his bedroom door, on the far side of the room, shutting it behind him.
They never disturbed each other in their bedrooms—their sanctuaries. Neither of them ever even brought women home. Grandpop went out, or to the house in Carmel, while Vincente stayed out or went to his date’s place, until Gina. He’d broken so many of his own rules for her, with her.
Maybe it was time to break with those rules, and build something new with Gina. He texted Uncle Sal to finalize plans for his date with Gina. Hopefully, it would be the answer to both of their questions.
Chapter Ten
Gina walked up the hill to Enzo’s, where she’d be meeting Grandma Celeste. Better to let Grandma in on this date with Vincente, as she didn’t want anyone else in the family to know. Grandma had suggested that Gina could change at Enzo’s, since Grandma would already be there for dinner that evening. Gina’s steps, even up the steep hill, felt lighter. She’d been working on trusting her feelings, and on seeing how she hadn’t done that in her previous relationships. Now she congratulated herself for trusting her feelings about Vincente, and the grace she was given. Even if it turned out to be a mistake, that was okay, and was part of her humanness. But she believed what was happening with Vincente was meant to be.
She stopped and closed her eyes to the shimmering skyline. Vincente. How he’d looked at her, how he’d spoken to her, how he’d held her hand when she’d told him thoughts she hadn’t shared with anyone else, all filled her with warmth and...and more. But could there be more? It would be a lot to convince Dad to accept Grandma and Enzo. He wouldn’t accept her and Vincente too. She didn’t want to damage the shaky peace between their families, but she wanted to see where she and Vincente were headed, together.
She ran forward with a skip like she used to when she was a girl. She tripped and skidded on her knees, almost face-planting. She pushed herself up. Running forward, that’s what she was doing with Vincente, trying to take in life, but it happened too fast, she fell too fast. Still, she could get up and move forward. That’s what she did—got her heart broken, closed it off, moved on. Her hands clenched. She wasn’t ready to give up on this chance with Vincente.
Her knees both streaked with blood. It wasn’t so bad. Then she stepped forward. Her knees stung and she closed her eyes. Her body warmed again as the image of Vincente, when he’d bandaged her cut at Enzo’s, flashed through her mind. She held her purse and walked on.
She had to get there and clean herself up. She sucked in a breath, forcing her mind away from the stinging pain. She ran across the street. Enzo’s house was just up the block. This was also her chance to apologize to Enzo. She rang the doorbell and nibbled at the inside of her lip. She hadn’t been very kind to Enzo the other day, and had rudely run out on dinner.
The door opened. Enzo smiled at her. He appeared the dapper gentleman, as usual, his silver hair gleaming, a crisp shirt, neatly pressed slacks and Italian loafers completing the picture. “Gina, Celeste said you’d be here.”
“She’s here?” She glanced over his shoulder.
Enzo nodded and motioned her in. He shut the door. “She’s in the kitchen. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“I, I wanted to say I’m sorry for being rude. I know you love Grandma, and I’m happy for you both.” She glanced at him.
“Thank you, my dear. This means very much to me. And, your father?”
She shook her head. “He’ll come around.” She and her parents had spoken last night. Dad had apologized for the way he’d acted all those years ago, but he was still not accepting of Enzo and his family. Still, there was progress, which was more than she’d believed possible last week. Grace.
Enzo nodded. “Come.” He touched her elbow, guiding her into the kitchen.
They walked into the bright room. Grandma sat at the table. She smiled when she saw Gina. Then she frowned and rose, her chair scraping behind her.
“Dear, what happened to your knees? Enzo, please get the first aid kit.”
Enzo’s footsteps sounded behind Gina, disappearing into the foyer.
Grandma pulled out a chair and sat Gina in it. “Are you all right?” Grandma’s forehead crinkled in concern. She held Gina’s hand.
“I’m fine, thanks, Grandma. I can clean up.” She tried to stand, but Grandma stayed her.
“Let me. It will give me joy to help you. Like when you were little, remember? You were always scraping your knees and elbows. We thought Frankie would be the one climbing and jumping, but he hated getting dirty unless it was with his paints. But you...you were our little adventurer.” Grandma patted her leg.
“And I did it again. I was skipping.” She smiled.
“I’m happy. You’re getting back to yourself.” Grandma held her hand.
Was she, though? She couldn’t ever be that little girl again. She wanted to be the woman she’d felt with Vincente. They could have something special together. And that meant when—if—her heart broke, it would be in a bigger way than ever before. She said a prayer, asking for guidance, for strength. Just saying the words let in a little shimmer of calm. She’d survived the heartbreaks in her family; she would be okay. Vincente was right. And this time, maybe her heart wouldn’t break, but would remain whole and loved. Because she was already whole and loved, and romantic heartbreak wouldn’t change that.
Enzo entered the room and handed Grandma the kit and a damp washcloth. Enzo strode to the sink. Grandma set the first aid kit on the table and pulled out cream. She patted Gina’s knees with the cloth then dabbed on some cream.
“Do you want bandages, dear? They’ve stopped bleeding.”
She shook her head. She’d be okay.
“Have you hurt yourself somewhere else?” Grandma asked.
“I’m good,” she said.
Enzo and Grandma let out low sighs, in unison. Gina almost smiled at how in-sync they were. As she and Vincente could be, like they were when they embraced. She bit the inside of her cheek. She’d been wrong about love before.
But she was
different; Vincente was different. She knew him, or she felt she did. Even when she was an awkward fourteen-year-old, he’d seen her. Really looked at her and asked how she was and listened to the answer. Sometimes, she’d told him she’d been teased, and he acknowledged how mean it was, and how he’d felt the way she had, and that it got better. Not that people necessarily did, but that a person could build themselves up inside and find support and the courage to call out bullies. He’d been right. Being with him felt right.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” Grandma said.
She shook her head again. Enzo helped Grandma up. The look of concern and love on his face cemented Gina’s new, tender belief that he was the man for Grandma, that he helped her be happy.
Grandma sat in the chair next to Gina’s. Enzo walked to the stove, pulled out a small pan, and set it on the burner. Then he went to the fridge and took the milk, pouring some into the pan. He added some cinnamon and sugar and stirred it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” Grandma said.
“How can we get Dad to accept this?”
“I don’t know, dear. He might listen to you.”
“Me?”
“You’re his little girl.”
She grimaced.
“I know you’re a woman now, and your dad knows too. But it’s hard for him. He knows he made a lot of mistakes with you, with his family, but he’s so proud, and stubborn. Now that you’re grown up, he knows he can’t go back. I think he feels stuck. But his apology last night, that was a beginning.”
She knew that feeling of stuckness. She’d felt that in LA, and in her old thoughts. Coming home had freed her in a way, brought her back to herself, and maybe to a new start with her family. And, now her prayers joined Grandma’s. Miracles, of the everyday kind, could happen. Dad apologizing was one. More could happen, a basketful.
Enzo placed a cup of steamy milk and a plate of cookies on the table next to Gina.
“I used to make this for my daughters and granddaughter whenever they were hurt or upset. You may be too mature for such treatment, but I hope you’ll excuse an old man for his quirks.” He waved a hand, as if to dismiss an eccentricity. But to Gina, it was kindness. Grandfatherly concern.
He was kind; he had that in common with Grandpa Frank. “Thank you. No one’s ever too old for cookies and milk.” She smiled again. Enzo returned the gesture.
He sat next to Grandma and took her hand in his. Grandma beamed.
“I hear there’s a party on Saturday,” Gina said.
“Yes, that’s my brother. He enjoys a celebration.” Enzo spoke indulgently.
She sipped the milk. Its sweet warmth matched her feelings about Grandma. Still, there was a hard road to convince Dad to come to that party, to give the Bianchis a chance. A song sprang to mind, one Dad used to play: “‘All we are saying is give peace a chance...’”
“We Marchesis are no strangers to celebrating.”
“Another commonality,” Enzo said, his voice full of warmth.
“We have more than I thought.” Hopefully, Dad would see that as well.
AN HOUR LATER, GINA turned and examined her outfit choice in the mirror. The red dress hugged her chest and waist, then flared out slightly in an A-line. It was the other dress her fairy godperson—people?—had sent as a possibility for the night of the ball, so it might be too dressy just for a casual date. Though there wasn’t anything casual in the way her body anticipated being close to Vincente, or in the way her heart thumped at the thought of dating him.
The doorbell rang, so she rechecked her hair and ran out to the steps. She slowed her movements. Vincente spoke to Enzo and Grandma in the foyer. He stopped and met her gaze as she glided down the stairs.
A smile broke free and she said hello with a wiggle of her fingers. Sometimes being near Vincente made words unnecessary. Grandma and Enzo stepped aside, their expressions mirroring hers. Her limbs loosened as she gave Vincente a quick appraisal. No tux this time, but he was even more handsome in a dark suit and tie, his shoes shined and his face freshly shaven.
“You’re beautiful,” he said in a low tone.
Heat spilled from her core into her chest. She tripped her fingers down his arm, his muscles apparent even through the lush fabric. “Thanks. You’re looking good.” She tilted her head and met his intense gaze.
A beat passed between them, and her body seemed to pulse in response. She parted her lips, searching for something to say, but she was struck by the weight of the moment, as if it held the promise and possibility of a lifetime.
“You two better get going,” Enzo said with amusement in his voice.
“Enjoy your evening,” Grandma said, kissing Gina’s cheek and handing her a coat. “We’ll be here when you get back, and Enzo will take us home.”
“Thanks, Grandma.” Gina returned Grandma’s gesture then blew a kiss to Enzo. He caught it in his hand, just like Grandpa Frank used to. A catch welled in her throat, and she slipped her hand into Vincente’s.
He gazed at her a moment before leading her outside and to a limo. Glancing at him, she quirked her lips. “We’re sure making the most of a Thursday night.”
“Any night with you is the most I could ask for.”
Her heart seemed full to bursting. He held the door and handed her into the warm interior. This time, she sat close to Vincente. He grasped her hand.
“I want to kiss you.” His voice sent those pulses in her racing.
“I want that too.”
He shifted his hand in hers then brought hers to his lips, placing a feather-light kiss that left a heated trail in its wake.
“But I want to focus on you first.”
She nodded, respecting his wanting to slow this down, even as her body might want otherwise. “You have my blanket consent to kiss me.”
He smiled. “Good to know.” He placed his hand over hers, cementing the warmth. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”
She nodded. “Mind if I ask you something?”
“Please.” Their hands rested on their legs, pressed together.
“Where do you see yourself in retirement?”
He chuckled. “You surprise me, Gina Marchesi.”
“I aim to please.” She winked and his thighs tensed. A moment passed, then another, but she waited. She was getting used to Vincente’s rhythms.
“To answer your question, I’m not sure. Ideally, I’ll be able to travel and enjoy time with my wife and grandchildren and family, and still be in touch with friends and giving time to causes I care about. You?”
She brought her hand closer to his. “Not to sound unoriginal...”
“You? Never. You’re a true one-of-a-kind.”
She leaned her shoulder into his. “Same as you, really, on both counts.”
“Yeah? You want to get married and have children?”
“If I meet the right person, yes.” Mrs. Vincente Bianchi. It still had a ring to it, and now, an underlay of rightness. She shifted, thinking of her family and the bakery that still needed saving. “And I’d hope North Beach Bakery is still going, that I could see my children, or Michael’s, running it, carrying on the legacy.”
“I think the whole community would want that.”
That catch in her throat grew to a lump. “Can we talk about something else? I know I brought that up, but I want to focus on just us.”
“Just us,” he said in almost a whisper, and nodded.
The limo pulled up to Youngs’ Tea and Flower Shop. She gave Vincente a questioning gaze.
“Just wait and see.” He guided her out, unlocked the door, and they walked in. The store was filled with stunning arrangements, from red roses in a dramatic spray to winding orchids to a fairy garden in a glazed wide pot.
She blinked and leaned into him. “This is amazing.”
Cam, black bob catching the low light, pale skin smooth, walked over. “Hey, Gina.”
“Cam! I thought you were in China visiting your grandma?�
� She and Cam had been best friends throughout middle and high school, and had kept in touch via email, and the occasional visit, since.
“I was, but Dad broke his leg skiing, so I came back to help. That’s why I didn’t answer your emails. I hear you’re back too.”
“How is he?” The Youngs had always welcomed Gina into their home, Mr. Young as gregarious at home as Gina’s dad could be at the bakery.
“He’s going to be okay. It was minor, fortunately. Now if we can just get him to stop smoking...”
“That’s a toughie. How about a hug?” She held out her arms and Cam walked to her. They embraced, and Gina whispered, “I missed you.”
“Same.” Cam pulled back, that old spark in her eyes that showed she was in on something.
“Let’s get together soon?”
“How about dinner tomorrow? My parents would love to see you, and we can walk and talk like we used to.”
“Love it.”
Cam nodded and turned to Vincente. “Just buzz when you’re leaving. Sal sent everything over.” She waved an elegant hand to a small round table in the center of all the floral delights.
Gina still couldn’t quite take it all in. “You and your dad are still artists, Cam.”
“Mom wishes I had a better head for business. I told her we can tap you for that.”
“Anytime.”
Cam raised her brows. Gina leaned into Vincente. “All right, not tonight.” Cam was the only one who knew about her crush on Vincente.
“Have fun.” Cam waved and was gone.
“Hungry?” Vincente asked.
Gina nodded. He led her to the table set in the middle of the flower-filled shop and held her chair while she sat. The scent of tea leaves and rose petals gave an air of comforting romance. Taking the other chair, he grasped her hand across the table. Tony Bennett’s smooth voice played lowly over loudspeakers, and twinkle lights blinked in varied displays from the windows.
Valentine Kisses Page 8
