by Gina Ardito
“In a roundabout way. But I’m guessing you know that.”
“Oh, gee, Aidan, I’m sorry. I had no idea.” I pushed him forward, giving him no chance to think. “Go. Hurry. The press will be showing up in mere minutes. Shower, change, get yourself presentable. I’ll stall until you’re ready.”
He might have wanted to argue with me. In fact, at one point, as I prodded him into the owner’s quarters of his villa-style building, he turned toward me, a dozen questions brewing in his coffee-colored eyes. All he said, though, was, “Thanks, Nia. Let’s talk when this is all over.”
I nodded. “You bet. Now, go.”
The press and invited guests began arriving at ten a.m. I welcomed them warmly and had them make themselves comfortable in the villa’s lobby while we waited for Aidan. Behind us, a wall of glass French doors waited to reveal my heart to Aidan. And the world. I took a deep breath as I envisioned what would happen when he finally saw what I’d done. He wanted the New York Times. I planned to give him a whole lot more.
Meanwhile, I ushered in the waiters and waitresses from the catering company, helped the guests to mingle, and made small talk as if I were the villa’s mistress.
Everyone seemed to accept me in that role until one bulldog of a man voiced the question, “Who exactly are you?”
I looked up into the dark fathomless eyes of Ogden Coffield. He had one arm wrapped around the waist of a familiar woman.
“Nia the glassmaker, isn’t it?” Camille said, her head tilted cobra-like, poised to spit venom. “From Snug Harbor?”
I stood taller, Aidan’s requirements thundering in my head. She should know how I feel about her without needing reassurance. “Yes, that’s right,” I confirmed and held out my hand to Aidan’s father. “Mr. Coffield, I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“Who are you exactly?”
“You can just call me Nia for now,” I replied with a sedate smile.
“She’s the one who turned me down, Ogden,” Camille announced icily. “For the wine stoppers. Looks like Aidan managed to wheedle what he wanted out of her though.”
“Ladies and gentlemen…” Aidan’s voice boomed across the crowded room just in time to keep me from replying with a zinger.
He looked a thousand times better, or maybe I only thought so because I looked at him through the eyes of a woman in love.
“Thank you so much for coming today. Welcome to Piping Plover, the newest vineyard on Long Island. I hope you’ll enjoy the festivities I have planned for you. Shall we head into the tasting room where my sommelier will treat you to some of our first year’s vintages?”
As if on cue, the series of glass doors swung open, and the crowd spilled forward. The room was decorated in warm golden oak and glistening brass. A gleaming bar against the far wall, approximately sixty feet in length, ran from one end to the other. Dozens of square tables, each set with four chairs, allowed guests a place to sit and chat while they sipped. Behind the bar stood shelves of wine glasses, ready to be filled with the various wines for tasting.
Standing beside Aidan as he entered, I knew the exact moment he noticed the glasses. He stiffened, stared open mouthed at the rows of delicate blue glass, then looked at me. “You?” he asked.
I nodded. “A peace offering.”
He strode forward and nodded at his sommelier. The man lifted up the first bottle, and Aidan addressed the crowd. “We’ll begin with my Pinot Blanc, a full-bodied dry white with undertones of apple and citrus.”
The sommelier opened several bottles, and his assistants passed out glasses to the men and women in attendance. As each glass moved from pourer to taster, the pale blue ribbons tied to the stem caught the guests’ eyes. Aidan finally took a glass and traced the etched piping plover in the bowl before he pulled the ribbon taut to read the bright yellow lettering framed by the same tiny stick-figure birds:
Nia Wainwright loves Aidan Coffield.
He turned toward me, a question in his eyes, and I nodded. Without saying a word, he surveyed the rest of the room and found the ribbons tied to the light fixtures, the chair legs, and bottles of wine for sale behind the cash register. Again, he turned to me and I shrugged.
“I overshot. Ordered a thousand ribbons but only had enough time to make three hundred glasses.”
At last, he smiled. “So you still owe me seven hundred glasses.”
“I probably would have been better off doing your grape lamps, huh?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He pulled me into his arms, and I knew all was forgiven. “I’m guessing you’ll have a lifetime to get the rest of them completed.”
He kissed me, long and lingering. My knees turned to jelly, and my toes curled into the floorboards.
Paige chose that inopportune moment to tap my shoulder. “Umm, you might want to join your guests on the outdoor patio for a minute or two.”
Separated from the bliss of Aidan’s lips on mine, I glared at her. “Now?! Are you for real?”
She smiled. “Trust me. This will only take a minute.”
On a sigh, I allowed her to lead us outside where I noticed all the guests milled, the wine glasses in their hands, their gazes focused on the blue sky above. A bi-plane drifted by, a huge banner trailing from its tail. In unison, the crowd read the words now so familiar to all of them.
Nia Wainwright loves Aidan Coffield.
This was something I hadn’t planned. I stared aghast at Paige, who grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “A brochure I picked up at the town clambake,” she said.
Aidan’s voice whispered low in my ear. “Aidan Coffield loves Nia Wainwright.”
Happiness infused me from head to toe, and I snuggled closer. “I know.”
~~~~
Paige
So there you have it. One change every day for thirty days brought Nia and me a bounty of gifts we hadn’t expected. We found our mom, who remained in constant contact—well, at least as much as her home and job in Connecticut would allow. Since Sam had pined for me for fifteen years, I let him out of his misery and accepted his marriage proposal that Christmas. Next June, ours will be the first wedding hosted at the Piping Plover Vineyards.
The grand opening was a smashing success with a write-up about the whole Nia Wainwright loves Aidan Coffield angle in the New York Times weekend section. Apparently, the reporter who covered the opening is a hopeless romantic. Since then, the vineyard has quickly become a favorite tourist spot on the East End, particularly for couples looking for the right venue to pop the question or share a special occasion. Of course, Nia’s suggestions for events like ladies day and art weekends where they showcase the works of local artists helped create a constant buzz. Lucky for both of them, she managed to make good on the additional seven hundred glasses.
Tonight, Aidan plans to ask Nia to marry him. Mom and I chipped in to buy a full page ad, congratulating the happy couple. You can read it in tomorrow’s edition of the New York Times.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at another Calendar Girls story...
Other Books by Gina Ardito
The Bonds of Matri-money
A Little Slice of Heaven
A Run for the Money
Nobody’s Darling (Book I of the Nobody Series)
Nobody’s Business (Book II of the Nobody Series)
Nobody’s Perfect (Book III of the Nobody Series)
Eternally Yours (Book I of the Afterlife Series)
Chasing Adonis
The Gift of the Magic (Short Story in Mistletoe and Magic, a holiday anthology)
Duping Cupid (a Valentine’s Day Short Story)
Charming for Mother’s Day (A Calendar Girls Series novella)
Books by Gina Ardito writing as Katherine Brandon
Kismet’s Angel (Book I of the Kismet Series)
Kismet’s Revenge (Book II of the Kismet Series)
Kismet’s Salvation (Book III of the Kismet Series)
Echoes of Love
Available now!
Charming for Mo
ther’s Day
A Calendar Girls novella by Gina Ardito
Chapter 1
Lucinda
O.C.I.F.: Oh, Crap. It’s Friday.
While most people look forward to the weekend, to winding down and spending time with family, I’m not one of them. I’m on the other side of that fence. Since I’m the maître d’ in one of my town’s five-star restaurants, Friday always ushered in the craziest part of my hectic weekly routine.
After a full day of college classes and an hour-long ride, I stepped off the bus at the corner of Main Street and First Avenue. March’s icy wind bit my cheeks. The third month of the year in Snug Harbor is a mixture of extremes: raw and frosty today, mild and humid tomorrow.
With a puff of smelly black exhaust, the bus chugged away to its next destination. Burrowing into the fake fur collar of my parka, I trudged the three blocks to work. Gray skies, clumps of blackened snow left over from the last storm, and the still-closed seasonal businesses all deepened my blah mood. By the time my boots crunched over the gravel path that led to the Gull and Oar’s front entrance, I couldn’t feel my face anymore. I pulled open the heavy wood and lead-glass door and stepped into the empty dining room. The welcome heat of the roaring fireplace greeted me.
My daughter’s sudden outburst of giggles from the rear of the restaurant warmed me straight through to my heart. The kitchen, of course. She and my boss/father-in-law, Sidney, spent a lot of time in the restaurant’s kitchen.
“Hello?” I called out as I unzipped my jacket and grabbed a hanger from the cloak room.
“Mommeeeee!” Ariana burst through the rear door and sped toward me, arms spread wide. Today, her chestnut hair was tucked under a yellow chef’s hat with images of Lumiere from Beauty and the Beast dancing across the puffed top.
“Hey, doodle,” I greeted her with a tight squeeze and a kiss to her forehead. “How was school today?”
Snug Harbor Elementary sat directly across the street from the Gull and Oar, so on my worknights, Ariana came straight here after school and hung out with her grandfather until I got out of my last class and met her here.
“Good.” Grabbing my hand, she yanked with enthusiasm. “Come in the kitchen. Grandpa has a surprise.”
A surprise? Doubt buzzed in my mind. Still, I allowed her to pull me toward the hive. As we approached, I heard voices, low but obviously male. One was definitely Sidney’s, with his distinctive whinny-style laugh piercing the air. The second voice, mellow and smoky, raised the fine hairs on my arms.
From the doorway, I noted my father-in-law seated on a stool at the stainless steel wait station, facing me. His companion stood beside him, his back to me. The stranger was tall—at least six feet—with broad shoulders squared off in a black tee, tapering to a narrow waist packed into faded black jeans. His light brown hair, buzzed short on top, skimmed his nape in the back.
“Lucie!” Sidney waved me inside. “Come meet Chef Colin.”
Chef Colin? I stiffened. It couldn’t be. And yet, my daughter’s eagerness confirmed what I dreaded.
“Colin, this is the best maître d’ in the business. My daughter-in-law, Lucie Soto.”
He turned toward me then, an easy smile on his face. Recognition never clicked. Of course not. Why would it?
“Chef Colin.” I managed to sound cool and confident, in direct contrast to the turmoil roiling my belly. I could do this. I could show him I wasn’t the same naive young woman he’d dumped ten years ago. Holding out my hand, I added, “Nice to see you again.”
“Wait.” Colin held up his left hand. “Again?”
No ring on his third finger. I don’t know why I noticed, and the idea I wasted a second’s time caring about his possible marital status irked.
“You two know each other?” Sidney asked, swerving his attention from me to Colin and back again.
“We knew some of the same people a long time ago,” I replied, emotionless. If he didn’t remember, I wasn’t about to humiliate myself by letting him think our brief interlude meant anything to me. “We’d run into each other at social events from time to time. I’m sure he doesn’t remember.”
But I did. So much of who I was today was tied up in that summer ten years ago. I couldn’t help but remember every sparkle in his eye, every time he smiled at me, and every time he’d kissed me.
“How come you didn’t tell me you knew him when we used to watch the show?” Ariana demanded, hands on her hips.
Because I didn’t think he’d ever stroll back into Snug Harbor. But I couldn’t admit that, didn’t want to have to go into deeper explanations about the past. Coward that I am, I avoided my daughter’s scrutiny. “Congratulations on your win,” I said to him instead.
Colin Murriere had appeared on the cooking reality show, “All Star Chef,” eventually taking the coveted title after a nerve-wracking finale showdown broadcast to a live television audience. Naturally. Because everything in life came easily to Colin. His family owned one of the top of the line vacation condo complex in Snug Harbor. Born with a diamond-encrusted spoon in his mouth, he’d never worked hard to achieve anything. Unlike me—the daughter of a single mom who barely scraped by on wages as a chambermaid at that same complex.
“Ariana’s your daughter?” he asked.
Panic whitened his complexion. I could almost see the calendar pages flipping in his head while he struggled to figure out exactly how well we knew each other in his rum-soaked days.
“Mmm-hmm.” Although I enjoyed the momentary alarm his suspicions roused in his conscience—and his accompanying guilt—I wouldn’t use my daughter as an instrument of revenge. “Her father was Sidney’s son, Rob.” In the old days, Rob had been my best friend, but I lost him years ago—first to a fondness for alcohol and anger, and then, more permanently and inevitably, to a drunk driving accident.
Relieved color returned to Chef Colin’s cheeks, and he murmured a solemn, “My sympathies to you both.”
Sidney and I, numb after years of accepting condolences, nodded our thanks.
“I’ll tell you this, though,” Sidney said, his wrinkled face beaming with pride, “Ari may only be eight, but she’s already on her way to becoming a future All Star Chef.”
Chef Colin turned to my daughter. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely,” Sidney exclaimed, his hand tousling her dark hair. “In fact, she’s the best apprentice sous chef I ever had.”
Ariana stared up at Colin, her honey eyes filled with girlish adoration, as if she’d found her personal Prince Charming. “I rooted for you on the show, Chef Colin.”
She and I had watched “All Star Chef” every Tuesday night, with Ariana critiquing the different contestants’ skills and reporting her conclusions to Sidney every Wednesday.
“You did? Thank you. I appreciate the votes of confidence.”
Oh, puhleez. I had to turn away so he wouldn’t see me roll my eyes, and only faced the crowd again when I had my placid expression under control.
He lifted his gaze from Ariana to me. “That must be why I won. I had two very pretty ladies secretly cheering me on.”
I winced, knowing what would come next. Sure enough, Ariana speared me with an icicle look. “Mom didn’t root for you. She wanted Chef Christian to win.”
His hazel eyes, familiar in my dreams, crinkled with amusement as Colin joined my daughter in the staring contest. Target: me. “Did she?”
My cheeks flamed, but I pulled off a dandy imitation of a casual shrug. “Guilty.”
“Mind if I ask why?” he persisted.
Damn him, he should know why. But of course, he didn’t. Why would he? I was just a summer fling—a fact he drove home when he dumped me after a few weeks, going so far as to give me an invalid email and the wrong phone number.
“She said you were too snotty to win.” Once again, my daughter pushed me under the proverbial bus.
To my surprise, though, he laughed. “She’s probably right. It’s certainly nothing I haven’t heard before.”
I didn’t react. On the outside. On the inside, my heartbeat hammered my ribs, and my throat dried to sawdust.
After several squirm-worthy seconds, he refocused his attention on Ariana. “So, if your mom thought I was such terrible person, why did you want me to win?”
“I thought you had great knife skills,” she replied with more conviction than a prosecuting attorney. “Even better than Grandpa.”
“Watch it, snickerdoodle,” Sidney growled then grabbed her by the waist.
She screeched, and he pulled her against his side for a series of noisy kisses to her cheek.
Through a riptide of giggles, she amended, “Well, he’s pretty good, based on what I saw on the show. Maybe you guys can have a contest before you move to Florida.”
My rigid stance relaxed. Oh, thank God. In the back of my mind, I’d wondered why Colin had suddenly appeared at the Gull and Oar. But he must have just stopped by as a courtesy to Sidney before heading south. In that case, I could be gracious to him. Temporarily.
“Florida, huh?” I said to Colin. “Are you opening a new place down there? Whereabouts?” Not that I ever planned to visit, but—
“No, Lucie,” Sidney said. “I’m going to Florida. Chef Colin’s bought the Gull and Oar.”
About the Author: Gina Ardito is multi-published in contemporary and paranormal romance and has published several historical romances under the pen name, Katherine Brandon. A native of Long Island, she has become a popular workshop hostess for writers around the country. In honor of her dedication to career, community, and family, she was named a Woman of Outstanding Leadership in the field of Publishing by the International Women’s Leadership Association in 2012. That same year, she launched her freelance editing business, Excellence in Editing. In 2013, the IWLA honored her as one of the organization’s delegates.
Gina lives with her husband of more than a quarter century, their two children, and the characters who are still waiting for their stories to be told. For additional information, be sure to visit her website: www.ginaardito.com
