Windy City Romance: Boxed Set: Prequel - Book III

by Barbara Lohr

  To his delight, a box of ginger snaps was shelved among the British biscuits and Italian biscotti. He grabbed one and tucked it under his arm. Best to be prepared. Stomach problems dogged him, and these little beauties always helped.

  The shopkeeper quickly stepped behind a glass case holding cheeses along with platters of marinated olives. “Buon giorno.”

  “Buon giorno.” Every time he said it, Mallory felt better about this trip. He set his banana and box of cookies on the counter. “I owe you for these.”

  Caitlin had wandered toward a refrigerated case and slid the door open. “Yep, they have water.”

  “Get me a bottle, would you please?’ Mallory asked. “And probably one for your sister and Kurt.”

  “You are hungry, yes?” the shopkeeper asked, motioning to the banana and gingersnaps.

  “Always,” Mallory said. “Is this your shop?”

  The man thumped his right fist on his chest with pride. “My shop and my father’s too. Mi famiglia.”

  Smiling at his enthusiasm, Mallory peeled the banana. “I also have a family business.”

  “You do?” Coming up behind him, Caitlin set the four bottles of water on the counter. “How cool is that? What do you sell…no, let me guess…clothing!”

  Mallory shook his head, wondering why in the world she would assume that. He was hardly a fashion plate. “Our largest enterprise involves jewelry.”

  Now, why had he mentioned his business? Chad wouldn’t approve and wasn’t he here to forget business? He pulled out some euros he’d gotten at JFK.

  Caitlin went for her purse. “Let me take care of it, Mallory.”

  For the first time, she had his name right.

  “Next time.” He slid the bills toward the man.

  “Caitlin? Mallory?” Amy stood in the doorway, outlined by the sunny street behind her.

  “We’re stocking up on water,” Mallory said, holding up a bottle. “You better get out of the sun.”

  Blinking in the cool darkness, Amy entered the shop. “I’m fine. The fort was wonderful…so much history.”

  “What happened to your knees?” Staring at Amy’s legs, Caitlin handed her a water bottle.

  “I fell, but it looks worse than it feels.” Amy held the chilled bottle to her cheek before twisting the top open. Her freckles looked more pronounced across her nose and reddish blonde ringlets formed damp curls on her cheeks.

  Caitlin did this tsk, tsk thing. “She’s very accident prone.”

  “My, what a display,” Amy said, coming closer to the display case. She smelled of the sun and that citrusy perfume she sprayed on herself in the morning. “Not exactly the cold cuts you get back home. Are those…”

  “Pigs’ feet,” Mallory offered. “And tongue, I believe.” The plump, fleshy tongue rested beside the cheeses and olives. Probably all local products. Overhead hung shanks of meat alongside plucked chickens.

  Amy pressed one hand to her stomach and her attention veered from the tongue. “That cheese looks good.” Flushed from the heat, she looked like she’d had a rough morning. Rhonda would be in major whine by now.

  With a proud smile, the shopkeeper grabbed one of the yellow cheeses and set it on the counter behind him. A knife appeared, and the slices fell away like butter. Samples were offered all around.

  “Hate to leave but time to get back.” Caitlin edged toward the doorway.

  Mallory raised his bottle of water to the beaming shopkeeper.

  “Beautiful,” the man called after them. “Bellissimo famiglia.”

  They definitely were not a family. When the sisters shared a smile, he felt very much like an outsider. What was he doing here? This seemed like a very nice family, good people. Mallory’s spirits sank. He could almost hear his father saying, “Son, you are in a heapa trouble.”

  “Gee, Amy. Your face is so red. Got some block?” Caitlin studied her sister’s face.

  Amy dug around in that infernal backpack, uncapped the sunblock and began to smooth it on her arms. Again. He wished she’d stop.

  “Kurt’s down near the fishing boats,” Caitlin told Amy. “Wanted to rub elbows with the fishermen.”

  “What does Kurt do?” Mallory asked as they walked toward the shoreline.

  “Websites,” Caitlin said with a smile. “Very computer savvy. He’d just finished a project for a major account so he was able to leave at the last minute and the other guys could tweak it. Worked out great.”

  Mallory didn’t miss the look that passed between the two women. When they reached the small plaza in front of the pier, they joined other tourists trailing back to the boat, almost all laden with shopping bags. Waving, Kurt sat dangling his long legs from the wall that edged the beach.

  “Hey.” He jumped off and walked over. Caitlin handed him the bottle of water. “Aren’t you a sweetie?” He bent to kiss her.

  Mallory looked away but he noticed Amy did not.

  His thoughts zipped back to the kiss yesterday. Funny, but he’d never forget that crazy kiss.

  And when Amy raised her green eyes, he knew she was remembering too.

  Forget the forts. What had she been thinking? Babes did not hang around crumbling buildings. Glancing at Mallory, Amy felt her lips plump. Was it that crazy kiss in their room only yesterday? The warmth coursing through her veins felt like a raging chocolate fit.

  Except now Mallory was the chocolate.

  Caitlin and Kurt had already boarded the tour boat, but Amy held back. So hard to leave this all behind.

  “Why don’t I take your picture?” Mallory asked, coming up behind her. “You’ll have something to show your friends.”

  Wouldn’t McKenna and Vanessa love that?

  “Thank you.” Handing him the camera, she angled herself near a window box filled with purple verbena.

  “Say cheese.” Mallory worked with the viewfinder and took the picture.

  Passing by, an older gray-haired man held his wife’s arm to make sure she didn’t stumble on the uneven cobblestones.

  Mallory turned to the man. “Do you would mind terribly? We would love to have a picture of the two of us together.”

  Like he read my mind.

  Proof of life. Proof of being a babe.

  “Of course.” The husband took the camera.

  “Smile.” Mallory pulled her shoulder.

  “Beans.” She sank into his warm body.

  “Oh, Harold. Isn’t this sweet?” The wife smiled approval.

  They probably thought Mallory and Amy were a couple, just like them.

  For this week, they were. Her hands shook as she took the camera. Caitlin waved to them from the top deck, and they climbed on board. The gangplank was pulled up and the boat slowly backed from the pier.

  Amy and Mallory found a space up top along the railing. As the shore receded, she snapped photos of the cove and the men working on their fishing nets. The beauty of it all swelled in her throat.

  Leaning on the railing beside her, Mallory murmured, “Really a sight. So beautiful, isn’t it?”

  She sighed. “My thought exactly.”

  He faced her. “Tired?”

  “Just hate to leave.”

  “Nice thing about trips. You can always return.”

  Maybe he could. For her? Trip of a lifetime.

  They settled onto the bench seat, the wind wreaking havoc with her hair. She didn’t care. As the sun climbed, the air warmed battling the breeze skittering over the water. Didn't get much better than this.

  Little did she know.

  After passing more rugged buttes that dropped to the water, the boat slowly turned into an inlet. Amy jumped to her feet when she caught sight of the cove. And she’d thought Vernazza was scenic. She glanced down at her map. “Monterosso.” Even the name sounded beautiful. “Takes your breath away.”

  “Sure does.” But Mallory was looking at her, not the beautiful town lining a breathtaking bay.

  Flustered, she peered into the water below. “Isn’t this ju
st the most exquisite color blue you’ve ever seen.”

  Lifting his sunglasses, Mallory looked down. “The exact shade of a quality aquamarine.”

  He never ceased to amaze her. “My, you really know your jewelry.”

  Mallory replaced his glasses with the long fingers that had fascinated her from the start. “The family business includes a chain of jewelry stores. An international chain, actually. My father was very good about giving my mother gifts, you know.” Lips tightening, his voice faded off.

  “You mentioned your folks last night. Have they been gone long?”

  Mallory swallowed hard, and Amy could have kicked herself. “About three years now. My father had a heart attack. My mother died five months later. She just didn’t want to be here anymore.” The last words were said in an undertone of sadness bordering on abandonment.

  Her heart twisted. “Oh, Mallory.” She laid one hand on his forearm, warm under her palm. “I kind of felt like that after my dad died.”

  When he covered her hand with his, the connection felt electric.

  The boat slowed and eased into the dock. A rustle of anticipation and everyone was on their feet. An announcement blared over the loudspeaker, telling them to be back in two hours. The staff sprang onshore to tie the boat to anchor, and the ramp clattered down.

  Coming up behind them, Caitlin gave Amy a hug. “This boat trip is fabulous.”

  “So glad you’re here, Cait.” Her sister could use a vacation, but this trip was probably a sacrifice—all for Amy’s sake.

  They disembarked. While Caitlin and Kurt took the path that led inland from the dock, Amy and Mallory wandered toward the shops skirting the wharf.

  Three-story buildings in pastel pinks, yellows, and blues ranged along the walk with only their colors to separate them. Bright pink and purple petunias jammed window boxes and bordered walks. Overhead, gulls dove when anyone tossed a piece of bread onto the walkway. Perched on a stone wall edging the quay, a group of gray-haired men nodded in welcome, black hats jammed on their heads.

  Amy loved it. Excitement picked up her pace, but Mallory didn’t seem to be in a hurry, stopping to chat with the older men. Socializing had never been easy for her, but it came so naturally for him. Maybe it was the Savannah thing. With a farewell wave, they finally turned back to the shops.

  “How about this?” Bright tops and dresses fluttered from a display. Jason had always hated shopping and refused to even go to the mall with her, although she rarely asked him.

  Mallory followed her inside.

  Nodding to the woman behind the counter, Amy headed toward kitchen utensils she spotted in the back. Holding up a glass cruet for oil and vinegar, she ran her fingers hands over the cleverly twisted shapes. “This looks hand blown.”

  Then she saw the dress. Hanging from a hook along the wall, the sea green gown flowed about ankle-length. Diaphanous, it looked as if it had been spun from the waters of the Bay of Monterosso. Tiny mirrors sparkled like pixie dust on the skirt, spraying a dazzling reflection onto walls and ceiling. Amy edged closer. Mallory took the glass cruet from her hands.

  “Totally impractical.” She had to touch it. Fabric soft as butterfly wings, the material moved with the breeze. Amy swallowed. Oh, yes, this dress would be slinky as sin.

  “You’d look good in this.” Leaning over her shoulder, Mallory brushed his fingers across the tiny mirrors. She shivered, as if he had stroked her skin.

  “So impractical. Where would I wear it?”

  “Clothes don’t have to be functional. Do they?” Mallory’s eyes danced.

  Amy gulped. Was this her chance to be a babe?

  “Why don’t you let me buy you a Travel Chum gift?” he said without even looking at the price tag.

  “Oh, goodness no.” Snatching the dress, Amy swirled through the shop, the cruet in her other hand.

  Babes paid their own way.

  With a twinkle in his eye, the shopkeeper rang up Amy’s purchases and handed her the prettiest aqua bag. Purple tissue spiked from the top. Her first vacation purchase. She swung out onto the street feeling pretty pleased with herself.

  Outside, Mallory scanned the area. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Let’s walk.” And he took her hand.

  Really? “Let’s.” Tipping her face up to the sun, she didn’t pull away.

  When had she felt so happy and carefree?

  Maybe babes felt like this all the time.

  She was going to find out.

  Chapter 11

  Like some of the restaurants in Rapallo, the walls of Taverna del Corsa were long sliding glass panels that helped cool the interior when pushed aside. Outside, huge hibiscus bushes with platter-size pink blossoms edged the rocks along the shoreline, framing the aqua water below. A waiter seated them at a table overlooking the bay.

  As Mallory scanned the menu, the tip of his sunglasses hung from one corner of his lips. Sexy, without even trying.

  Mallory looked up. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine. Wonderful.” Yikes. Dropping her head, she studied the parchment listing tucked inside the red leather menu. Thank goodness translations were provided below the entrees. They both ended up ordering the pasta with pesto, a specialty of the area, and a bottle of the local wine.

  “The wine of this region is excellent,” Mallory began and then clamped his lips together.

  Uh, huh. How the heck did he know about wine in this region? Not going to ask. Babes took things as they came. “So, what’s it like living in Savannah?”

  “Charming.” Mallory’s smile warmed. “Lots of colorful characters. Wouldn’t change one of them.”

  “You should meet my mother.”

  His eyebrows peaked.

  “Sweet, but kind of eccentric,” she supplied quickly. “My father used to call Aunt Emily and my mother Thelma and Louise.”

  Mallory roared, oblivious to the startled glances from people at the next table. He wasn't a guy who cared about what other people thought. “Now that sounds colorful.” He wiped the corners of his eyes.

  “They are.” She smiled, thinking of the fun her mother and aunt enjoyed together.

  “Why don’t you tell me about Chicago? I've been there, of course, but what is it like to live there?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Big. Exciting. Lots of history, sort of like Savannah, I suppose.”

  “A lot bigger. No mobsters in your family?”

  “Hah!” she hooted so loud that people nearby looked over. “Is that what the South thinks of us?”

  He lifted a brow. “Just asking.”

  “We’re way too boring in Oak Park, although Hemingway grew up there. I went to a Catholic high school, for Pete's sake. The same school where I teach now, as a matter of fact. I’m just a simple West Side girl.”

  “You seem far from simple, Amy.

  “I’m not the type who, you know…” Playing with the salt shaker, Amy searched for the right words.

  “Not the type to, what? Sign onto Travel Chums?”

  Face flushing, she nodded. “Now that you mention it, yes.”

  Mallory’s blue eyes could sharpen like lasers. “We’re here. Everything’s great.”

  “Is it?”

  “I think so.”

  More than great. Much more. Amy shifted her gaze to the bay. The scene resembled one of those TV ads. A couple would be standing in shallow water, oiled bodies beaded with water, arms entwined.

  Beaded bodies. For just a second, Amy's mind went back to the locker room. Her stomach heaved, and she launched into more questions about Savannah.

  When the waiter returned with a bottle of wine, he presented it for Mallory’s inspection. Her travel chum obviously knew his way around wine. Jason would have ordered a beer. The waiter poured, and Mallory sipped. After his nod of approval, the wine was served. A couple mouthfuls and Amy mellowed.

  Jason didn’t belong at this table. Today, everything was good, and the past belonged in the past.
This restaurant was awesome.

  Besides, Mallory told great stories and made her laugh. Savannah’s music festival and film fest sounded like such fun. Obviously, Mallory was very involved with his city. This trip made her want to travel more, see other places.

  Since she seldom drank wine, Amy hated to drink too much on an empty stomach—a rule drummed into her by her mother, along with “never talk while you eat.” She alternated sips of wine with gulps from her water glass. Gosh, it was so hot. Perspiration prickled at the edge of her hairline.

  Soon the waiter served the hearts of palm salads, followed by the pasta in short order. Savoring her first taste of the rich pesto sauce flavored with basil and pine nuts, Amy looked up.

  Mallory was eating again. Her chewing accelerated. Could she stand this one more time? Had she ever heard a man groan with appreciation—just from eating? Mallory brought the fork to his lips with an air of excitement. His eyelids slanted closed for a second as he slowly chewed.

  Yep, this was a man who took his time.

  With everything? She tossed back her wine. Anything to distract her from the scene across the table.

  Where was her mind?

  In Babeland.

  “The cook has outdone himself,” Mallory commented between bites. “I do believe he has.”

  Dazed, Amy nodded as she sipped, water glass now empty.

  The warmth, or something, had stolen her appetite. The breeze that had seemed so cool earlier settled over their table with tented heat. Stupefied, she remained engrossed in the spectacle across the table. Overhead, the whirring fans offered no relief.

  “So, do you mind a few questions?” Mallory asked halfway through the meal. “You don’t have to answer. Not if you don’t want to.”

  “Not at all.” Her tongue felt thick and unwieldy. With great effort, Amy tried to organize the words scattered in her mind, but they skittered away, like the seagulls diving over the bay.

  Magically, another bottle of wine appeared.

  Setting his fork down, Mallory leaned forward on muscled forearms patterned with dark hair. She longed to feel their prickly texture on her skin.