by Reina Torres
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Marina Adair. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original St. Helena Vineyard Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Marina Adair, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
When Teodoro's backpack hit the deck at his feet, the screened doorway was open and filled with the nearly five and a half feet of smiles and silver hair that was his Nonna, Velia Santini. She wrapped her arms around his middle, and before he'd had a chance to say anything, all the worries and nagging emotions he'd been wrestling with since he'd gotten in the driver's seat of his Jeep faded back to Los Angeles. Nonna Velia had that way about her.
“Ah, cuore mio!” She melted around him, her warmth spreading to him as she leaned her cheek against his chest.
Wrapping his arms around her smaller form, Teodoro cuddled her against his chest and wondered when she'd become so thin.
"I can hear you thinking from down here."
Her voice was only partially muffled by his chest, and he leaned back to look down into her upturned face. "What did you hear?"
He could see the sparkle in her eyes. "I hear some wheels turning. The sound was echoing in here." She tapped the flat of her palm on his chest. "You can tell me all about it over supper," she sighed, an indulgent happy sound, "which I should get started on. I wasn't expecting you for another few hours."
She wasn't scolding him. The laughter in her eyes spoke to the love she had for him and the tightness in his chest reminded him how much he loved the woman who was now a few feet away.
"I wanted to see you."
She stepped back over the threshold and into the house. "Go ahead and unload your things into the entry and then wash your hands. I'll get things going in the kitchen."
He put his hand over his heart. "I've been longing to hear you say those very words."
Waggling her finger at him, Nonna Velia giggled like a young schoolgirl. "So smooth, but you should save such pretty words for a lady friend."
He sighed, that purely masculine indulgent sound reserved for grandmothers. "The only lady I'm concerned about is you, Nonna."
She waved him off. "Get your things inside, I'll tell you how wrong you are later, Teo." She was gone a moment later, padding through the main part of the split level house where he'd grown up, leaving him to his thoughts.
Teo. Oh boy, he was in trouble about something.
Teo was not a name she used much during his life. Shortening his name meant there was something going on under the surface of that beautiful smile-lined face. It was different with his brother. Enzo was the name she used when she was feeling warm and fuzzy toward his older brother. Lorenzo, punctuated by syllables, was the name that had them both sucking in a breath of nervous anticipation.
But Teo... He wasn't prepared to delve into the topic just at that moment, so he headed back to his car to do exactly what she told him to, unload.
By the time he laid his last bag down on the cool tile floor, he was ready to face his grandmother. Even wielding a knife, Nonna Velia didn't frighten him. She was the sweetest woman he'd ever known. He was worried that he'd somehow disappointed her.
Heading into the kitchen, which was literally at the heart of the house, he paused in the doorway.
Bustling about the kitchen in her bare feet and one of her many frilled aprons, his Nonna was busy opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator, collecting the ingredients for dinner. It was a far sight from any meal that he'd managed to cobble together in Los Angeles, when he was home and not at the brewery with Enzo.
She leaned over to one of the hanging baskets and picked out a lemon, bringing it to her nose to draw in the scent. She set it down on the counter and paused. "You're just going to stand there, staring at me?"
He could hear the laughter in her tone.
"It's a pretty picture, Nonna."
Turning around, she leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her bosom. "You're just too smooth for your own good. What have you been doing out there in Los Angeles?"
He grinned at the feisty spark in her eyes. "'Out there,' you make it sound like I've been living in Outer Mongolia."
"It feels like it. The news is always talking about the smog, and the crime!" She covered her heart with a hand and shook her head. "And I may be old fashioned, but I've seen what those women look like on the TV!"
He fought off a laugh. This was more like his grandmother. "Those women? What they wear on TV and what they wear in real life are different, Nonna. Those reality shows you like to watch are nothing of the kind."
She drew back as if she'd been stung. "You better not be talking about my Housewives."
"That," he pressed his fingers against his temple to ease the sudden building pressure, "is exactly what I'm talking about. Not all women in Los Angeles dress the way they do on TV and they certainly don't act the same."
"Then why haven't I heard about a new lovely young woman in your life, hmm?" She turned back to the counter, picking up a measuring cup in one hand and the lid to the flour jar in the other.
"You haven't heard about one, because there isn't one." That was an understatement. There wasn’t likely to be one in the near future.
"What happened to Ashley?" She shook a handful of flour onto the stone counter. "Last I heard, you two spent a weekend skiing."
He shrugged. She may not have been able to see the gesture, but he was pretty sure she could feel it like a seismograph feels vibrations in the earth. "Andrea, Nonna,” he tried to keep his tone light, or at least neutral, “and that was something she wanted to do, and then when we were there she found a ski instructor that became-"
"Something she wanted to do?"
He cringed at the accurate account of that ill fated weekend. "Are you sure you're not having me followed?"
"Yes," she began as she cracked an egg into the center of her flour, "but it is a good idea. I'll have to consider it if you move back."
“I’m staying here in St. Helena, Nonna, you know that.” He crossed to the counter and picked up the second wine glass that stood beside his grandmother’s. “I’m home, but that doesn’t mean you can fix me up with anyone. I lived here for the first eighteen years of my life. If someone was going to spark my interest, they would have done it by now.” He took a sip and enjoyed the full rush of flavor that danced across his tongue and hoped that he wasn't going to spend the rest of the evening discussing his love life.
"Or lack thereof..." he heard the words mumbled from his grandmother's lips as she mixed the egg and flour together, but he didn't want to know how she managed to ferret out the thoughts running through his head.
Velia turned and nailed him with a look. "Do me a favor, hmm?"
"Sure!" He knew his tone was a little too bright, a little too eager for distraction.
"Go to the old Fiorello place, and ask to borrow a head of garlic for supper."
He balked a little. Mrs. Fiorello was somewhat of a dragon at times and she hadn't seen the Santini b
rothers in years. He didn't want her to mistake him for Lorenzo. She'd never been a fan of the eldest in their family. "Why don't I just get some from the store? I can pick up other things for you while I'm there."
Nonna Velia turned to back to the counter. "If you're afraid to do it, then I'll walk over and-"
"Fine, I'll go... and no, I'm not afraid. I just didn't want to chance getting a pot thrown at my head if she mistakes me for Enzo, again."
"Oh?" She grinned as she worked the dough, leaning into the ball as she kneaded it against the flour sprinkled counter. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that. Now go. I need that garlic for the sauce."
Two sides of the Santini property bordered the Fiorello plot. At the beginning, the Santini’s property only touched a corner of it, but through patience and luck, they had purchased the other two properties on either side of the Fiorello house, and expanded their olive grove. Parked on the corner of two roads and set slightly back from the sidewalk, the Fiorello house was built in the classic Victorian style, even though the first beam had gone up in the early 1900s. Historically, the property had always been one step behind the times and was likely to dig in its heels and remain rooted in the past.
Turning the corner, the wall of hedges on the west side of the house came to an abrupt stop and he saw the front face of the house. The gardens continued on, following the side wall and opening up behind the impressive structure and had always been a little known treasure of St. Helena society. Although convinced that she could've won with ease, Mrs. Fiorello had never entered any of the gardening competitions. She considered the practice too plebeian, at least that was what she told Velia in private, but over the years Teo had begun to wonder if she wanted to avoid an argument with Chiara DeLuca.
Keeping in mind that she did have a softer side, Teo steeled himself as he walked up the stairs to the front door.
The door swung open and the woman that answered the door wasn't whom Teodoro expected.
"Hello." She was petite, but unless Mrs. Fiorello had discovered the fountain of youth in the last few years, he had some catching up to do.
The silence stretched between them as he struggled to tear his gaze away from the gentle sway of her dress, accenting the curve of her hips and the line of her thighs. He couldn't be sure, but there was the distinct possibility that he was openly staring at her.
Her eyebrows lifted in a curious gesture. "May I help you?"
"You're not Mrs. Fiorello." He winced at the strange, flat tone of his voice.
"No," she smiled and he managed to smile back, "I'm not. She hasn't lived here for a little over a year. Are you a friend of hers?"
Her voice was just as beautiful as she was, soft and warm like maple syrup.
"No... yes," he shook himself and tried to put more than a few syllables together, "my Nonna is her friend,” he pointed toward the grove, “we live-"
"You're Velia's grandson!" She held out her hand and he took it, even though her choice of words made him feel like she was addressing someone in a Boy Scout uniform. "I'm Mirella Corazza."
"Teodoro Santini."
Her mouth opened on a near silent ‘Ah’ and he swallowed as his body reacted to the breathy sound. "The younger brother."
She let go of his hand and stepped back inside the house, holding the door open for him to follow. And follow he did, even if she'd made him feel like a little boy with the 'younger brother' comment. Harnessing a move that was more like his brother than himself, he pulled his shoulders back, and found himself walking a little taller.
"It must have been quite a shock to find me on the other side of the door if you were expecting her."
Shock, yes. But he doubted that she would want to know exactly how happy he was to meet her. Mrs. Fiorello had been a small woman like Mirella, but she'd been rail thin and had a stooped posture that looked like she'd shouldered a yoke for most of her life. In contrast, the young woman standing before him was more than a welcome change. Mirella was a revelation. “A bit," he finally answered.
"I only met Mrs. Fiorello once at the lawyer's office when I went to sign the paperwork for the house, but when I asked Velia about her, she just gave me this long suffering sigh and a little wink."
Teodoro smiled at the thought. "Nonna taught us to live by all the old adages. The golden rule was first, and her second favorite is, 'If you have nothing nice to say-"
"Don't say anything at all." Mirella's shoulders shook gently at the thought. "I knew I liked your grandmother."
"I like her too."
She laughed out loud and he felt it resonate inside his chest. Far from the dreaded encounter with his grandmother’s old friend, he was quickly searching for some way to extend his visit, without leaving his grandmother high and dry.
Mirella started moving toward the kitchen. “She said she needed garlic for her sauce,” she turned to look at him over her shoulder, “I was actually sitting in the kitchen waiting for her to come over. When you rang the front doorbell-”
"That probably would have been the easier way, but I thought Mrs. Fiorello was still living here." He didn’t even wait for her to ask. “Nonna uses the gap in the cypress trees,” he explained, "but my brother used to cut through these gardens on his way home from school and Mrs. Fiorello would shout at him from the porch."
"But not you?" She walked through the kitchen toward the pantry.
He followed her, but stopped by a small table in the nook. "Enzo was always staying late for one reason or another so he tried to save himself time."
"And aggravate Mrs. Fiorello."
Teo nodded.
"Well," he smiled at the twinge of humor in her tone, "everyone has a hobby."
The packed pantry muffled her laughter, but it didn’t block his view. As she rose up on her tiptoes, the slight swing of her hem rose as well, brushing lightly over her calves, drawing his attention to the curve of pale skin it revealed. "Here we go." She turned, dangling a braid of garlic from her delicate fingers, he dragged his gaze up and answered her smile with one of his own.
"She only needed one." He hated the way his words made him sound, not exactly the successful businessman, more like a dolt that you pat on the head and send on his way with a cookie.
"I know, but I had a huge crop this year, so she might as well have the whole braid. I can spare that easily." She set it in his hand and looked up at him, her long braid falling back over her shoulder. “It’s really not a problem.”
Years of experience and some semblance of a survival instinct pushed a few words past the unexpected lump in his throat. "Thank you, Mirella."
Her sudden grin made her eyes sparkle. "You're welcome, Teo."
A smile twisted at the corners of his lips as he turned back. "Teo?"
Her grimace was just as attractive as her smile. "Not a fan of the name? I'm sorry, it just seemed... natural."
"Use it," he felt himself leaning closer, his heart beating a little too fast in his chest, "it sounds good coming from you."
"Okay? Great." She flushed a little, rocking back on her heels a bit to look directly up into his eyes. "I hope you'll stop by again... if Velia needs anything."
"Yeah," he looked down at her and tried to make his feet move toward the door, "me too." Smooth, Teo, smooth.
The fates took pity on him as her phone rang, interrupting his downward spiral of bumbling stupidity.
Instead of the artificial ringtone of a mobile phone, the chime came from the sitting room off to the side. With an apologetic grimace she pointed in that direction. "That's my business phone." She held up her pointer finger asking for a moment, and dashed off.
Teodoro stepped into the open doorway and looked around. A vintage sewing machine stood off to the side, the antique black surface traced in gold painted curlicues gave it an air of fragility and grace, but the wrought iron base and heavy metal treadle testified that the machine had done its share of work and would continue to do more in the future.
Mirella leaned against
the wall and spoke into the handset. She looked back at him and he turned away so she wouldn’t catch him staring at her. He focused on a fancy brocade-covered dressing screen standing in the corner of the room, and then a collection of mannequin-like forms, each dressed in elegant gowns that brought to mind the historical photos hung in Town Hall.
"So we'll be ready for the fitting, Sue. Yes- I..."
He could tell the other person was talking a mile a minute with no end in sight. Holding up his hand he managed to catch her attention.
She looked over at him with a smile, hesitating. “Sue, one second-” She covered over the mouthpiece, "Sorry."
He pointed at the front door, not wanting to put her in a bind with a client. "Thanks again, Mirella."
"Call me Mira," she grinned at him over her hand, "so we'll be even."
Chapter Two
When Teodoro arrived back home, Nonna Velia was humming over her sauce, her bare feet tapping on the cool tiles of her kitchen. "Took you a little while, hmm?"
He stepped up beside her and set the braid of garlic on the counter. "It was heavy, Nonna." When she looked up at him he rubbed at his shoulder. "I might have pulled a muscle."
She gave him a cuff on his 'injured' shoulder. "Tell it to someone who'll believe you." His mock outrage was lost under her excited gasp. "I only sent you for one!"
Teodoro was glad to see his Nonna's smile. "She said she could spare it-"
"Or maybe you worked your charm on her. You're like your Nonno," she sighed, "he could charm a woman out of her-" she caught his pained expression in the reflection of the window over the sink, "out of her garlic any day."
She broke off a head of garlic and set the rest aside, lifting her eyes to him with a hopeful smile."You'll put up a nail for me in the pantry tomorrow, hmm? So I can hang the rest up for later."
"Yes, Nonna."
As she peeled the papery skin away she fished for a little information. "I hope you were polite,” she kept her eyes on the garlic in her hands, “we should always be thankful for generous neighbors, hmm?”
