by Reina Torres
Teo shook with silent laughter. His grandmother was a sweet woman, iron hard at times, but she was also a romantic at heart. He'd seen her in action before when he was younger. She enjoyed wielding her skills as both a cook and a matchmaker, but he was hoping that she was enough out of practice to save him from a serious threat. "Yes, Nonna."
She opened her mouth to speak again and he stepped up behind her, giving her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. "Are you trying to match me up my first day back? I haven't even had time to unpack." Teo placed a kiss on the top of her head, leaning his cheek against her soft pillow of snowy silver hair. "That's a little cruel even for you, Nonna."
Swiveling around, Velia looked up at him in shock. "Cruel? You call me cruel because you think I'm trying to make you happy."
He felt a pang of regret at the tight note in her voice. But he also caught the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I think you want to marry me off."
Gasping, she covered her heart with her hand. The gesture was made more dramatic by the head of garlic still dangling from her fingers. "And what if I am?" Her eyes focused on his like a TV detective interrogating a suspect. "I'm not getting any younger, and I want great-grandchildren."
He held up his hands in surrender. "Talk to Lorenzo, I'm not ready to settle down. I’ve sworn off dating for the near future. I have other priorities." He saw her shoulders sag a little and tried to soften the blow. "I came back to focus on you, Nonna."
"I don't need that kind of focus," she grumbled at him, "I need babies to spoil."
Fear twisted in his gut. He knew that tone of voice. That was as serious as his grandmother got about things, so he tried something else. Humor. "Well, then I hope you have some magic up those long sleeves of yours, because that's what it will take to get me to fall in love."
It backfired on him. Instead of putting her off the topic, it only seemed to narrow her focus. Her lips turned up in a mischievous smile. "Magic? I think I can manage that."
Teo felt his stomach twist in a knot at her declaration.
Lifting up the garlic braid she waved it at him like an incense burner in church. "Garlic, my boy, as good a love charm as I've ever seen."
He nodded at her, trying not to laugh since she was close enough to pinch him. "Okay."
"It's the most powerful aphrodisiac a person can use, but put it in the hands of an Italian woman? I'll have you at her feet in no time." She swung the braid and it thumped against his chest. "Now go unpack and leave me to my work."
He was hoping that she was joking, but there was something in her eyes that told him he was out of luck. God help him if she had something more up her sleeve than a few quirky threats, because if his grandmother had even a fraction of magic in her blood to match the sheer grit she possessed, he was in trouble.
As Mira sat down at her sewing table she could still feel the slight flush of heat in her cheeks. When Velia had called to say that she was sending her grandson over to borrow some garlic, Mira had been more than happy to share, but for some reason she’d convinced herself that he’d be in his early twenties, home from college. Maybe it was the way that Velia talked about them.
When the older woman spoke of her grandsons, she'd often use words like piccolo, or patatino instead of their names. Maybe it was because she wasn't raised by the Italian side of her family, she didn't understand that even though Velia called Teodoro her ‘little one,’ he'd outgrown the literal meaning of the endearment a long time ago.
And it didn't help that when he'd stood in the stark white environs of her kitchen, his dark jeans and deep claret button down shirt drawing her attention to his physique. And right then she'd realized the depth of her mistake. Teodoro Santini was in no way a college boy visiting home on a break, he was every inch a strong and capable man, and she was very aware of that.
She set the presser foot down at the beginning of a seam and turned the wheel until the needle and thread pierced through the delicate layers of fabric. Easily picking up a rhythm born of experience and a love of the machine, Mira stitched a side seam on an inner layer of a skirt. She started another seam and her mind drifted all too easily to her recent visitor.
Teo carried himself with the ease of a man comfortable in his skin. His easy smile and manner made it easy to talk to him. In that way he was like Harris.
Her foot slipped on the pedal and her toes caught in an opening on the wrought iron pedal, pulling a hiss of pain from her lips. “Damnit.” Pulling her foot out of the grate she wiggled her toes around and let out a groan. Harris. Even just thinking his name was like a curse.
Sitting back in her chair she looked down and saw the shallow scrape on the tops of her toes. “Just great.” Mira got up and headed for the kitchen to get her First Aid kit and passed by the calendar on the wall. It had been a record for her, almost three months since she'd thought of her ex.
“Scum.” She yanked open the top of the plastic container and pulled out the antiseptic cream. “Why couldn't you stay out of my head?”
That was the problem, she’d moved to St. Helena to get away from Los Angeles and the mess she'd made of her life, so you think she'd be able to avoid thinking of him.
Out of sight, out of mind, right?
But no, one slightly giddy first meeting with a smooth and sexy guy and Harris popped up in her head.
She tore open the band aid package and slapped the colorful bandage on her foot. She winced at the pain, but she was pretty sure she deserved it.
Harris had been a mistake of the worst kind. Not only had he been her boss, he had been 'taken' and she was just too stupid to see the signs. In her defense, she'd been busy. Head costume designer on her first major motion picture had kept her busy, barely pausing to take a day off. She'd been shocked and pleased as punch when Harris Coates, multiple award winning executive producer, started to visit her in her studio to go over her designs and bring her dinner.
It was the attention, she realized, that had turned her head so quickly. Working in a profession like costuming meant long hours and tunnel vision. She could try to excuse it by saying she didn’t spend much time online at all, let alone paying any attention to the Hollywood gossip mill, but maybe that was just another example of how naive she had been.
The doorbell rang and Mira took it as a sign that she should take a break. She crossed through the foyer and opened the door with a smile. “You’re early.”
Emerson Blake gave Mira a hug before stepping inside, “I hope you don't mind, but Dax is keeping Violet and some of her Lady Bug friends busy so I had time to head over early and find parking.”
Mira shook her head. “No worries. I'm happy to get started a little early and if you managed to find a good spot, even better.” She pointed toward her sewing room. “Let's get started.”
In the sewing room she offered Emerson the use of the screen to change behind. The refinished flea market find looked amazing after a faux-crackle paint job and new brocade cover.
Ducking behind the screen, the food cart goddess made quick work of her sundress and slipped on the dress that was waiting for her. “I dunno, Mira.” Emerson stepped out from the screen as she pulled up the side zipper that Mira had set into the seam. “If I wear this to the next mixer I think it might give Mr. Dabney a heart attack.”
It was something like magic when you can make someone transform into another person or send them to another time with a few yards of fabric. Listening to the slightly dreamy quality of Emerson’s voice, Mira felt her heart swell in her chest.
Using her costuming skills, Mira had created a dress worthy of the Andrews sisters. The square cut neckline gave a delicious hint of cleavage and the green velvet hugged her friend’s form in all the right places, skimming her body before flaring out from her hips to the hem just below her knees. It wasn't overtly sexy, but it took all the best facets of 1940s fashion and gave Emerson a new look that Mira was sure Dax would approve of. “I'm sure they have a defibrillator at the VFW.” Her shoulders shook with laughte
r as Emerson did a slow turn in front of the mirrors. “But I'm not sure Dax will let anyone close enough to you to have a problem.”
Just the mention of her fiancé lit Emerson up like a spotlight. “I'll just have to give him a special sneak peek. And tell him to be careful not to crush the velvet.”
Mira bent down to get a look at the hem. “It's rayon so you don't have to be too careful with it. Just make sure you hang it up when you're not wearing it.”
“I'll make sure he's careful with it.” Emerson’s blush was telling. As Mira moved around to the back to check the length, Emerson looked over at the dress on Mira’s worktable. “What's that?”
Mira managed to speak around the pins held between her lips. “A Regency Era gown for a wedding.”
“Oh,” Emerson met her eyes in the mirror, “Velia told me you made dresses, but I didn't know you did wedding dresses!”
Mira moved over to the antique wardrobe standing along the wall and took out her portfolio. “I’ve done a bunch of gowns for friends and clients, if someone can give me a picture or a gown to copy, I can do it.”
Emerson took the book from her hands and Mira continued pinning the hem, managing to watch as her friend paged through her portfolio and oohed and aahed over the period costumes and wedding dresses. “You’re amazing! How long have you been sewing?”
Mira relaxed into the conversation a bit, realizing she didn't have to be on guard with Emerson. “I don't remember exactly, my grandmother said she taught me as soon as she realized I'd used up all of her scotch tape.” She saw Emerson’s confused frown. “I was using all of her scrap fabric from her quilts and making clothes for my dolls. She said it was cheaper for me to use thread instead of tape.” With a little laugh she pointed at one of the Victorian dolls on a nearby shelf. “Once I finished that one by hand she taught me to use the machine. I know it's old, but I take good care of it and it’s never failed me like some of those fancy machines we had in the costume shop.”
“Costumes?” Emerson gave her a broad smile, “I'm surprised you didn't enter the costume contest last Halloween.”
Mira swallowed hard. She really didn't know how to shut up to save her life. Or in this case, her reputation.
“But I'm sure you didn't enter to give the rest of us a chance.” Emerson turned to look at her and Mira plastered a smile on her face.
Turning to the next page, an ice blue replica of Buttercup’s wedding dress from the Princess Bride, Emerson gasped with delight and launched into a description of the wedding dress design that she’d come up with thanks to Harper.
Mira was happy to listen to Emerson. Seeing someone so much in love was sweeter than it was melancholy for her. It wasn't like she'd thought Harris was ‘the one,’ but it would take a lot to drag her out of her self-imposed drought in relationships. No matter how amazing the men in St. Helena were, and she’d met a bunch of wonderful men since she’d moved to town, but the only one who’d managed to slip under her well constructed wall, lived right next door. No, he wasn’t going to be a problem.
Then again if she was really honest, she couldn't trust herself to know the difference.
Chapter Three
Life aside from his Nonna’s insistent matchmaking efforts continued on and the first thing on Teodoro’s to do list now that he was home was taking over the harvest preparations. He spent the first two days going through the Santini grove examining the trees and making his best estimate on a harvest date. He thought after the years he’d been away it would take some time to remember what to look for, but as soon as he’d begun walking through the grove it was almost as if his Nonno Sandro was walking beside him. The scents of the trees, the feel of the bark, and even the color of the olives, were familiar… like old friends he’d been longing for.
After that, he had visited an old family friend. Nico Vincenzo had been like an uncle to him while he was growing up and the Vincenzo Grove was nearly as old as their own. For years the two families had saved money, hiring the same crew for their harvests.
It had been a pleasure to see Mr. Vincenzo and see his daughter Stella who had gone to the same high school as the Santini brothers, but it was the outcome of the visit that had Teodoro sitting anxiously at the light waiting to turn onto Vintner Road. After viewing the additional rows of olive trees that Nico had added in the last few years, Teodoro realized that sharing a crew wasn’t going to happen. There were just too many trees and they couldn’t afford to wait.
Mentally going over the budget numbers, Teo blew out a frustrated breath. Maybe he could convince his grandmother to let him help out with his own money. She'd turn down the idea, because sometimes she still thought he was working weekends down at Stan’s. But it had been a long time since he’d been saving money to buy his first car and he had money enough to spare, especially for his grandmother who meant more to him than life.
A delivery truck from Baudouin Winery roared past him and brought him back to the present. With a quick glance at the street light, he reached forward to change the channel on the radio, but something caught his eye. A group was gathered in front of Mira's house, both adults and children, many more of the latter than the former. It was an incredible sight and a sure sign that things had changed at the corner house. Mrs. Fiorello got hives when she was near a large group of people and when he finally managed to spot Mira in the group, she was obviously having a great time.
The light changed and he made the turn, pulling to a stop on the side of the street behind another car. He managed to make it to the stairs just as the little group was moving around the corner of the house.
He wasn't sure it was a good idea, no, he was pretty sure it was a stupid idea, but like the Pied Piper, Mira had some kind of hold on him. He found himself tagging after the group just so he could see if his dreams about his neighbor measured up to the real woman living a stone's throw away from their property line. As he rounded the corner he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. 'Stone's throw' wasn't just a cheesy turn of a phrase, it was true. Of course it had been Lorenzo with the stone and he'd been standing between some of the standing cypress trees at the property line, but the stone had reached the house and Mrs. Fiorello's bedroom window.
While the group settled into places that made sure they could all see the herb garden, Teodoro looked up at the corner bay window and another memory popped up in his head, Mrs. Fiorello leaning out between the curtains, her ashen hair in fat round plastic curlers, her face smeared with thick lime colored cream. They’d tried to sneak through her gardens after a late night party and somehow Lorenzo had tumbled over a planter, smashing the hideous concrete swan into a score of pieces. But Teodoro had never really been able to forget the startling sight of her shouting at them.
With so many things that had changed at the old Victorian house, Teo found himself wondering if his new neighbor had kept the same layout in the house. Was her bedroom in the same place?
"Okay, so who can tell me where salad comes from?" Mira's voice turned his head and he moved a few steps to the side to see her at the front of the group. "Anyone?"
A little boy at the front of the group put his hand high in the air. "A bag."
Based on the deep red blush on one woman's face, the little boy was her son.
Instead of laughing at the child, Mira gave him an encouraging nod. "Close... Where does it come from before they put it in the bag?"
A little girl from the center of the group raised up her hand and rose up on the tips of her toes to wave it as high as she could above the other children.
"Holly?" Mira gave the little girl a little grin. "Do you know?"
"Salad comes from plants. Probably from a farm."
One of the women, standing under a nearby arbor, was beaming with pride. Her blue eyes sparkled with love as she looked at the precocious little girl. He recognized the man that stood beside her with a toddler on his hip. Gabe DeLuca had been one of his friends all the way through High School graduation. Even if they hadn’t
been friends he would have recognized Gabe. Everyone in St. Helena knew the DeLuca family, you had to live under a rock not to.
"That's right. Or in this case a garden." Mira stepped behind a small folding table and gestured to the items displayed on the surface. "And you," she swept her gaze over the small assembled group, "are going to be able to start a garden of your own. Just like making a salad takes ingredients, making a plant is pretty much the same thing. It just takes a little bit longer." A few of the children grumbled at the idea, reminding Teo what it was like to be that age and want to 'get to the good part' fast. But for the most part they managed to listen as Mira described the steps to grow their first plant.
There was a quick shuffle as the adults in the group produced over-sized t-shirts for the children. By the looks of it they were all wearing mom or dad's old shirts, the hems down around their knees.
Mira pulled a shirt down over her clothes as well, the large cotton t-shirt swallowed her up and came down to the under curve of her backside. There was a twist deep in his gut as he wondered whose shirt she was wearing. It wasn’t like he had a right to be interested, let alone jealous, but that didn’t seem to matter to the tightness he felt in his middle.
When he’d met Mira he thought there had been some kind of spark between them and maybe it had just been wishful thinking on his part, but he thought there might have been an attraction. But then again, just because something sparked between two people, it didn’t mean they were meant to be together. Andrea had been all smiles and flirtation with him, but she’d left him with a note scrawled across one of his dress shirts in some kind of marker.
Mira looked up and saw him, her lips parting in shock before she smiled at him. He wasn’t sure what she saw on his face, but instead of encouraging her smile it faded a little. If he hadn’t been so unsettled by his own reaction to her he would have kicked himself for taking the smile from her lips.
