by T. J. Dell
“Not al of them, Lib. But I have high hopes. So what can we do for you?”
Libby handed over the folder she was carrying. “I definitely want the Sunday insert. And depending on the budget I would like a daily.”
Tony was quiet while he flipped through the couple of pages she had given him. “This looks good… Dolce-McKay?”
Libby shrugged. “I think it’s catchy. Plus it capitalizes on my Italian training…. Dolce is sweet”
“It is catchy.” Tony nodded. “We can definitely do this. You are working out of your mom’s kitchen?”
“For now. I haven’t given up on the dream of my own café, but one step at a time.”
“Sounds like a good plan. Ready to go?”
“What?” Libby was surprised when Tony stood up.
“To the wine festival? You stil want to come with me right?
“Of course. But we haven’t realy talked about prices, and I …”
“Don’t be dumb Libby… there’s no charge.”
“Absolutely not! You have a business to run, and I have a budget— including advertising funds.” Oops. He’d insulted her. She was sometimes easier to talk to in emails. Having to see her in person tended to scramble his brain—making him say things wrong. “I didn’t mean that Libby. I wanted to help. I tel you what.” He handed her a half-sheet sized card. “Here’s our ad contract. Al the prices are listed. I insist on a 25%
friends and family discount. It’s what I offer your mom when she runs coupons. Now whether or not you make up that 25% in cookies is entirely up to you.” Libby visibly relaxed.
“Now come on.” Tony slung a camera bag over his shoulder, and held the door open for her. “Let’s go have some fun.”
They did have fun. Booths and tents crowded the fair grounds, and at one end of the field a band was playing for a handful of picnickers. Most of venders were seling wine, but there were also food tents, and a few crafts and novelties stands. Music from the band filtered up to them and Tony took her hand in his as they began weaving around, checking out the various displays. Despite that he was on official business Tony seemed to genuinely want to ensure Libby was enjoying herself. He carefuly asked her opinion on each of the wines they sampled—expertly coaxing her to share with him the basics of wine tasting. He must be a very good reporter, Libby supposed.
“Now we picnic” announced Tony brightly, when they had seen just about everything. Libby back tracked a little to purchase a demi-bottle of a light rose wine she had particularly enjoyed. She blanched when Tony reached for his walet. Not that she had chosen an expensive bottle, but it wasn’t the cheapest she had seen either. “Relax.” He admonished when he saw her face. “You’re a tax deduction—I am taking a consultant out for drinks.” Tony winked as he accepted his change and handed Libby the bag.
“Okay.” Libby agreed. “What should we eat?” She headed off towards the food venders.
“You choose. I would have no idea what food to pair with what wine.”
“That’s the beauty of a rose wine—it goes with just about anything.” She ended up ordering a crusty baguette, and some cheeses.
“Tax deduction-- remember?” Again, he refused her offer to pay. “I should have brought a blanket.” Tony lamented looking down at her cream colored pants.
“Afraid of a few grass stains Marchetti?” Libby chalenged lightly.
They ended up down by the bandstand side by side on the grass with their smal picnic between them. Al around them couples and families were settling down now that the evening was drawing closer. An older couple was sweeping a waltz across a tiny dance floor, and a few children were playing ring-around-the-rosie.
“Who would have thought to bring kids to a wine festival?” Tony chuckled as he watched them flouncing dramaticaly into grass each time they finished their song.
“It’s not the same as bring kids to a bar.” Libby chewed thoughtfuly on her bread. “Wine isn’t realy about drinking. It’s more about experiencing.” Tony arched an eyebrow at her.
“It’s true. “ Libby swatted him playfuly. “More traditionaly it is about experiencing a meal, but the philosophy lends itself wel to life.
Tony nodded. He looked impressed. “Okay—so they wil have memories of a picnic and music, even if they are having juice boxes?” He gestured towards the children.
“Yeah, and their parents wil have memories of watching them laugh and play. Benjamin Franklin said Wine makes daily living easier, less hurried, with fewer tensions and more tolerance. And I think Thomas Jefferson caled a good wine a necessity of life.”
“I like that.” Tony produced a smal notebook from his camera bag and started scribbling.
“Umm… I’m not sure I got it exactly right.” Tony shot her a look. “I’m a pretty good fact checker.” She hoped she hadn’t insulted him.
When he finished writing, he stood up decisively and puled out his camera. “Time to earn a living!” Snapping photos as he walked amongst the picnickers Tony captured families playing together, and lover’s dancing. Libby sat, sipping her wine, and watching him work. Every so often he stopped to speak to someone, or have them sign what she supposed was a photo release. He moved easily—laughing with people as though they were old friends or fading away discretely as couples snuggled back into each other’s company. Eventualy he turned and strode back to where she was waiting for him. Raising the camera again he took several rapid fire shots of Libby stil lounged on the lawn.
She laughed and raised her now empty glass in a salute to him. Lowering the camera his eyes found hers, and his expression seemed to be ful of desire. But that just goes to show what an afternoon of consuming wine wil do to your perceptions.
The rest of the evening passed enjoyably. Touring the tents and booths one more time, Libby stopped to admire a display of jewelry; in particular-- a pretty blue crystal strung on a long chain. Immediately Tony handed over a few bils, and lifted the necklace over her head.
“I don’t think this is a tax deduction.” Libby joked to cover her discomfort.
“Nah the paper isn’t paying for this. Consider it a thank you gift for schooling me in al things vino.” It was hands-down the best nondate Libby had ever had, she reflected later that night as she lay in bed remembering and committing every moment of it to memory.
Chapter Fifteen
“I hate Med School.”
“Wel I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t in med school.” Libby propped her phone between her ear and shoulder so she could listen to Mel complain and mix at the same time. Stuart wanted Biscotti to sel at his concession stand, so she was hijacking her mother’s commercial kitchen in the evenings after the bakery had closed. It was probably nepotism, but Libby knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Oh. You know what I mean. John is hardly ever home anymore, and I’m pretty busy too. We never have anytime to—you know. It’s been almost a week.”
“Jesus Mel! I am so sorry you haven’t gotten laid in a week.”
“Oh wel. It isn’t like it’s your fault.” Mel either missed, or disregarded Libby’s sarcasm. “I’m realy looking forward to this weekend though. John promised not to bring any text books with him.”
to bring any text books with him.”
“Are you two going away?”
“Yeah, didn’t I tel you? It’s the family reunion.
You should come! We never get to see each other even though we are in the same country again. You can defend your title in the pie eating contest.” Libby used to go to the Marchetti family reunion every year. When Mel hit puberty she started bringing boyfriends instead.
“I was 14 the last time I went to one of those things. I am sure that over the last 8 years somebody else has won the pie eating contest.”
“Sure there is always a winner. But no one has ever cleaned 7 pie plates since you.”
Libby remembered how proud she had been that year. At fourteen she hadn’t realized yet that cleaning 7 pie plates was less than
ladylike. “Okay, yeah if you think it’s okay with everyone I would love to come. But no promises on the pie eating contest.”
Libby was forming the biscotti when Tony came through the swinging door that led from the front counter to the kitchen. As though the last two years had never happened Libby found herself back in the last moment they had been alone together in this bakery. As clear as if he were stil whispering in her ear she heard hard and fast between your mother’s ovens? It was realy a good thing she wasn’t stil in love with Tony, or this would be awkward Libby thought as she concentrated on the dough in front of her. When had she flattened it?
“Hey Lib. Your mom let me in on her way out.” Tony leaned back against the wal, and watched her shape a loaf of dough. For such smal slim hands they sure seemed strong. Kneading and patting her fingers seemed to move with a sense of purpose. What wouldn’t he give to be that lump of dough? Why did he always seem to be fixating on Libby’s hands? If he had enough blood left in his brain for thinking he would probably be ashamed of himself.
“Are you listening to me?”
Damn. “Sorry Lib my mind wandered. What did you say?”
“Never mind what did need?”
Need? Tony actualy took a step towards her, and her hands, before he was able to shake loose the control his hormones had on his motor functions. Slow, that was what she needed. Time to get over the Italian chef, and then Tony would amp up his game. For now he would be content with a few dates, and with showing her how great they could be together.
“I just wanted to stop by and invite you to a party this weekend. Actualy it’s the Marchetti family reunion.” Why was she looking at him that way?
“I know… I just told you I was going with Mel and John.”
Stupid hand fetish. “Right. Umm… wel no teling when those two wil drag themselves out of their hotel room. Why don’t you let me pick you up? You don’t want to risk missing the pie eating contest!”
Tony’s eyes twinkled at her. Geez why was everyone so focused on pie lately? “Okay, when should I be ready?”
Once they’d made arrangements for the next weekend Tony puled up chair, and found a pen and a pile of napkins so they could play tic-tac-toe while her loaf thing was baking. She beat him 28 games to 3. But to be fair, he was a bit distracted. She had a way of holding that pen…
“Don’t fil up Libster! The pie eating contest is after lunch! I’m gonna give you a run for your money.” John barked out his laughter. Libby wondered briefly if it was wrong to hope that he drop his chilidog down his shirt. Of course Mel was sitting in his lap, and she didn’t realy want to listen to Mel complain about her ruined tank top the rest of the afternoon so Libby guessed the chilidog solution was probably out.
Libby had dressed carefuly that morning. A short pair of green shorts and a bright blue tee shirt that fit closely and had a vee neck designed to show off a smal amount of cleavage. She knew the day would probably be too hot to leave her hair down, but she did anyway. Her dark curls tumbling down past her shoulders were a nice contrast against the blue of her shirt. So she snapped a pony tail twister around her wrist (in case she came to her senses later) and left her hair loose. Libby tried not to think too hard about why she was putting so much effort into her appearance. When not thinking about it failed-- she settled on the idea that she had been noticing Tony for 15 years, and it wasn’t wrong to want him to notice her back.
Noticing didn’t do any body any harm after al.
Tony did indeed notice her when she answered the door. In fact he was bothered for a good while as to whether or not her shorts actualy qualified as clothing. The park was a little more than an hour from Lindstown, and that was a long time for him to spend not staring at her tanned toned legs. Legs that he would love to have… NO.
This was only their second date, and he was going slowly.
‘Going slow’ became a mantra that Tony repeated over and over to himself for the rest of the day.
When they arrived at the party Tony took Libby around to introduce her to any family she hadn’t met, and the ones that she hadn’t seen in many years. There were a lot of “oh I remember you’s, “This couldn’t be little Libby McKay’s”, and to Libby’s great mortification there were even a few mentions of pie. That was mostly the aunts and women cousins. The men were more prone to offering Tony winks, nudges, and suggestive handshakes. His cousin, Nick, went so far as to slug Tony’s arm and refer to him as a sly dog. Tony preened like a peacock. Seeing Libby here with his family puled at his heart. A feeling so tender it left him speechless. His thoughts seem to naturaly drift a few years into the future and to bringing Libby to one of these things as his wife, and maybe as a mother. What would their babies look like? Dark curly hair he decided.
Whatever else, he wanted a baby girl with dark curly hair.
“Libby McKay!” Frankie jogged up to them.
“How the hel are you? Hey, Tony. You aren’t gonna deck me if I shake your hand are you?” Tony glared at his cousin, but he shook his hand any way.
“Come on Lib. I think I see Mom and Dad.” Tony towed Libby away, and behind them she could hear Frankie hooting loudly.
“What was that al about?”
“I hit him once a few years ago, and he likes to bring it up.” Tony slung an arm around her shoulders a little possessively.
“Oh.” Libby had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly when Tony had punched Frankie.
Pie eating wasn’t the only game on the docket for the day. The Marchetti’s were very competitive. A large official looking white board was standing in a corner of the pavilion; it served as a schedule of activities as wel as the signup sheet. Libby had loved the games as a kid. It was just her and her mom, and now Stuart. That wasn’t nearly enough people for egg tosses, relay races, and scavenger hunts. Libby remembered Tony as being less than enthusiastic about the games, wel except for the softbal game that brought the party to a close each year. But when Libby reached for the marker at the signup sheet he gamely added his name next to hers for the three-legged race, water baloon toss, and of course for tug of war.
The three-legged race was the big Marchetti opener. A chalk dust sprayer had been used to mark off a 50 yard race.
“I’m planning on winning McKay. Don’t let me down.” Tony was grinning her favorite grin as he tied the scarves around their ankles and thighs. If she didn’t know better she would think that he lingered down there a little longer than was necessary.
longer than was necessary.
“Oh we are so going to own this.” Libby pretended to polish her fingernails on her sleeves.
The thing about three legged races is they don’t realy rely on speed as much as teamwork and balance.
Libby and Tony got off to a pretty good start. His arm held her tightly around her waist, and she put her hand on his shoulder. This would have been perfect to keep them balanced if Libby could have disregarded the tiny jolts of electricity bouncing around in her stomach brought on by his closeness. They kept pace until about halfway down the track. When Tony’s fingers slipped between the waist of her shorts and the hem of her tee shirt, digging momentarily into the bare skin at her waist, Libby lurched in reaction.
Tumbling forward Libby inevitably took Tony down with her.
His arms wrapped around her in an effort to absorb most of their fal, but realy only served to lock them together when they hit the ground. Tony’s face fel into the curve of her shoulder; his body aligned perfectly with hers.
Lavender assaulted his senses, and for just a moment, or maybe two moments, Tony wished they weren’t in a public park surrounded by his family. “Are you okay?” He asked staring down into her eyes.
“Nothing wounded but my pride.” Libby was blushing scarlet. Tony roled quickly away before the sight of her flushed beneath him could cause a problem.
By the time they untangled themselves the winners (An aunt and uncle Libby didn’t recognize) were doing a mildly obnoxious victory dance. The Marchetti’
s realy were very competitive.
“Gee I hope you guys do better in the water baloon toss!” Mel was waving from the sidelines with John standing behind her both hands wrapped around her waist.
As Tony had predicted they had shown up wel over an hour late. Libby was glad Tony had offered to bring her or she would have missed a big chunk of the party.
“Hey sis, John.” Tony walked over to hug his sister, and shake his future brother-in-law’s hand. “Are you going to join us in the water baloon toss?”
“No. Way.” Mel exclaimed. “I wore white.” She explained in a loud whisper.
“Where do we sign up?” John waggled his eyebrows in a way that Libby supposed he thought was sexy—it was actualy a little gross.
“John!” Mel swatted at him playfuly, and in return he swung her over his shoulder fireman style.
“Those two should come with an adult content warning.” Libby shook her head at them.
“Singing to choir Lib. Remember she’s my sister!” Tony made a retching motion with a finger down his throat.
The four of them watched the rest of the games for a while. Cheering for Nick when he came in first place in horse shoes, and for John in the relay race (even though John didn’t do particularly wel).
In the water baloon toss teams of two stood across from each other tossing a water baloon back and forth. If the baloon broke you were out, and if it stayed intact you took a step back and tried again. Tony may not have been enthusiastic about the games, but he was just as competitive as the rest of his family. Right up until the start whistle blew he was muttering instructions to her. “Soft hands, don’t he was muttering instructions to her. “Soft hands, don’t squeeze, throw under hand…” It was extremely annoying, and Libby clapped along with the rest of the crowd when Tony burst their baloon in the third round.
