by Lisa Norato
Boo Boo had been prowling around the edge of the table throughout the game, eyeing the balls and making it more of a challenge to play around her. She liked to do that. She’d developed a fondness for the game, keeping Rick company on the evenings he wandered in here to practice shots. He grew more fond of that cat every day.
He joined the two older women who sat on folding chairs set beside a makeshift dessert table of cardboard boxes covered with dishtowels and displaying what was left of the cake, biscotti, and fresh fruit salad they had enjoyed with their espresso. There’d been no candles, no singing “Happy Birthday,” no evidence of a party except for the gifts Stella was now unwrapping.
She loosened the candy corn grosgrain ribbon on Rick’s plain brown package. He hoped she liked his gift. It was unlike any of the presents her family had selected for her — a gift certificate to a hair salon, a famous-maker leather handbag, theater tickets, and a box of the original, large size Hershey’s chocolate bars from Auntie Angie. With her figure, Rick suspected Stella didn’t eat them often and got the impression it was more of a nostalgic gift which her aunt had given her since childhood.
Stella grinned with curious delight as she peeled away the brown paper wrapping to expose the rich, vibrant colors of a blocked, quilted fabric. “Oh … my. Such color. It’s lovely, Rick, but what is it?” She smoothed a palm over the crisp, brightly patterned material and sent him a smile. He knew she didn’t really want an answer but would prefer to discover for herself. He watched as she grabbed the edges and stood to shake it out, letting the wrappings drop to the floor.
Boo Boo materialized to chase after the discarded ribbon. The rest of the family abandoned their pool game for a look at the small lap quilt Stella held.
Rick rose from his seat to stand beside her. “The pattern is called Old Italian Block.”
When he’d first seen it, Rick had stared at the block pattern with the reverence of an oil painting, mesmerized by the way the darks and lights rendered the quilt a three-dimensional effect. The deep rich colors reminded him of Italy — of a golden yellow Tuscan sunset and the terracotta roof of a quaint hotel overlooking the sea. There were vibrant blues reminiscent of the Adriatic coastline, various shades of burgundy wines, vine-ripened tomato reds, and the silvery green foliage of an olive grove.
Angie nodded appreciatively. “Bellissimo.”
Jamie pressed in to lift one corner of the quilt for closer inspection. “Oh, Ma, the patterns and colors. It’s incredible.” She turned to Rick with a smile of pure delight. As their eyes met, he smiled back. Their shared gaze deepened, lingering well past a casual glance. Something sprang to life inside him, his emotions fizzing with excitement, like an uncorked bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Jamie’s expression flashed to one of embarrassment and discomfort, and she quickly turned back to the game, reaching for her pool stick.
“You hang it on the wall, si?” Stella asked him.
Rick grinned. “I was thinking either that or you could drape it over the back of a sofa or a rocker. Though I can’t quite imagine you owning a rocker.”
Stella passed the quilt to her aunt and rose to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Rick. It is a lovely gift.” Grabbing his cheek, she gave it a firm pinch, her gaze one of fond approval. “You are a kind, thoughtful man.”
Rick felt warmed by the praise.
“You’ve enjoyed your evening, I hope?” Resuming her seat, Stella reclaimed the quilt and draped it over her lap. This was her birthday, and yet she was worried whether he’d enjoyed it. The woman was all graciousness and hospitality.
“I have enjoyed myself. Thank you again for inviting me and for being the first guests in my new ‘old’ home. The food was amazing. Do you eat like this all the time? I don’t suppose you’d consider adopting me?”
“We might let you hang around if we can drop in and use the pool table whenever we want.” Matt chalked his cue tip, then leaned in to line up a straight shot on ball thirteen. It missed the pocket by a hair.
Santo had been enjoying his espresso but set down his cup to let out a sound of disgust. “Here, give to me,” he demanded, fighting his grandson for possession of the stick. “I show you how to play.”
Ignoring them, Stella leaned over to give Rick’s hand a pat. “There are many ways one becomes part of a family,” she said with a swift glance at her daughter, who was sipping from a can of root beer. “Through marriage, for one.”
Jamie choked, spraying her brother with soda. Matt drew back in disgust, yelling for her to watch out. Santo took the opportunity to steal the pool stick, yanking it from Matt’s grasp.
“What about your parents, Rick?” Stella inquired, calmly oblivious to them all.
Rick had never felt comfortable opening up about his past, but Stella’s motherly warmth had a way of breaking down his defenses. Or perhaps it was the family dynamic infusing his grandmother’s house, recreating the sense of home and belonging he’d cherished when he’d lived here. Those early years had been the only time he could remember feeling soul-deep contentment. Sharing this evening with Stella and her family had left him with a sense of security and nostalgia.
He leaned forward, hands between his knees, and linked his fingers together. “My mother died in a car accident, nearly twenty years ago now. I never knew my father. Mom got pregnant while she was still in high school, then took off shortly after I was born. My grandmother raised me until she died just before my sixteenth birthday. My mother was on her second marriage by then, and my stepfather took me in. They didn’t have any other children.”
Stella expressed her deepest sympathies. The others shared the same sentiment with a nod or look of compassion.
“All in the past,” he assured them. “I didn’t get all that much time with my mother before she was gone, but I’ve always remained close to my stepfather. He lives in Florida now with a new wife and family.”
That had been the short version, but it was more than he’d shared with anyone in a long time.
“How does it feel to be back in your grandmother’s house?” Stella asked.
At the question, a lump formed in Rick’s throat and he needed a moment to regain control over his emotions. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately,” he said.
And then another thought came to him. “Can I show you something?”
“Please,” she encouraged.
Rick stood and reached into a back pocket of his jeans. “I’ve been carrying this around since the move.”
He pressed the trinket into Stella’s dainty palm. “Oh, my.” Her eyes widened as she lifted it between thumb and forefinger for a closer inspection. Auntie Angie leaned in beside her. Their breaths caught at the same moment.
“It’s vintage, isn’t it?” Jamie retrieved the platinum ring from her mother and held it up until its many stones danced in the light. Dylan stood behind her, peering over her shoulder.
The sound of breaking pool balls ceased, as one by one the entire family gathered around to inspect the round center stone with three baguettes on either side, all enclosed in a top and bottom swirl of accent diamonds.
“It’s my gran’s engagement ring,” Rick explained.
He never meant to create a scene. What had he been thinking? It was this house. It had a strange effect on him … making him sentimental, making him care about a cat, making him remember things about Gran he’d long forgotten.
Like her heels and sparkly sweaters. Gran hadn’t been a vain woman. She’d been proud to stand behind the school lunch counter and serve him and his friends in a hairnet, but when she stepped out, Gran took great pride in her appearance. And she baked the best pies. The best. What Rick wouldn’t give for a slice of her blackberry pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, the way she used to serve it to him.
She’d been the best hugger. Wrapped in one of her hugs, he could feel her love flow through him. Hugging Gran had felt like falling into a fluffy pillow. She’d buy bags of candy on sale after Valenti
ne’s Day or Halloween and hoard them in her underwear drawer. She’d been big on hospitality, especially when he’d bring home friends. Gran would stop whatever she was doing to whip up an omelet or make sandwiches. Then she’d sit down with a big smile on her face and watch them eat. She’d had the need to feed.
Stella’s graciousness and warmth reminded him of Gran. Maybe that’s why he felt so comfortable around her, and why he’d wanted to share something of his grandmother’s with her. The ring had been burning a hole in his pocket, and he’d needed to show it to someone. Someone sensitive and intuitive enough to understand he was missing the one person in his life who’d given him stability and a true sense of belonging. Stella had been the obvious choice, but he’d ended up only drawing unwanted attention to himself.
“Do you plan on getting engaged soon?”
It was Dylan who asked, but from the expressions surrounding him, it appeared to be the question on everyone’s mind.
“Oh, no. Married? No,” he quickly corrected the misunderstanding. “I had to remove the ring from the safe in my condo when I was packing, and I’ve been carrying it since. I can’t just leave it hanging around.”
Jamie handed it back to him as if she couldn’t rid herself of it fast enough. “It’s beautiful and unique and much too valuable to be carrying in your pocket. You could easily misplace it. It should be kept someplace safe.”
“You might want to get yourself a safe deposit box,” her father offered.
“Or a woman,” Dylan added.
Stella gave a ladylike snort of impatience and waved them off. “Back to your game, everyone. I want to talk to Rick. Have a seat, Rick. I think I am the only one who understands what is going on here.” She gestured him to a folding chair.
“You know what’s going on?” Rick asked as he accepted the offered seat. “Because I don’t know if I do.”
“Stella, give the guy a break,” Jameson said. “Nothing’s going on. With renovations ongoing in his house and no furniture except a pool table, what choice did he have but to keep it with him?”
She gave her husband a scolding glare and before their staring match dragged on, Jameson told Rick, “Good luck, buddy,” and returned to the pool game.
Jamie looked as if she might protest as well. Her face blushed hot with emotion, and yet she turned with a sigh and joined her father.
Stella resumed her seat beside him and looked him squarely in the face. “Why did your grandmother give you this ring? She gave you the ring, si?”
Rick didn’t feel comfortable with the direction of this conversation, but a brief nod from him was all Stella needed to continue.
“I think your grandmother knew there would be somebody special for you,” she said. “You hold on to that ring, Rick. You never know what life has in store for you.”
“Whoa, Jaime,” Matt hollered from the pool game. “What’s your problem? How could you miss that shot?”
She mumbled something Rick didn’t catch. “I’m happy with my life the way it is,” he told Stella. “I’m not looking to get married.”
“Good for you,” Jameson called out.
“Don’t mind him,” Auntie Angie said. “It is good you say you’re not looking, because that is when it finds you — amore. When you are not looking.”
Stella nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “Tell us more about your grandmother.”
“Gran worked in the school kitchen of Elm’s Elementary,” Rick said, relieved the conversation had been diverted from him personally. “She planned the lunch menus, and many of the recipes they adopted were her own, like her chicken and dumplings. We’d walk to school together every morning, and if she happened to be serving lunch that day, she’d be sure to heap a little extra on my plate. We didn’t dine on fine Italian cuisine, but she was an amazing home cook. I have yet to taste a Yankee pot roast that even comes close to hers.”
He seemed to have caught Jamie’s attention. She’d lowered her pool stick to listen. Had he finally said something to interest her?
“How sentimental of you, Rick,” Stella said, the light of pleasant surprise shining in her eyes. “There is nothing so enjoyable as the treasured recipes of a home cook. I suspect Elm’s Elementary continues to use some of your grandmother’s recipes today. What would you do for the chance to have lunch there again? It would be like tasting your grandmother’s cooking once more, si?”
He laughed at the odd question. “It’s a nice thought, but the elementary school cafeteria doesn’t allow walkins.”
She raised a delicate auburn brow. “Oh? But they might. Under the right conditions. If you were willing… .”
“Willing to what?” She was setting him up for something, luring him in with her charm and an air of mystery. It was working.
With a beguiling smile, she averted her gaze to run a finger over the stitches of her lap quilt. “It’s been told to me the first grade class is looking for another speaker for career day. The person who does this design thing with computers had to withdraw.” She gave Rick a sideways glance, looking at him beneath her lashes. “I think a professional, well-traveled man like yourself would make an eccellente role model for the six-year-olds of Elm’s Corner. Perhaps you’d care to step in? Jamie can give you details. She speaks to the class every year. I am very proud, as you can imagine. She is very good like that, giving back, volunteering to help others. Aren’t you, cara?”
Jamie shoved her stick at her brother, whose turn it had been to sit out a game, and addressed her mother with a forced smile. “Ma, you’re putting Rick on the spot. It’s unfair to him. Career day is next week. It’s too short notice.”
Rick sensed a deeper intention behind the exchange of mother and daughter. He had no idea what it could be, but he was enjoying Jamie’s embarrassment nonetheless.
“Thanks, but I think I can speak for myself,” he said. “But first, what does any of this have to do with my grandmother’s cooking?”
Stella brightened and turned to him with a little bounce of excitement. “Rick, all career day speakers are treated to a tour of the school and free lunch in the cafeteria.”
He was intrigued. “And when exactly is this career day?”
“Next Tuesday,” Jamie said. “I’m sorry my mother mentioned it. You’re probably busy.”
Hmm. She didn’t want him attending career day with her, even though Stella was encouraging it. Jamie hadn’t wanted him to attend this evening either. She didn’t want him insinuating himself into her personal life, which made him all the more determined to figure out why. She fascinated him, his unconventional lady foreman.
Plus it would be fun to see his old alma mater again.
“I should be able to adjust my schedule,” he said. “Rochford Industries, the company I work for, encourages good public relations and community outreach. So, to clarify, all I have to do is speak to a roomful of six-year-olds for ten or fifteen minutes, and I get the honor of sharing school lunch with you?”
Jamie looked down her nose at him. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. Ten minutes is a long time to hold a six-year-old’s attention.”
Well, that settled it. She’d issued him a challenge. No way could he refuse now.
“I think I can handle it,” he said.
Chapter Eight
Come Saturday morning, the day Jamie had made plans to go appliance shopping with Rick, she found herself unusually selective in her choice of what to wear.
Appraising her look before a full-length mirror, she stopped to ask herself, What am I doing?
What difference did it make what she wore? She was going shopping for a refrigerator. Returning to her closet, she pulled an army green utility jacket over her cowl neck sweater and switched out her knee-high leather boots for heavy wool socks and a pair of high top duck boots.
She immediately felt better. In control. Comfortable. Because this was not a date. She couldn’t bring herself to stick her hair in a ponytail, but still — not a date. More like a friend helping a frien
d.
Yesterday, she’d phoned Rick from her construction van and caught him as he was driving home from work. “Take a look at the sitting room when you get in,” she’d instructed. “Today I took a hammer and chisel to the fireplace and demolished the brick surround. You’ll never believe what I found underneath. The ceramic tiles from your grandmother’s mantelpiece were still in the register grate. I compared them with the photos you gave me, and, yup, they’re the originals. I’ll salvage as many as I can, and hopefully I’ll be able to find a place to use them somewhere within the house, so a piece of your childhood will be preserved within the new construction.”
He was thrilled at the news and responded to the excitement in her voice with a chuckle. “Sounds like you’ve had a good day.”
“I love working demo,” she admitted.
They’d chatted a bit longer after that. Just small talk. He asked what she’d eaten for lunch in his ongoing obsession with her family’s restaurant menu. For himself, he’d walked to Providence’s Burnside Park for a sandwich off a food truck — grilled portabella with balsamic reduction, caramelized onions and goat cheese on a pretzel roll. “It was good,” he’d said, “but not to be compared to Santo’s meatballs.” The man was a foodie.
He’d signed off with, “I’m excited to get home and check out your find.”
Jamie had never before given up a Saturday to go shopping with a client. She looked at it as an opportunity to put her interior design skills into practice, and who was more qualified than she to judge what worked in a house she’d been restoring for months and adored as if it was her own?
No romance in the air, though.
Rick did seem to fit in with her family. It was like they’d known him all their lives. He got along with everyone and didn’t shy from Stella’s prying. He spoke candidly about his life. He hadn’t hesitated to open his home and pool table to them. He’d jumped at career day, yet another day Jamie had somehow managed to get stuck spending with him. Someone else, like her mom, might mistake his teasing ways for flirtation, but Jamie knew better. Her lady foreman persona was an easy target for his lame humor. Rick’s interest did not extend beyond the friendly affection he’d shown any other member of her family.
