Where Dreams Books 1-3

by M. L. Buchman

  Chapter 4

  Maria had hoped for a few interesting responses to her advertisement. She sat quietly while the shells were baking for tonight’s Winter Custard Tart. It would be a dark chocolate custard with slivers of dried pear, apple, and apricot partially reconstituted in a spicy mulled cider. She’d come out to the front of house and was using the computer tucked discreetly into Graziella’s greeting station.

  The soft warmth of the interior design based on Ligurian countryside villas, and the beautiful photos that Russell had taken while honeymooning there to decorate the walls, made it feel like home. She had lived seventeen years in Italy, thirty in New York, and now six months here in Seattle, but this is what felt like home. Somehow she still felt more Italian than American.

  The lights were low. The gray day shining weakly through the high windows leant a warmth to the dusky yellows and brick-reds of the décor, and the dark wood and the so-dark-red-they-were-almost-black tablecloths.

  She looked down at the computer screen and was stunned to discover that she didn’t have a few responses. Her ad had elicited dozens upon dozens of responses. Only momentarily overwhelmed, she quickly came up with a plan. She would treat this like any grocery order, sorting the produce into good enough for the customer, possibly acceptable, and for the trash.

  Perhaps give some real produce to one of the homeless shelters, they must always be desperate for supplies. Yes, she must speak to Angelo and Manuel about doing just that with any of their castoffs or unsold product. For one of the secrets of Angelo’s Tuscan Hearth was that everything used was fresh that day. Only soups or sauces that needed to stand overnight to mellow and blend were exempt.

  That would be good, especially if it helped feed people like the nervous man who had come back to the window this morning. No, not nervous. He hadn’t seemed nervous when they met in Pioneer Square last night. Nor was it shyness.

  He was tentative, she decided. So painfully tentative. As if he had lost all self-confidence and had found no way yet to make up for the loss.

  Whereas the men, and they were almost exclusively men, who had answered her ad could use a large lesson in humility. Well, she would do her part on that front. She simply deleted every one who talked about sex. Not that she didn’t want that as well, but it was not where you started a relationship. Especially not a friendship.

  “I liked your ad, Ms. Parrano.”

  Maria jolted only slightly as she looked up at Graziella. She had swept quietly into the front of the restaurant and begun preparing it for the day. Checking supplies of napkins, fresh tablecloths, tall pitchers of ice water. Well, she hadn’t expected to fool a woman as sharp as Graziella.

  “You know that’s Maria to you.”

  She shrugged, “I know, but I like calling you Ms. Parrano. It just feels more fitting.”

  “It just feels old,” Maria riposted.

  Graziella’s laugh lit up the room. “I am younger than your son.”

  “Don’t remind me. You are such a beautiful girl.”

  “Thank you. I like your ad. It is hard. Men only see us as…” she indicated her body with a wave of her hand.

  “And you are complaining?”

  “No…” Graziella pulled out the menus and began inserting the day’s lunch menu. “But I wish they were interested in more.”

  Maria smiled to herself. She knew what Graziella meant. Then she saw an opportunity.

  “Is there perhaps one person in particular you wished was paying more attention to you?”

  Graziella’s soft blush and averted eyes were all Maria needed to see. That the girl’s eyes had traveled toward the kitchen door before looking down only confirmed what she already knew.

  She reached out and with a brush on the cheek drew the girl’s attention back to her. “Sometimes my dear girl, it is the woman who must act.”

  “But what if he—” Then she clapped a hand over her mouth as if she was afraid of what she’d suddenly revealed.

  Maria pulled her in and kissed her on each cheek despite the hand still firmly clapped over her mouth.

  “You are so sweet. First, if he does not fall down at your feet in praise to the Almighty, he does not appreciate you enough. Second, I happen to believe that he will do exactly that. You must merely let him know that it is welcome. He is too busy being careful around his boss and forgetting how to be a man.”

  “But Angelo—”

  “Phhtt!” Maria waved a hand as if shooing a fly. “My son, he is very good at not seeing anything, not even what is right in front of his face. Just ask that charming wife of his. I will fix him if he makes any fuss. Now leave this old woman to her e-mail, you have a lunch to serve.”

  Graziella’s laugh, gorgeous smile, and quick hug left Maria feeling her age. Not old, but no longer young either. In that middle of life like a good wine, she decided. She would have to remind herself of that when she was with such a young woman.

  She turned back to the responses to her ad. Both younger men and older soon traced their path into her trash. Why a nineteen-year old was seeking a “hot mama” was not a question she was the least interested in answering. Nor why men in their seventies thought they could possibly keep up with her.

  She wanted to do so much. She had never been drawn to the outdoors, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to try it. Maria wanted to learn, explore, and be shocked in wonder. Somewhere she had heard the phrase, “to suck the marrow from life.” Like a good Osso Buco, braised veal shanks over risotto. That’s what she wanted.

  Then she reached an e-mail that brought her to a screeching halt.

  The Terrible Trio requests the company of

  Maria Amelia Avico Parrano.

  Tonight, Cutter’s Crabhouse, 6 pm.

  No sender’s name. Nothing about who the “Terrible Trio” might be. And not a hint of how they knew not only that it was her advertisement, but knew her full name as well.

  She deleted it. All those responses, and not a one had made it into her “possibly acceptable” list. She closed her e-mail. And the instant she stood and looked about the quiet restaurant, awaiting the start of yet another lunch service, she knew exactly where she would be at six o’clock this evening.

  # # #

  Maria had vacillated and worried. Her plans to leave the restaurant early enough to go home and change were sabotaged by a lunch rush that used up too many dark-chocolate-dipped, cherry biscotti and she had to make more for dinner to go with her homemade hazelnut gelato.

  She did consider going to Perrin’s Glorious Garb. Her boy had married Jo, a lovely lawyer of Alaskan heritage who had recently taken over as the manager of the Pike Place Market. One of her friends was an amazing clothier named Perrin Williams. Another of her friends had married dear Russell.

  Cassidy Knowles also appeared to be the first woman other than herself who had made any success of controlling Russell’s restless energy. Maria had channeled Russell and Angelo’s energy by teaching them to cook. Cassidy and Jo apparently both applied a liberal dose of common sense, they kept the two men so in love with them that they never knew which way their heads were spinning.

  She had left the newlyweds alone as much as possible. They were all young and didn’t need her hanging about them. She’d shopped at Perrin’s store a few times. While the clothes were so beautiful, they made the clothes the statement. Maria preferred to wear clothes that attracted attention, but let her be the statement.

  So, she went through the Market on the way to Cutter’s, leaving herself enough time to browse the shops and stalls.

  She found a Christmas scarf that completely suited her ideas of taste. It wasn’t candy canes and red-cheeked Santas. It was the color of holly and candle flames. As if it were made for La Festa di Santa Lucia. While that wasn’t for almost two weeks, Maria liked the way it brought out the red in her dark hair. It made her feel very festive, whi
ch is how a woman should feel around the holidays.

  She’d planned on arriving early. That way she could be sipping a glass of wine when the self-proclaimed “Terrible Trio” arrived. She was betting with herself that it was Joseph, Clara, and William. They were always there right when she opened her window. And, she was pleased to note, they had the good sense to bring their ever-rotating line of dates to Angelo’s for a proper meal when they wanted to impress them. They were fun and pleasant, it would be a nice evening, that she’d be unlikely to repeat.

  If it was someone else, well then, she’d just wait and see. She wasn’t above pretending her phone buzzed from the restaurant with a “dessert emergency.” She’d have to remember that one, it was a funny line.

  Maria was actually a little late by the time she arrived, the scarf had been in one of the last places she’d looked. The invitation hadn’t said whether they were to meet in the bar or the restaurant.

  The restaurant was down a long corridor, walking right through the servers prep station. It would have been strange if not for the spectacular view that lay in wait for the unsuspecting patron.

  The bar sprawled to the left as she entered the door. It was filled with the young and the professionals. So much so that she almost felt out of place. Lawyers radiated power with their suits, but most others dressed to be seen. Even the scruffy, and several of the people had that upscale scruffy look that only comes with success in some software business or the like, were young and exceedingly healthy.

  Well, Maria Amelia, you can turn tail and run, or you can fling your power scarf over your shoulder and sweep into the room as if you are the one who belongs.

  She did the latter and swept in. It was pleasing to see several men turn to watch her passage toward the long wooden bar at the far end of the lounge, despite their dates’ glares. In front of the bar stood a line of stools, mostly occupied, but with none of the dedicated drinkers typical in most bars. No, people came here to see and be seen, not to be life-long patrons.

  Opposite the bar was a long wall of glass looking south along the Seattle waterfront. Six o’clock was well past dark on a December night and the city glowed. Pike Place Market was a blare of light to the left.

  The view sort of tumbled down the high cliff of Western and into the water past the brightly lit piers of restaurants, tourist shops, and the ferry terminal. Beyond the big new Ferris wheel the view went dark, the expanse of Elliot Bay only lit by the occasional ferry across the water looking like a birthday cake bearing far too many candles. The mountain backdrop had disappeared with the darkness, just the faintest orange outline showing the towering snowy mountains.

  The view fit Cutter’s Bar, filled it with the vibrancy of what was actually quite a quaint city. They were so proud of the industry and busy doings, the largest city in the Northwest, the portal to Alaska, the bicycling capital of the U.S… Their lists went on and on. She had lived thirty years in New York, the city that never slept. Most of Seattle would be closed by eight o’clock. It was young and terribly pleased with itself, like so many of the patrons she could see in the bar.

  “Maria, over here.”

  She turned, and stumbled to a halt. All of her self-contained bravado slipping off her shoulders like a lost shawl at the surprise. She didn’t know if she was ready to face this trio.

  At one of the small round window tables, tall with equally high stools that put them on display, sat three beautiful young women.

  Cassidy Knowles in her trademark black turtleneck, designer slacks, and leather, calf-length boots. To either side, Jo Thompson ever so formal in her charcoal lawyer powersuit, and Perrin in, well, full-on Perrin was probably the only way to describe her.

  The woman’s shoulder-length hair was white. Not white-blond, but white. Her dress and leggings beneath were black and form-fitting, even black gloves revealing only her fingertips with unpainted nails. It was as if only her hair and face existed and the rest of her was invisible.

  It should have looked alien, as if she’d fallen out of a science -fiction movie, or perhaps Goth. Instead, Maria could see, it was making even the male waiters stumble as they passed by. She was far and away the most stunning woman in the room tonight.

  Maria sidled up to the table. She actually always felt daunted by her daughter-in-law and her two friends. They were a family and she wasn’t. They traced their lineage all the way back to their first day at college. Maria had never graduated from upper secondary, leaving at seventeen, a year early due to her pregnancy. They were so terribly accomplished; all Maria had ever done was give birth to a son and cook.

  “You’re the Terrible Trio?” In a way they were. They quite unnerved her.

  “Guilty,” Perrin declared brightly.

  “And proud to be,” Russell’s wife offered.

  “No,” Angelo’s Jo stopped them all with her calm composure and simple declarative.

  “No?” the others asked.

  “There are four of us now.”

  “The Fab Four?” Cassidy offered.

  “I’ve got it,” Perrin raised her glass in a black-gloved hand for a toast.

  There was a brief delay while they found a drink for Maria to toast with. She took the moment to climb onto the stool that placed them nearly elbow to elbow around the table, though it left her feeling as if she were teetering.

  “We are hereby the Fearsome Foursome.”

  “Hear. Hear.” The others raised their glasses, so Maria followed suit.

  Perrin knocked back the rest of her Cosmopolitan.

  Jo and Cassidy sipped their wine.

  Maria knocked back the sip of Perrin’s Cosmo that had been poured into an empty water glass for her.

  She and Perrin slammed their glasses back down on the table and said in unison, “Hear. Hear.”

  And just that fast, they welcomed Maria into their inner circle. Suddenly she was very glad she’d come.

  # # #

  “But how did you know it was me?” Maria sipped at her wine. Cassidy had picked a local white that perfectly complemented the Oven Roasted Dungeness and Rock Crab Dip. The dish was good, not subtle, but good. The wine pairing definitely elevated it.

  “Only someone as dense as my Angelo could miss that,” Jo shook her head sadly. Her long, straight black hair swirled across her shoulders: the only indicator of her Alaskan heritage other than her perfect dusky skin. That she was such a beauty and had just been ranked as one of Seattle’s most influential women only made Maria wonder how her son, who she loved dearly, had been good enough. “Go Angelo,” was all she could think.

  “Russell is dense enough. He’s even worse than Angelo,” Cassidy offered with a thoroughly contented sigh.

  “Yes, or Russell,” Jo conceded. “Only two such men wouldn’t know it was you, Maria. The instant Angelo showed me the newspaper, I knew…and I felt awful.”

  “Why awful?”

  “You were so kind to me when Angelo and I were stumbling our way toward each other, then… I shall be kind to myself by just saying, then I dropped you.”

  Maria reached out and held Jo’s hand. “You, my dear girl, are in a terribly demanding new job and you were newly in love and now married. The last thing you need to be worrying about is a foolish old mother-in-law.”

  Jo’s strong hand squeezed back.

  “The next time you say that you’re old, you’ll be wearing a Cosmo,” Perrin raised her glass in threat.

  “But I am.”

  “Before you came, we all agreed, you are the woman we want to grow up to be. We’ve also decided that you are our style guru. If you weren’t so totally scary, we’d have thought to do this much sooner.”

  “Scary? Me?” There was an adjective she’d never have picked in a thousand years.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “You cook like a dream.”

  “You dre
ss in a way that just pisses me off.” Perrin declared with a shake of her white-white hair. “You always look so effortless. Me, I’m…constructed.” She waved to indicate her styling and clothes.

  “But that is you, my dear,” Maria protested. “You are so breathtaking that I fully expect half the men in the room to need neck braces before the night is over.”

  “Really?” Perrin appeared surprised. As if she didn’t know or trust her own startling beauty. She glanced over Maria’s shoulder cautiously.

  “They will all have sore necks from turning so often to admire you. And many will be wearing their date’s drinks before the night is over for staring so often. That I can guarantee.” That one of these women could be less than confident shocked her to the very core.

  “You know what makes you really scary?” Cassidy’s soft voice stopped the back and forth flow of conversation around the table.

  Maria shook her head. Realized she was crumpling her napkin in her lap with her nerves and forced herself to stop even if she couldn’t relax.

  It was Jo who answered. “How in the world did you raise Russell and Angelo without having to murder at least one of them? That is the true miracle.”

  “Oh, that was easy,” she laughed at their aghast expressions. “Best way to a young boy’s head is through his stomach. And when they started noticing girls, I started feeding the girls as well. The boys never thought twice about bringing them to my kitchen. Then Mama Maria would quietly scoot the worst ones right back out the door without the boys even noticing.”

  “Scary smart,” Jo confirmed.

  “Totally,” Cassidy freshened their wine glasses.

  “Wish you’d been my mother,” Perrin’s voice was soft, barely loud enough for Maria to hear. The look on her face wasn’t silly or joking as it had been until this moment. It was very real and remarkably sad.

  Maria felt herself melt. Without even thinking, she took Perrin’s hand, pulled her into a leaning hug, and kissed her atop her shining hair. They sat back up, but Perrin stared down at the white tablecloth.