by Casey Dawes
“Interesting.” All he could think of was the proximity of her arm’s soft skin. Who cared what CEOs did with their overpaid wages.
As they sped down the highway toward the Saratoga exit, he wondered what life with a woman like Elizabeth would be like. He knew snippets of her existence, but did he really know the woman she was?
Did anyone know another person completely?
“Cat got your tongue?” Elizabeth asked.
“What?”
“Oh. Sorry, it’s an expression. I’m asking why you’re so quiet.”
“Oh.” He didn’t really have an answer. At least not one he wanted to discuss.
“Look, Marcos, if it’s about … about … before, I’ve let it go. At least, I think I have. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She downshifted as she exited the highway to head back west toward the mountains. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings, though.”
“I understand,” he lied. If she didn’t have the same passion for him as he did for her, maybe she wasn’t the woman for him. “We said we would not do anything that we did not both agree to.”
She shivered and he observed a couple of slight peaks under her sweater.
Ah, the passion was there. She was denying it though. Why? He put his hand on hers. “Relax. I will not take advantage of you. Let us go to the realtor and talk about vineyards, yes?”
She nodded emphatically. “Yes. That I can do.”
• • •
Discrete antique shops, prosperous looking spa, upscale restaurants and dozens of shops lined the main street of downtown Saratoga. Marcos noted the casual, but elegant styles the women wore and the high number of small dogs.
“It is trying to be France in California,” he said to Elizabeth.
“Yeah, there’s a little bit of that,” she said as she maneuvered into a parking space next to a wine bar. “This area is expensive, but there are more exclusive towns as you go up the peninsula to San Francisco. Saratoga is still manageable for some of the highly paid engineers and managers in San Jose.”
“How much are tech workers paid here?”
She told him and he whistled. Perhaps the vineyards would be beyond his price range, but surely nothing could be as expensive as Napa land.
He’d hoped he’d have more to invest after the vineyard in France started producing. But after Jacques’ bad news about profit, he’d only been able to consolidate a few hundred thousand American dollars to use as a down payment.
They got out of the car and walked down the street to the realtor’s office.
“Hello?” A dark haired woman with a silver streak in her hair and dark brown glasses greeted them.
“Hello,” Marcos said. “I am interested in knowing about vineyards that are for sale.”
The woman peered over her glasses at him and her lips pursed as if she’d swallowed a sour lemon. “My name is Jacqueline Speero,” she finally said. “Your name is?”
She was already making judgments. However, her snootiness couldn’t compare to rich women in Italy. He’d walk out to find another realtor, but time was short.
He gestured for Elizabeth to sit. She tilted her head at him, her eyes a little wide, but sat down. Then he indicated to the realtor that she should sit also.
Not willing to give up ground, she said, “Yes, why don’t we all take a seat, Mr … ”
He stood until she took his hint and sat. “My name is Marcos Gamari,” he said, taking his chair. “I would like to know about vineyards that are for sale in these mountains.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, I am on a very tight schedule. I leave for Italy on Monday.”
Jacqueline put her elbows on her desk and looked him over again. “Are you familiar with how much a vineyard in California will cost? Is your wife going to be participating in this venture?” Her tone indicated “hair-brained scheme” would have been a better choice of words.
“Elizabeth is not my wife,” Marcos said. “She is my good American friend who has graciously agreed to show me around the mountains.” And you’d better treat her with respect.
“I see.”
Time to put the woman in her place.
He waved his hand. “Actually, you probably don’t see. I have what it takes to purchase a vineyard here. I was told this was a good place to begin my search, but if you don’t know of any vineyards, perhaps we should look elsewhere.” He began to stand.
“Give me a moment,” Jacqueline said and got up.
While the realtor pawed through files, he had to force himself to pay attention. Elizabeth’s soft sweet perfume tickled his nose. He was pleased that she thought enough of his gift to wear it, but the fragrance was making him desire her more and more. He kept his eyes on the realtor.
“Here we are,” Jacqueline bustled back to the desk. “Two vineyards. One in the hills above Los Gatos. One … ” She peered at her map. “Looks to be off Highway Seventeen near Scotts Valley. Pretty much in the middle of nowhere on Jarvis Road.”
“Isn’t there a large vineyard up that way already?” Elizabeth asked.
The realtor nodded. “This place is even further up that road. Why people expect tourists to go up those roads is beyond me.”
“I don’t want to grow tourists,” Marcos said. “I want good grape fields.”
“I’ll give them both a call.” The realtor fumbled through the papers on her desk for a cell phone and dialed.
“What do you think?” Elizabeth’s question forced Marcos to look in her direction.
Longing stirred, but he suppressed it. “I think we should look at them both if we have time, if you are willing. I am your guest. I do not want to impose on you.”
“Not a problem.” Her smile beamed and her eyes lit up with anticipation. “If you don’t mind, there’s a store in Los Gatos I’ve wanted to get to. Since we’re here … ”
“Of course.” He resisted the impulse to put his hand on hers and caress her milky skin.
They stared at each other a moment. Marcos wanted to know everything about her, but there wasn’t enough time in a few short days. Would there ever be enough time?
Jacqueline hung up the phone with a click. “The owner of the Los Gatos vineyard needs to go to his grandson’s birthday party this afternoon. He said if you can get there in a half hour, he’ll see you.” She handed a card to Marcos. “I wasn’t able to get in touch with the guy on Jarvis Road. His name and number are on the back of my card.” She stood. “If you need anything else, call me. Are you planning on coming back to California again? With a little more time … ” She spread her hands in a what-can-I-do gesture.
Impossible woman. He would look for another realtor if these vineyards didn’t pan out.
“This will be good enough.” He stood and gave Elizabeth a hand up. “Good day.”
He gestured for Elizabeth to go first and followed her from the office.
Once they were outside, they glanced at each other and burst out laughing.
“Insufferable,” Marcos said after he caught his breath. “Very much like the ice maidens who run the Italian real estate.”
Elizabeth chuckled again and opened the passenger door to the little red sports car.
• • •
Marcos’s excitement grew as they climbed the hills above the town of Los Gatos. Rich vegetation clung to the sides of the roads and the piney odor of eucalyptus permeated the car after they rolled down the windows to catch the late fall warmth.
He was hyperaware of Elizabeth, even as they carried on what appeared to be a casual conversation. He longed to put his hand on her leg, feel the warmth of her skin through her pants and imagine what it would be like to caress the inside of her thigh.
He could feel himself stiffen and knew he had to discontinue the line of thought.
“How have you managed your vineyards so successfully to be able to afford a new one?” Elizabeth asked. “I can’t get a loan from the bank for a line of skin products, about a tenth what it would cost to buy a vineyard.�
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“I spend very little and I sell my grapes dearly. Yield has been good for the past few years, except … ” How much did he want to tell her about his business?
“Except?”
He sighed. Needing to discuss the situation with someone, he said, “The yields in my French vineyard are lower than I think they should be. Jacques, my vineyard manager, shows me numbers scattered around lots of different papers that seem to add up to what he claims. But … ”
“Your instinct says differently.”
“Certamente.”
“So much like my situation with my assistant,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes. It is strange, is it not, that we both have experienced this same problem?”
Elizabeth nodded as they turned into a long winding driveway and paused beside a wrought-iron gate, crowded on either side by climbing vines.
“I couldn’t point to anything exactly. I told her I had to lay her off because times were tough. I had to pay her some severance, but it was better than having her stealing me blind.”
“A woman of action.”
She laughed. “If you’re a small business owner in California, you have to be.” She pressed the red button by the gate.
A few seconds later, the gate began to groan open, protesting as it punished its rusty hinges.
“Needs some work,” Marcos noted.
They drove through several S-turns to reach the summit. Stunning mountain views were laid out before them. But the state of the property couldn’t be overcome by the views.
Everywhere he looked brush and vines overgrew the land. Statuary peaked out from clumps of tall grass. The man who emerged from the ramshackle shed fit the environment. His posture was felled by a tremendous potbelly and his thin white hair lay uncombed.
“Paul,” the man said, holding out his hand.
“Marcos.” Marcos grasped the strong, weathered hand. “This is my friend, Elizabeth.”
Paul shook hands again. “Here about the vineyard, are you?”
Marcos looked around. Plenty of vegetation, but nothing that resembled vinefera, good winegrape vines.
“Over there.” Paul pointed beyond a huge brush pile.
The vineyard was straggly and hadn’t been well-pruned in a while. Marcos knelt and sifted his fingers through the soil. He took a small vial from his shirt pocket and scooped up a sampling.
“Good dirt. Plenty of limestone and chert. Makes the grapes struggle. Good for them.” Paul had followed him into the vineyard.
Marcos could see Elizabeth behind Paul. She was examining the large leaves and small clusters of purple grapes ready for harvest.
“I’m a bit behind in upkeep,” the old man said. “Wife died last year. Haven’t had the heart for much since.”
“How long were you married?” Marcos asked.
“Fifty-seven years. High school sweethearts. Right down there.” Paul gestured toward the town of Los Gatos.
What would it be like to live your whole life with your childhood love? Did people even do that anymore?
“I am sorry.” Marcos said as he pinched a grape on a nearby cluster. The hard little berry didn’t yield to his fingers.
“Still a bit early. Sugar’s not high enough.”
“How much do you want for the vineyard?”
Paul named a figure. “Not just the vineyard — the house.” He spread his arms. “Everything.” His arms slumped. “Too much for me. My son wants me to come live with him up in Saratoga. He’s some big mucky-muck with a tech company.” His face drooped. “I dunno. S’pose it’s got to be.”
He turned and began to walk away. “Take your time. I’ll be in the shed.”
Marcos looked after the man. The price was fair for all that was included, but it was more than he wanted to spend. He looked around at the overgrowth.
“What do you think?” Elizabeth asked.
“Lot of work. It would be hard to do alone.”
“Paul seemed so sad.”
Sun warmed Marcos’ forehead as he stared at the mountain peaks and the valleys that reminded him of Liguria. If only he was younger … He glanced at Elizabeth. If only he had the right woman by his side, it would be a possibility.
But a woman like Elizabeth already had her own life and her own dreams. He shook his head.
“This is too much for me to take on, but I wish I could. I can almost feel the story of that couple here. Their struggles in bringing the land back to life, raising their family, growing old together. With great love the land could be reborn again.”
Elizabeth came up to him, placed her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. “Are all Italians this romantic, or is it only you?”
Her lips drew him and he lightly kissed her, praying she wouldn’t shy away. “It is in our blood. It only takes a blessing from nature and a beautiful woman to bring it out.” His lips grazed hers again and he inhaled the soft citrus of her perfume.
To his surprise, she smiled at him, her eyes soft with permission.
But he didn’t linger on her lips, much as he wanted to, afraid the easiness between them would disappear.
Instead, he took her hand and walked the vineyard. The possibilities were there. Excellent soil for Burgundian grapes, cool ocean breezes to keep the temperature even and enough heat to ripen the fruit before the winter rains. But did he need all this property? His home was in Italy. He glanced at the stucco red-roofed home he could see on a small rise. Like the vineyard, it needed upkeep.
“Could you find a partner to help you manage it? Like you did in France?” Elizabeth asked.
Partners. Like wives they were proving to be untrustworthy — a good reason not to become too involved with Elizabeth. “Partners in my life haven’t worked out well. And now, with problems with Jacques, it’s hard to know who I can depend on.”
“Not up for trying again?”
He looked at Elizabeth. Would she be someone who would betray him too? There was so much they didn’t know about each other.
“Not now.” He walked toward the shed to say goodbye to Paul.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth’s mind churned as she drove them down from the vineyard. Marcos’s kisses made her want to become closer to him, but who was he, really? Should she go for the fling? Could she keep her emotions at bay? After Joe, she didn’t want to give her heart to anyone ever again.
Marcos’ talk about untrustworthy partners had made her curious. He’d indicated that someone besides Jacques had broken his trust. What was he hiding from her?
All the more reason to keep him at arm’s length.
“I need to stop in Los Gatos and pick up a few things,” she said.
“Yes. That is what we agreed.” He sounded formal.
Silence descended again and she turned up the radio. NPR filled the small car with sonorous analysis of the current political crisis.
“It is interesting, this station,” Marcos said.
“National Public Radio.”
“So they say what the government tells them?”
She laughed. “Not hardly. They’re considered very liberal.”
“Is liberal bad?”
“Depends on who you listen to.”
“Ahh. America is very confusing sometimes. Italy confounds me, but I understand that chaos. It would take me forever to understand American ways.”
Another bit of distance between them.
Elizabeth parallel parked in a narrow spot in front of the Italian market. “Are you coming inside or waiting here?”
“I must come to see how Italy looks in America.”
Elizabeth pushed down her discomfort. Everything had been off since she’d asked about partners in the vineyard. But this was her stop and she was going to enjoy it, men be damned. One more reason not to get caught up in a relationship.
A bell clanged as they entered the store. Immediately, Elizabeth was transported back to her summer visit to Italy. Food boxes with foreign labels vied for shelf space with ornately painted c
eramics. Wooden cutting boards and rolling pins teetered against large bins of flour, rice and pasta. Pungent odors of garlic and oregano wafted from a back room.
“Ahh,” Marcos said. “It is well done.” He looked at her and smiled, the warmth returning to his eyes.
Her heart softened, encouraged by Marcos’ smile. “I want to learn to make ravioli,” she told him. “I’m hoping they can point me to a recipe.”
He shrugged. “It is only flour and egg.”
“Flour and egg rolled the right way.” A short dark-haired woman in a bright flowered frock emerged from behind the shelves. “But the pocket filling must be delizioso!”
“Yes!” Elizabeth smiled. “Can you show me?”
The woman shook her head. “I do not teach classes. But I have a book that will help you. I understand the lady does videos on YouTube to teach Americans about ravioli.”
The proprietress led the way toward the back of the room where she stood on her toes and pulled down a paperback with the tips of her fingers. She handed the volume to Elizabeth.
The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken.
“If you’re going to make ravioli,” the woman continued, “you need the right flour. Come here.” She briskly walked to the other side of the store where bags of flour nested on deep wooden shelves. Catching her enthusiasm, Elizabeth trotted behind her.
The clerk plucked out a bag and she handed it to Elizabeth. “The best for pasta making.”
Elizabeth tried to balance the heavy bag, but felt the book start to slip from her grasp.
“I’ve got it,” Marcos said, touching her arm as he grabbed it. An immediate pulse went through her and she looked up to see his blue eyes staring into hers. Her skin sparkled with energy and desire.
“Ahem,” the shop owner said. “I don’t think much pasta-making will occur tonight.”
Elizabeth released herself from the spell. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”
The woman took her arm and walked her over to an aisle of gadgets. “It’s obvious what came over you.” She jerked her thumb at Marcos. “He did. And I don’t blame you a bit. Grab it while you can, honey. He’s too gorgeous to let get away.”
