Promises, Promises

by Shelley Cooper

  “Seems a lot of trouble to go to for one dinner,” she said.

  He stopped chopping long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. “You think you’re going to get food poisoning, don’t you?”

  She was willing to concede that the notion might have crossed her mind. None of the men she’d known had been any good in the kitchen. Her father had been the worst. He was the only person in the world who truly could burn water.

  “Well…”

  “It’s either that,” he said, “or you think I’m going to burn the food to a crisp.”

  “Maybe,” was all she would say.

  “That’s quite sexist of you, you know. I’m officially offended. Need I remind you that all of the best chefs are men?”

  Her chin went up. Talk about sexist. “That comment deserves only two words. Julia Child.”

  “Okay, so there’s an exception to the rule.”

  He grinned, and she knew he had been teasing her. And that she had deserved it.

  Gretchen looked around the room.

  For a bachelor, he certainly had an amazingly equipped kitchen, a fact she’d easily discovered while cooking breakfast. The room had a hominess to it that was missing in the rest of the apartment.

  Face it, she told herself as she eyed a copper espresso maker with an emotion akin to lust, it was far better equipped than her own. And he certainly looked like he knew what he was doing. If she tried chopping vegetables at that speed, she’d probably lose a finger.

  Fascinated, she watched his long, lean fingers as they moved the length of a carrot. He sure knew his way around a cutting board. She remembered how it had felt to have those very same fingers cradle her face, and shivered. He sure knew his way around a woman, too.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked.

  “You prepared breakfast and lunch. It’s my turn now.” He waved the hand holding the knife. “Just sit back, put your feet up and relax.”

  Fat chance of her relaxing in the same room with him. Scooping Kristen from the floor, Gretchen headed for the living room. “We’ll get out of your hair, then. Call if you need anything.”

  An hour later she nearly groaned aloud when she took a bite of the chicken he’d prepared. It all but melted in her mouth. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  He cupped a hand to his ear. “Hark, is that an apology I hear?”

  Gretchen laughed. “It is indeed.”

  After another bite she said, “I have never tasted chicken this yummy in my life.”

  “You really like it?”

  The pleasure in his eyes warmed her. “I more than like it. This is wonderful, Marco.”

  “Thank you. My oldest brother, Roberto, owns a restaurant. I worked in his kitchen when I was a teenager. He taught me a thing or two.”

  “He taught you well.”

  “He’ll be happy to hear it.”

  She speared another piece of chicken with her fork and stared at it. “I suppose a confirmed bachelor needs these skills.”

  He nodded. “They do come in handy at mealtime.”

  “Tell me more about your family,” she said.

  “Oh, no, my family.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “I totally forgot.”

  “What did you forget?”

  “I’m supposed to have brunch with them tomorrow.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  He nodded at her and Kristen. “I can’t just abandon you to go have brunch with my family.”

  “You wouldn’t be abandoning us. Trust me, Kristen and I can fend for ourselves just fine for a couple of hours.” She tilted her head. “Or is it that you still don’t trust me enough not to run off with her?”

  “It’s not that,” he denied.

  “Then what is it?”

  He looked like he was searching for the proper words. “I made a promise to Brian. Like you, I always keep my promises.”

  “And that promise was?”

  “That I would watch Kristen.”

  “Need I remind you that you asked me to help?”

  “I never promised not to bring in reinforcements.”

  Sometimes, Gretchen thought, the man could be downright infuriating. She took another bite of chicken. Good thing he was such a good cook.

  “Then don’t go,” she said.

  “That’s not an option,” he replied.

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t know my family. If I don’t show up, they’re going to assume something terrible happened.”

  “And?” She waited patiently.

  “And the next thing you know,” Marco said, “we’d have the cops and the fire department at the door, along with my five brothers and my sister. If we’re lucky, we’d get to them before they chopped the door down.”

  “I have an idea,” she said. “Let me know if it’s too radical for you. You could take Kristen with you.”

  He shook his head. “After everything you’ve done to help me out this weekend, it wouldn’t be fair to leave you behind. You’ll just have to come, too.”

  As invitations went, it wasn’t the most heartfelt one she’d ever received. “Worried I’ll embarrass you?” she asked sweetly.

  “Of course not.”

  The promptness and the sincerity of his denial soothed her somewhat. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is my family,” Marco said. “If I bring you with me, they’re going to put two and two together and come up with five.”

  Suddenly everything grew crystal clear. “Meaning they’ll assume something is going on between us.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  “Can’t you just explain the situation to them? Surely they’d understand.”

  “One might think that. Unfortunately, all they would understand is that I went to you for help, not them. That understanding would then lead them to jump to some interesting conclusions.”

  “Two plus two equals five?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  Gretchen laid down her fork and stared at him curiously. “Don’t they know you’re a confirmed bachelor?”

  “Of course.”

  She spread her arms. “Then what’s the problem? They’ll just assume I’m another of your temporary flings. I don’t mind.”

  “You don’t understand,” Marco said. “We Garibaldi brothers don’t bring temporary flings to family functions. Last November, my brother Carlo, a confirmed bachelor if ever there was one, brought a woman with him to Thanksgiving dinner. He told us that they were just friends. They were married six weeks later.”

  “Happily?” she asked.

  “Deliriously.”

  “How lucky for them.” And she’d thought her conversation with him last night had been odd. “So what you’re saying is, you’re afraid that if you take me with you to brunch tomorrow, we’ll end up getting married?”

  “Of course not.” He sounded appalled at the thought. “But my family might think that.”

  “So?”

  “So I don’t want them thinking that.”

  “Marco,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Take a deep breath.”

  He just looked at her.

  “I’m waiting.”

  With an expression on his face that told her he was indulging her only because she was his guest and it was the polite thing to do, he drew a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  “Good.” She nodded her satisfaction. “Feel better?”

  “I guess so. Why did you ask me to do that?”

  “You needed to relax. For a minute there I thought you were going to have a full-scale panic attack.”

  He gave a rueful grin. “I was that bad, huh?”

  “You were that bad,” she agreed. She waited a beat before saying, “If I make you a promise, will you trust me to keep it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I promise you this. Neither now, nor anytime in the future, will I try to deprive you of your confirmed-bachelor status. No matter what
your family thinks. You have my solemn vow.”

  At three o’clock in the morning, Marco was still wide awake. He’d tried everything he could think of to fall asleep: reading until his eyes nearly crossed with the effort, counting sheep, lying rigidly still with his eyes tightly closed, repeating a mantra over and over again to rid his mind of all thought. Nothing had worked.

  Maybe a good, old-fashioned remedy was what was called for. When he was a child and he couldn’t sleep his mother had always made him a glass of warm milk.

  In the kitchen, he took the milk out of the refrigerator and a glass from the cabinet. Opting to use the stove instead of the microwave so as not to disturb his guests, he poured some milk into a saucepan and placed it on a burner.

  It wasn’t long before it was ready. Marco took a sip and grimaced. Warm milk didn’t taste nearly as good as he remembered. Now that he thought about it, he never had liked it much. What he had enjoyed were those moments, rare in a family as large as his, that he’d had alone with his mother. She’d had a way of zeroing right in on his problems and listening until he’d worked the solutions out for himself.

  Even if a miracle occurred, and she materialized before him this very minute, his mother wouldn’t be able to help him tonight. How could he confide his troubles to her, when he himself didn’t know what was keeping him awake? With a sigh he placed the now-empty glass in the sink and headed for the stairs.

  On impulse he stopped outside the living room. Maybe he should check on Kristen. If she was awake and getting ready to fuss, he could save Gretchen the effort. Especially since he was wide awake.

  Marco didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he bent over the crib and found the child fast asleep. Of course, once he’d assured himself that his charge was resting peacefully, he couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering to the woman who slept less than a foot away.

  Tonight there was no need to cover her, as the sheet wrapped around Gretchen’s body protected her chastely from both the artificially cooled air and his regard. With a sudden tightness in his chest, Marco studied her sleeping face. She was so achingly lovely.

  He was about to turn away when Gretchen opened her eyes. There was no surprise or alarm in her expression when her gaze unerringly met his. It was as if she had known, before she woke, that she would find him standing there.

  Wordlessly they stared at each other for endless, breath-stealing minutes. In the darkness Gretchen’s eyes seemed bottomless, like eternity. Marco found himself wanting to kiss her again. Desperately. He also found himself consumed by a yearning that had nothing to do with his need to kiss her.

  “Marco,” she said softly.

  “I was just checking on Kristen,” he said, backing away. “She’s fine. Good night.”

  Heart beating like a jackhammer, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, he turned on his heel and went back to his lonely bed.

  Brunch was high atop Mt. Washington at Roberto Garibaldi’s restaurant. The view of downtown Pittsburgh from its floor-to-ceiling glass windows took Gretchen’s breath away. Due to all the rain they’d had the day before, the city, looking clean and refreshed, literally sparkled in the sunlight.

  After a flurry of introductions, and many openly speculative glances, she found herself seated at a circular table for fourteen. Marco was to her left, with Kristen sandwiched between them in a high chair. To her right was Marco’s youngest brother, Antonio.

  “I hope you’re all prepared for a feast today,” Roberto Garibaldi announced as two white-jacketed waiters placed glasses of ice water on the table.

  “You think every meal you prepare is a feast,” Antonio teased.

  “That’s because it is,” Roberto said seriously.

  Leaning behind the high chair, Marco murmured into Gretchen’s ear, “I hope you’re hungry. Whenever it’s Roberto’s turn to host Sunday brunch, he always serves a traditional Italian meal. Get ready for a lot of food.”

  Gretchen couldn’t ever recall seeing this number of people at the duplex. “Do you ever host Sunday brunch?” she murmured back to him.

  “Of course,” he replied. “We all take turns.”

  “I’ve caught a glimpse of a brother from time to time, but I don’t ever recall seeing your whole family arrive at once.”

  “That’s because I always hold my Sunday brunch at a Chinese restaurant.”

  “Always?”

  “Always,” he confirmed. “It’s tradition.”

  “What about your other brothers and your sister?” she asked. “Do they have a tradition?”

  “Let me see. Carlo is Greek cuisine, Bruno is German, Franco is French, Kate is Mexican and Antonio is strictly American.”

  Gretchen smiled. “Quite a cosmopolitan group. How often do you do this?”

  “Once every other month or so.”

  “On your week off,” she guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “So, despite their busy lives, and your hectic schedule, everyone makes the time for this. You make the time for this.”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting,” she said, raising the glass of water to her mouth.

  “What’s so interesting?”

  Only that, despite his protest that he had no room in his life for a wife and family, he did find time to maintain his ties with his brothers and his sister.

  She replaced the glass on the table and met his gaze. “Just that your family is important to you.”

  Marco looked as if he wanted to say something. Then, with a shake of his head, he seemingly changed his mind.

  “What have you prepared for us today, Roberto?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t wish to toot my own horn, but—” assorted boos and catcalls had Roberto smiling sheepishly “—today I have outdone myself. Our first course will be a perfect Insalata Caprese…”

  “Salad with vine-ripened tomatoes, basil, mozzarella and olive oil,” Marco translated for Gretchen’s benefit.

  “…followed by a delicious Schiaffi and an exquisitely tender Pollo alla Griglia.”

  “Grilled chicken and ravioli made with prosciutto ham and spinach,” Marco said.

  “We’ll finish up with Torta Mantovana and, of course, my favorite, cappuccino.”

  Marco was leaning so close to her she could smell the minty scent of his toothpaste. His breath pulsed warmly against her earlobe, sending her nerve endings into a flurry of activity.

  “Dessert,” he said, in a low voice that had goose pimples breaking out on her skin, “is a cake made with butter, peeled almonds and pine nuts that is dusted with powdered sugar.”

  “My mouth is watering already,” Gretchen murmured, and told herself she was speaking about the food.

  “With good reason,” Carlo told her. “Roberto has the only five-star restaurant in Pittsburgh.”

  She looked around the crowded room. There wasn’t a spare chair to be found, and the waiting area outside the main dining room was filled to capacity.

  “I can tell,” she said. “He sure does seem to love his food.”

  “Besides his wife, Louise, and his kids, it’s his life.”

  Another Garibaldi who was devoted to his chosen profession. Gretchen wondered how it would feel to have a job that she loved so much. While she enjoyed her work, and often found it challenging, she’d never approached it with half the relish and enthusiasm she saw on Roberto Garibaldi’s face. Or on Marco’s, when he spoke of medicine.

  “I’m amazed,” she said pointedly, “that the demands of this restaurant leave Roberto any time to spend with his family.”

  Marco’s face took on a closed look. “Louise works here with him. As do the kids during the summer. It helps.”

  The expression on his face told her he wasn’t willing to entertain the notion that he could have everything Roberto did. Gretchen decided it was time to drop the subject. She didn’t know why she kept pressing the matter. It wasn’t going to get her anywhere to harp endlessly on a subject he’d already made up
his mind about. He’d certainly made that more than clear.

  “Before we begin,” Antonio said, “I have to tell you about what happened to me this week.” He launched into a story about his work as an undercover cop and an encounter with a particularly inept drug dealer that had the whole table laughing.

  Because she’d never had brothers and sisters, as the meal progressed Gretchen found the interplay between Marco and his siblings fascinating. It was obvious that everyone knew everyone else’s business. They teased each other mercilessly, but with genuine affection. Marco’s turn came just as the waiters had begun clearing away the dishes from the chicken and the ravioli.

  “How long have you known my brother?” Bruno asked.

  “Two years.” At Marco’s warning glance, she amended quickly, “Well, we really haven’t known each other that long. I’m his landlady, you see.”

  Suddenly, thirteen pairs of eyes sharpened on her.

  “That’s why you look so familiar,” Franco said. “I must have seen you when I dropped by Marco’s to visit.”

  “Something’s different about you,” Antonio said thoughtfully. “I just can’t figure it out.”

  “She got a haircut,” Marco supplied in a curt tone that discouraged further conversation. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “What I want to know,” Bruno said, “is why you’ve never mentioned Gretchen to us.”

  “Bruno,” Kate warned.

  “What? He brought her with him to Sunday brunch. Surely that must mean something. Besides, if I had a landlady who looked like Gretchen, you’d have all heard about it by now.”

  “Well I’m not surprised he hasn’t said anything about her,” Franco said. “Marco always was the secretive sort. Remember when he witnessed that bank holdup? Never said a word about it to us, even though the guy had held everyone at gunpoint. The only reason we ever found out was because he had to go testify in court and Dad had to skip work to accompany him to the courthouse because he was still a minor.”

  Marco held up a hand, and conversation ceased. “I don’t understand how my witnessing that bank robbery has anything to do with my never mentioning Gretchen to you. Like I told you all before, I agreed to watch Kristen this weekend as a favor to Brian. Because Gretchen helped me out of a tight spot with Kristen, I invited her to join us here this afternoon. That’s all there is to it.”