“I just saw Krissy at the post office the other day,” Enzo said.
“And your point?” Ella asked.
“She had a shit ton of packages to ship out.”
Heat began its descent again, making its way across her chest and up her neck. “She had a lot more come in,” Ella said with maybe a little too much bite. She hated the uncomfortable uncertainty that came with lying, the easy slippery slope she could find herself on.
She needed to change the subject, take the heat off of her and put it onto someone else.
“Good for Krissy,” Vinny said. “I’m happy her business is doing well. And if you were with her, then okay.” He rested his hands on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “But if you were with some boy then we got problems.”
She bit her tongue, trying to find the right words to keep any suspicions pointed off of her. “I wasn’t, but even if I was, I’m an adult, Grandpa. Momma was a mother of two at my age with another one on the way.”
Vinny grabbed his chest. “You’re pregnant?”
“What?” Ella exclaimed while Tony laughed. Enzo and Marco froze in place, staring at her with dark intense gazes.
“I’ll kill the bastard,” Marco snarled.
“What bastard?” Ella asked then waved her hands to stop the nonsense. “I’m not pregnant. I was just using Momma as an example. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
Enzo and Marco physically loosened up, and Vinny’s hand fell from his chest to the counter, his body leaning forward in visible relief.
“Sorry El, but you’ll always be our little girl,” Enzo said.
“Great,” Ella said with added sarcasm.
“Get used to it, sis,” Marco said, walking over and draping his arm over her shoulder. “You’re stuck with us.”
“I guess you’re not so bad, you know, when you’re not butting into my life,” she said, nudging his stomach.
He touched her neck and looked at her with curiosity. “What’s this?” he asked, and she slapped a hand over her neck.
“It’s nothing.” She didn’t even need to look to see what Marco was talking about. The red splotch of skin was a love mark from Lucas that she thought she covered well enough.
Luckily, the rest of the family were discussing the restaurant and weren’t privy to her and Marco’s exchange.
“This from the bus guy?” he asked which made Ella believe that Enzo never spilled the beans about the bus guy being Lucas Prescott.
“No,” she said. “It’s not what you think it is. I accidentally hit my skin with the curling iron.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” he asked.
“Yes, because it’s the truth,” she lied.
“If you’re lying, this guy means trouble.”
“There is no trouble because there is no guy. Now stop being my overprotective brother for two seconds and get the butter out of the fridge for me.” She shoved his chest and focused on cooking.
She felt like she was under a bright light at the police station, being interrogated for a crime she did commit but refused to admit. How long until she broke under the pressure?
Marco stared at her for a moment, but she held her ground and didn’t waiver. Finally, he nodded and went to the fridge. He came back and handed her the butter. When she went to take it from him, he tightened his hold. “Any more unexplained marks on your body and I’m breaking someone’s skull.”
“I told you,” she said, “it was the curling iron.”
“I want to believe you,” he said. “But for the first time in my life, I don’t.”
Marco’s words pierced her heart and pricked her eyes. She never lied to her family, ever, not after everything they had been through. Lies didn’t fit in their lives. Trust, honesty, reliability, that’s all they had room for.
So what the hell was she doing?
Chapter 12
Lucas sat in his grandfather’s small office and presented Joe with his options. None of which Joe looked particularly thrilled about. “I’m not cutting my employees’ pay. That’s out of the question,” he all but barked. “Those kids barely make enough as it is. What else you got?”
“You can change vendors. Shop around a little and see if you can get a better price on buns, butter—”
“Absolutely not,” Joe said. “I’ve been working with the same vendor since I opened these doors, and it’ll be a cold day in hell when I stop.”
Lucas took a deep breath and settled back into his chair. “If we don’t come up with something, I’m afraid you won’t have enough money to get you through the season.”
“I’ve managed for over five decades to keep this place up and running, even during the recession. There has to be a better answer.”
“Other than selling a share of the restaurant—if you’re lucky to find a buyer—I’m sorry, but I don’t think there is a better answer.” He wished there was. Hell, if his assets weren’t currently tied up in his company, he’d lend Joe the money, but he’d invested every last cent he had. He projected in a year he’d earn it all back and then some, but that didn’t help him right now.
“Keep looking,” Joe said.
Lucas ran a hand through his hair, trying to remain calm. If he learned anything from his father, it was losing his cool and yelling didn’t get him anywhere. Not that Lucas felt the need to yell, he just didn’t know how else to get through to Joe. He wouldn’t listen to reason and refused to see the reality of the situation.
He understood that Joe had relationships with people and he wanted to honor them and the business they had done over the years, but none of this was personal. It was a matter of staying afloat or watching the ship go down and refusing to try and save it.
“Grandpa,” Lucas said, hoping to reason with him, “this is business. Don’t make it personal.”
“Don’t make it personal?” he scoffed. “Al, my distributor, I used to bounce on my knee when he was three when he would come with his dad to do deliveries. Becky… her mother worked here every summer until she was twenty-two when she got pregnant with Becky and decided to go back to school and get a degree to have a better life for her daughter. I watched that girl grow from a wide-eyed, pigtail wearing little girl to a smart little woman. Pedro, my main cook, has been with me since he was sixteen. He’ll be forty-five this year. I watched him grow from a smartass teenager to a loving father of three beautiful girls. So don’t sit here and tell me it’s not personal, because this place, the people… are my life. It is as personal as it gets, which is why I’m telling you there’s another way. Please, figure it out.”
How the hell was he supposed to argue with that? For so long, Joe didn’t have family. The people he worked with were his family. Maybe Lucas could look things over one last time. Maybe he missed something that could be helpful. It couldn’t hurt to run the numbers once more.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
“Good!” Joe patted his thighs and pressed up. His face squinted as he tried to straighten. “Getting old sucks,” he said.
“I told you ginger and turmeric,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway. “It will help with inflammation brought on by your arthritis.”
Joe grumbled as he turned to the curly salt and pepper haired woman with dark green eyes that matched her flowy shirt. She was an attractive older woman, a natural beauty with minimal to no makeup on. She had a few lines around her eyes that looked like they came from years of living freely and aging gracefully.
She had a row of bracelets up both arms and silver rings on almost every finger.
“Maybe if it didn’t taste like dirt,” he moaned.
“It doesn’t taste like dirt. Stop being a stubborn old man,” she said. She jangled as she moved into the small space.
Joe stood proudly, jutting his chin up high. “I am a stubborn old man.”
“Don’t we know it.” She moved around him and held her hand out to Lucas, the row of bracelets on her arm clattered together with the mo
vement. Her other arm held a box. “Hi, I’m Martha. You must be Lucas.”
He accepted her offered hand, the cold metal of her rings pressing into his skin. “Nice to meet you, Martha.”
“I own Mind, Body, and Soul, only two doors down.”
Lucas snapped his finger and pointed at her. “The place with the big sun on the sign.”
“Exactly. The sun attracts positive people and circumstances. It helps you to radiate your true self with confidence. And that is what my store is all about.”
“What a bunch of nonsense,” Joe said, and Lucas stifled a laugh.
“Your grandfather isn’t a believer in holistic healing or freeing his mind of what society has drilled into him from birth.”
Joe pinned her with a look of displeasure. “She thinks you can achieve everything through an oil or a crystal.”
“Not everything,” she said. “Sometimes you need a special blended tea.”
“I rest my case,” Joe said.
Martha waved her hand at Joe, the noise of her jewelry echoing through the room, and turned her attention back to Lucas. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I wanted to stop by sooner but haven’t had the chance. Joe has been talking about your visit for months now.”
“Have not,” Joe said.
“I don’t know why men feel the need to hide their emotions. He was very excited to have you come even if he doesn’t act like it.”
Lucas watched as Joe rolled his eyes, resting a hand on the desk to help steady him. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was something between these two. While they didn’t greet each other affectionately, they were definitely giving off some sort of vibe.
“Are you two…?” Lucas asked, letting them fill in the blank.
“No,” they both said.
“Martha’s just a pain in my ass, always checking on me.”
“Someone needs to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. You’re not a spring chicken any longer.”
“That spring passed a long time ago,” Joe said.
“Exactly my point, which is why I came to bring you this.” She placed the box on the desk and pulled out a big chunk of what looked like a pink rock. A round wooden pedestal was attached to the bottom where a cord stuck out.
“What in the hell is that?” Joe asked.
“A Himalayan salt lamp.”
“It’s ugly.”
Martha hugged the hunk of salt to her chest as if Joe offended the inanimate object. “It’s natural and beautiful.”
“Why do I need that?” Joe asked.
Martha walked around the desk behind Lucas and plugged it in, resting it on the shelf to the left of the desk. “It’ll purify the air and help with your allergies. It’s that time of year, and we all know how you get. I’m doing the entire town a favor.”
“You have bad allergies, too?” Lucas asked. He lived on allergy meds for half the year.
“Only in the spring and fall.” He turned back to Martha, a look of pure skepticism in his eyes. “How is that chunk of salt going to help with my allergies?”
“It can attract pollutants in the air,” she explained like he should’ve already known.
“Grandpa,” Lucas said. “It’s worth a shot.” It might’ve seemed a bit crazy, but people swore by the powers of natural products, and if it didn’t cause them any harm to try, why not?
“Fine,” Joe spat. “Leave the damn lamp as long as I don’t have to eat it.”
Martha laughed. “I mean if you want to lick it that’s your prerogative. I’m not going to stop you.”
Lucas laughed. Martha was turning out to be a delightful distraction. Joe let out a perturbed breath obviously not feeling the same way.
“I need to get back now,” Martha said. “Lucas it’s been a pleasure. Don’t be a stranger.”
He looked past Joe, who was mumbling under his breath, at Martha. “I’ll stop by. I’d love to check out what you have.”
Joe grumbled behind him some more.
“I heard you have homemade soap made from beer.”
“Now why in the hell would you want to wash yourself with beer when you can drink it? You hippy dippies; I’ll never understand you.”
“Oh you hush,” Martha said. “And yes, Lucas, I do have homemade soap made with beer. It’s made by one of Willow Cove’s own. How did you hear about it?”
Lucas froze before he could reply. He thought this sneaking around with Ella would be easy, but he didn’t realize he’d have to think before speaking. If he admitted Ella told him, he’d be admitting he’d seen her again, and while he would love to just put it out there, it wasn’t his choice to make. He was letting Ella take the reins on that one.
“You aren’t still seeing Vinny’s grand-daughter, are you?” Joe asked, jaw tightening.
“You knock that off,” Martha said. “Ella is a beautiful young lady, and any man would be lucky if she paid him any mind.”
“She’s a Moretti,” Joe said.
“And I’m tired of this conversation. Lucas, as I said, it’s been a pleasure.” Martha turned back to Joe lip curled. “Can’t say as much for you.” She gave Lucas a wave and headed for the door. “I’ll put some of that soap on the side,” she said before floating through the door, leaving behind a cloud of patchouli.
“She seems really nice,” Lucas said after she left. “I like her.”
“She’s a pain in my ass,” Joe said, which Lucas assumed was code for “me too.”
Chapter 13
Ella wiped down a table that was recently vacated and shoved the decent tip into the front pocket of her red apron. It was moving closer to tourist season and a few had already started their descent into their small town. Before she knew it, the town would be overrun with faces she didn’t know and voices she’d never heard before.
She loved that her town was a place for people to get away, experience a little piece of what the beautiful coast of Maine had to offer, but a part of her also hated sharing her special place on the beach. In the next few weeks, her private oasis would be filled with overzealous children and neurotic mothers who were afraid of letting their kids get too close to the water.
The sweet serenity would be lost, and Ella would have nowhere to go to get away from the chaos. She loved her family more than life itself, but sometimes they were a little overbearing and she needed to slip away.
A loud clatter drew Ella’s attention toward the kitchen. She heard her grandfather yelling, and she raced back to see what the problem was. Inside the kitchen pots, and pans were knocked over, Chris, the cook, was standing with his arms crossed while Vinny waved a spatula out the door, a string of curses in Italian flowing from his mouth.
“Let me guess,” Ella said, turning to Chris. “Diavolo struck again.”
Chris uncrossed his arms and began picking up pans. He looked at Ella and smirked. “Can’t you tell?”
“That damn seagull!” Vinny yelled as he turned back into the kitchen, and Ella covered her mouth to keep from laughing.
Once the warm weather returned and the kitchen door was left open to cool the kitchen with the ocean breeze the seagull, rightfully named Diavolo, made it a habit to steal whatever he could latch onto before someone chased him out.
For Ella, it was the first signs of the season. She helped Chris pick up the rest of the mess and brought them over to the sink to give a quick wash.
“That seagull has a death wish,” Vinny said, holding his fist up like Diavolo could see him or even understand him.
“Come on, Grandpa, let me pour you a little limoncello.” Ella guided Vinny away from the kitchen and toward the tiny bar they had. He slid onto one of the stools and she grabbed a rock glass, pouring a healthy amount of the alcohol into it and sliding it across the outdated wood top.
She really wished he would let her redecorate the small space, but every time she brought it up, he shot it down. Eventually she just gave up asking, but it didn’t stop her from imagining everything that she could do to tran
sform the dated interior.
Vinny took a sip of the limoncello and smiled. The tension that had been visible in the creases around his eyes eased.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much.”
“Good. Now you stay here and finish that, and I’m going to take this over to Wilson’s house. Fran is having a bad day, and I don’t want him to have to cook for himself,” Ella said. She had seen Wilson at the grocery store earlier, standing in the meat aisle and looking lost.
Both Wilson and Fran were part of her extended family and though she couldn’t cure Fran, though she wished she could, she wanted to help in any way possible. Helping with the little things like dinner might not have been much but at least Fran could focus on healing while Wilson had a good meal without the added stress.
Vinny took her hand and hugged it to his chest. “You have a beautiful soul, cuore mio.”
“It runs in the family,” she said, chucking his chin.
“Tell Wilson if he needs anything to call me.” He jammed his finger into the bar to get his point across.
Her grandfather would drop everything for the ones he loved they just had to say the word.
“I will,” Ella said. She grabbed the to-go bag off the counter and headed outside to her bike.
She passed Martha who was dressed in a beautiful aquamarine tunic that flowed behind her and danced with the breeze. Ella gave her a wave.
“Hi sweetie,” Martha said, waving back, her bracelets clacking together with the movement. Ella always loved Martha. She was the definition of a flower child and definitely danced to her own beat, but that’s what made her so special.
“Stop by later. I just got a new shipment of that goatmilk lip balm you like.”
“I definitely will,” Ella said.
“Good. I’ll put one aside for you then.”
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
Ella got on her bike and got about halfway down the street when she heard her name. She turned and spotted Lucas, poking out of the alleyway. He looked devilishly handsome, lurking in the dark corner. She got off her bike, glanced around to make sure she was in the clear, and headed into the alley.
Her Forbidden Love Match (A Willow Cove Novel, #1) Page 9
