CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tommaso
Candles lit? Check.
Music playing? Check.
Table set? Check.
Portia fed? Check. But she’d be hungry later.
With the tiramisu in the fridge and the cannelloni baking, I went to work on the caprese salad.
I didn’t expect to see Danica today before our date, but when I came out of the trees, tulips under my arms, and she was there with her cousin, an overwhelming excitement filled my body.
Then I saw red, when I realized why they were there and how that figlio del demonio, that child of the devil, treated Samantha and her cousins.
I already knew Signore e Signora Pickford were difficult people, but to see their daughter be a monster as well, just confirmed how truly terrible my neighbors were.
I could feel Danica’s frustration building beside me, which is why I reached for her hand. I wanted to channel some calm into her, the way she had for me. Let her know that even with her cousin there, she wasn’t alone.
I had a bottle of wine set out, but I knew she would bring some of theirs. So I didn’t want to be rude and open my bottle, or be drinking it when she arrived. I was sure their wine wouldn’t be the worst I’d ever tasted, but I liked what I liked, and I wouldn’t apologize for that.
Staring in the bathroom mirror, I fixed my hair. The vanity light caught on the simple gold band on my ring finger and I paused. This would be my first date since Erin passed. Until now, I’d had no desire to see another woman.
With a deep sigh, I slid the ring off my finger and set it inside the top drawer next to my toothbrush. The tan line wasn’t too noticeable since we were just coming out of winter and I didn’t have much of a tan.
With my nerves in my throat, and my left hand significantly lighter, I returned to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.
I was just setting the caprese salad out on the table when there was a knock at the door.
Portia grunted and bolted out of her princess bed in front of the fire, beating me to the door. She must have known it was Danica, because she burst through the dog door.
I opened the door to find a beauty in a dark-purple dress standing in front of me, cradling a bottle of wine as she bent down and greeted my pig.
“Ciao bella,” I said, welcoming her inside.
She blushed softly and glanced down at her feet, removing her shoes. “Long time, no see.”
“Si. Da quanto tempo.”
Her head cocked to the side in cute confusion.
Nodding, I accepted the bottle she offered. “I am simply agreeing with you. I said, ‘since how long.’ Same thing.”
“Ah. I, uh, I brought a merlot from our best year. It’s well-aged. Earthy. It’s one of my favorites, one of our best sellers, and the most expensive we sell.” She followed me into the kitchen.
“I will decant it, si?”
“Yes, I would.”
I brought down my aerator and decanter from my kitchen cabinet and tipped my head toward the drawer behind her hip. “Corkscrew is there.” Then I pointed to the flowers on the far side of my island. “And those tulips are for you. Garish and whorish, I know. I’m sorry.”
Laughing, she opened the drawer and pulled out the corkscrew. “My favorite kind of flowers. Thank you.”
“Prego.”
“So, besides witnessing two single moms who are clearly raising heathens go up against a godly, perfect family like the Pickfords, how was the rest of your day?”
Our fingers brushed as I accepted the corkscrew from her, and a little spark snapped when we touched. “I arrived home from the grocery store this morning to find several people wandering around my property with their children.”
“Huh? Who?”
I lifted a shoulder. “No idea. Five young women, twenties and thirties. Two men, and many small children. Some of them were without shoes or shirts. They tried to get into the barn, but it was locked. Were feeding the animals over the fence and went to the duck pond.”
“They just … showed up and started hanging out like it’s some petting farm?”
Nodding, I deployed the cork, then proceeded to pour the entire bottle through the aerator into the crystal decanter. “I have ordered several security cameras now. The children were unruly. Tormented Portia.”
Portia grunted in agreement from her princess bed.
“Then they tried to enter my home through the dog door.”
“The kids did?” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline.
“I stopped them.”
“What did the people look like?”
I gave her a side-eye as I brought two stemless wineglasses down from the cabinet. “If I say ‘dirty island hippies,’ will you be offended?”
She burst out laughing, and it was like music to my ears. “Of course not. Not everyone who lives on the island is a dirty hippie. But we certainly have them here.”
“Well, I had to nip it in the butt. Because if you let them shenan once, they will shenanigan, and I can’t risk my animals getting hurt. Or them hurting a child.”
She grinned widely at me. “Did you say ‘nip it in the butt’?”
“Si. Is that not what it is?”
“No, it’s ‘bud.’ Like nipping flower buds to encourage growth to other flowers, or the plant to channel its energy into growing bigger rather than producing fruit.”
“Oh. I never knew that. I thought it was like biting a butt to get someone to stop something.”
The twinkle of enjoyment in her eyes brought a sudden lightness into my chest. “Butt, bud, they both need to be nipped from time to time.” Her eyes widened, and her cheeks went pink. “I mean … that’s not what I mean. Butts don’t need to be nipped. I—”
I rested my hands on her shoulders. “I get it. Relax, bella.”
Blinking at me, she nodded. “Can I … can I just ask something?”
“Si. Of course.” I released her shoulders and poured the wine from the decanter into a glass for each of us, then handed her one.
“Is this a date? Or just you having me for dinner as a way to say thank you?”
I’d been agonizing over this question myself today.
Not whether it was or wasn’t a date, but whether she thought it was a date or not.
While I hadn’t yet completely reconciled myself to the fact that I was interested in a woman that was not my wife, I didn’t want to lose Danica from my life.
I wanted to see her more often. I wanted to get to know her better.
I chose my words carefully. “I have not been on a date in over twenty years. But I would like to consider this a date … please.”
Her smile was beautiful, and she swallowed. “I would too. And for the record, this is the first date I’ve ever been on.”
“I hope I can make it a nice one.”
She nodded. “So far, so good.”
I released her shoulders and picked up my wineglass from the counter. “To …”
“First dates. Baby horses, and harlot-purple tulips,” she said, clinking her glass against mine.
“To harlot-purple tulips.”
We each brought a glass to our lips and took sips.
She watched me like a hawk as I allowed the well-balanced wine to sit on my tongue for a moment.
It was no sangiovese from Tuscany, but it wasn’t bad.
I swallowed. “Vanilla,” I said, pulling a slow breath through my lips to cool the wine at the back of my tongue.
She nodded.
“And clove.”
Another nod.
“And …” I smacked my lips together, then took another sip. “Mocha,” I finally said. “With a hint of berries at the end.”
“Very good. And I see you swallowed it, so does that mean …?”
“I have had much worse wine than this.”
Her jaw dropped.
“That is a very big compliment. A non-Italian wine has not touched these lips in over twenty years. The fact that I swallowed it is a big deal.”
She took another sip, watching me warily over the rim of the glass. “If you say so.”
“Bella, I do not lie about wine. If I do not like it, I do not drink it. Life is too short to drink bad wine. So the fact that I am drinking it is a very good thing.”
“Are all Italians wine snobs like you?”
I went to the oven to pull out the cannelloni. “Only the most handsome ones.”
Her tinkling laugh once again made my chest feel light, but also full of hope.
“Can we circle back to something else?” she asked.
“Hmm?” I placed the casserole dish of cannelloni on the stove, then removed the mitts from my hands.
“You said, ‘If you let them shenan once, they will shenanigan.’ Were you being serious?”
“About more than one shenan? Of course.”
Her gaze turned shrewd. “I can’t tell if you’re joking, or … is it a language barrier thing, or …”
I held her eyes for a moment, then tilted my head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean … you know that ‘shenan’ isn’t a word, right? That it’s not ‘shenan-again.’ You’re playing me. This is all one big, Italian-footballer ruse or something.”
My lips twitched as I continued just to watch her. “Wait, you mean to tell me ‘shenan’ is not a word?”
She narrowed her eyes even more; the brows joined in. “I … no! It’s not.”
I couldn’t contain my composure any longer and grinned at her. “Of course I know it’s not a word. I heard that phrase used before and thought it was very clever. I’ve always wanted to use it too. I just didn’t think I’d use it on a person who thinks I have such a limited understanding of English.”
“I don’t—”
I reached for my wine and took a sip, winking at her over the rim of the glass.
Even her growl was cute. She wagged her finger at me. “I don’t know about you, Tommaso Barone. This is a new side of you—a cheeky side—I’m not sure how I feel about it.”
I could tell by the way her eyes glittered under the pendant lighting over the island that she was thoroughly enjoying my more playful side and getting to know me better.
And I felt the exact same way about her. It’d been a long time since I had felt this comfortable with another person, and while it didn’t feel normal yet, it also didn’t feel wrong.