Chapter Seven
Seeing the blush in Gianna’s cheeks and the dull look in her eyes before she dashed away stabbed Blake deep in his chest. Overlooking his mother’s need to be the center of everything has been easy in the past. But not when her selfish comments wounded the woman he cared about. He swirled his fork tines through the puddle of tomato sauce on his plate. His praise of her food hadn’t been complimentary enough because Gianna’s lasagna ranked in his top five favorite dishes. He should have stated how the rich combination of meat and sauce was unlike anything he’d ever tasted.
“Blake.”
Clarine’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Huh?” He turned to meet her intent gaze.
“Aren’t you amazed at how Gianna is on a first-name basis with the shop owners so quickly?”
Her words barely registered because he was distracted by the way she rolled her eyes toward the kitchen. “Yeah, she did that at the hotel yesterday, too.” Had he known the baker’s name before this evening? And Thomas’ wife had always been Missus Murray.
Clarine’s eyebrows crashed down, and her right hand jerked. “Oh, silly me. I dropped my napkin.”
This trick from our childhood?He cleared his throat and leaned over to see what she wanted to say in secret.
“Go to Gianna. She’s upset, dummy.”
Of course. “Thanks, sis.” Blake straightened and stood, grabbing the rim of his plate.
At the same moment, Gianna walked up to the table. “The coffee beans are roasting. Will someone help me find the grinder?”
“I will. Let me gather the plates first.” He stacked his silverware.
“Good idea.” Axton moved his knife from the top of his plate and hovered it over the fork crossways.
“Don’t.” Gianna snatched it away.
“Well, I never.” Missus Wymer glared. “Why would you grab that from my son?”
Blake didn’t see what happened between Gianna and Axton. Instinctively, he stepped to her side and slipped Axton’s plate under his. He leaned close to her left ear. “Gianna, please go back to the kitchen. I’ll handle these. The grinder’s in the pantry on the second shelf.”
“Mi scuzi.” She whirled and fled.
Eyes narrowed on his mother as he moved around the table, he collected the plates and left the room to see how he could smooth over this situation.
In the kitchen, Gianna stood with hands braced on the edge of the sink.
A skillet on the stove started to smoke. He set the plates on the counter, wrapped a towel around his hand, and shook the skillet to rotate the beans. The coffee scent was so intense, his mouth watered. “These look and smell about done. What do you think?”
“Sì, sì, sì.” She squeezed her hand above his on the handle. “I’ll take it.”
He waited a moment to make sure her grip was steady, then stepped to the silverware drawer and counted out four more forks. Listening to the whirr of the grinder, he dipped a wet cloth into the container of soap flakes and washed and rinsed two forks. Then he moved to the cupboard to the right of the sink and reached down six bread plates they also used for dessert. When he thought she might be calm enough, he turned to where she measured grounds into the spatterware coffeepot. Whoa, how much is she making? “Ready for me to ask a question?”
She added two pinches of salt before lowering the lid and setting the pot on a front burner. “Certamente.” She turned and met his gaze.
He already figured that word was close enough to certainly to mean she agreed. A check of her face registered the color of her skin was back to its slightly olive tone. “Why did you grab Axton’s knife? I think your suddenness startled more than just Mother.”
“Oh…Oh!” Her eyes shot wide. “I didn’t do it to hurt anyone.” She slapped a hand onto her chest. “Is that what you thought?”
“Never.” He stepped close and reached for her hands. “The thought didn’t cross my mind. But that’s because I know you, Gianna.”
Staring into his eyes, she bit her lip.
“You can tell me.” He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles.
“It’s another superstition that you probably have not heard of.” Her shoulders slumped. “Now, I doubt if anyone outside of Italy has.”
The defeated tone of her voice was not like his Gianna. “I want to know. Please.”
“Putting two things in the shape of a cross when not for that specific purpose is an insult to my religion.”
She’d written that being raised in the Catholic faith was an important part of who she was. He had to inform her no such church existed in town, and his family attended a Bible service led by Pastor Steadman in the schoolhouse. She expressed a wish to continue practicing her faith on her own. “If such an action bothers you, then you should ask for others to honor that. Please speak your mind, so my family can support you.”
“It’s not that easy. Your madre scares me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you know what an insult I would have dato if Alrigo had been abbandonato on his only night in town? My family would have been so che si vergogna.”
“Hold on. I think I understood the sentiment about not abandoning Alrigo, but what was the last term?” He looked into her dark eyes that he wanted to see sparkle again.
“Como se dice…” She pulled away and waved her hands near her head. “What’s the word when you feel bad because you know you shouldn’t have done something?”
“Ashamed?” A conversation with her was like solving a word puzzle. But he loved the challenge.
Smiling, she tapped a finger on her nose. “That’s it.”
That was cute. Maybe she made that movement with her students. “I’m not arguing about your wish to include him.” He shook his head. “Once I learned he wasn’t a romantic rival, I can’t deny, he’s an amiable guy. And I want to reassure you about my mother. No matter what she says, I will not let her come between us, even if I have to rent a house for us before the one I intend to build is started.”
Her smile flashed wide. “I’m glad to hear that.” Tilting her head, she sniffed. “Coffee’s almost done. Where will I find cinnamon?”
He blinked at the fast change of subject. Opening a nearby cupboard, he handed out a small jar.
Gianna poured some into her cupped palm, sniffed it, and dropped two pinches into the coffeepot. “Should we serve the tarte at the table or put it on plates in here?”
Blake knew his mother would serve from the kitchen. “Do whatever pleases you.”
“I like serving family-style.” She unwrapped the paper from the dessert from Henri’s bakery and glanced between it and the coffee things. “This is too much to carry in one trip.”
He walked to the pantry and selected a wooden tray from a high shelf. After dusting it with a hand towel, he set it on the counter, then loaded the plates, cups and saucers, forks and spoons, and the dessert pan. The final item was a filled cream pitcher. “I’ve got these. Can you bring the coffeepot and the sugar bowl?”
“Sì, and grazie, Blake.”
“You’re welcome.” The word sweetheart was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. Would she think they hadn’t spent enough time together to be speaking endearments? He walked into the dining room and set down the tray in front of his chair. He couldn’t help but notice how the conversation died at his appearance…which meant they’d been discussing Gianna.
“Oh, how pretty.” Clarine leaned forward. “Look how the sliced apples make a circular pattern. Tell me again, Gianna, what you called it?”
Gianna leaned over and set the coffeepot on a folded towel. “It’s a la tarte Normande. An apple, almond, and custard tart that originated from a region in northern France. Lots of dishes in Europe are named that way.”
“Looks too rich.” Missus Wymer sniffed. “I want only coffee.”
Mother thinks the bread is too coarse and the main dish and dessert are too rich. What about her love of covering a plain cut of meat with sauces like those gussied-up veal cutlets she served? How does that make a lick of sense? “Gianna, you serve the tart. I’ll pour coffee.” Blake noticed the especially dark color and filled the cups only two-thirds full. “Here, Axton, make yourself useful and pass these around.”
“Glad to.” He pushed back from the table and carried two cups on saucers to his mother and sister.
“I’ll start with small slices. In case you don’t like it.” Gianna loaded narrow wedges onto five plates and added forks.
Once they were all served, Blake sat and took his first bite. The buttery crust fell apart in his mouth. The contrast between crunchy almonds and milky custard was new, but tasty. “Excellent choice, Gianna.”
“La tarte is one of my nonno’s favorites. He asked for it for most of the birthdays I remember when he was still alive.” She slid the fork into her mouth, smiled, and closed her eyes.
If Blake had to guess, he’d say she was lost in memories.
“Plenty good tart.” Axton smacked his lips and reached for the pie tin and knife.
“A bit like apfel streusel like my Oma made.” Otto grinned. He sipped the coffee, and his eyes widened. “Good kaffee. Strong.”
“This tart is so delicious. I like the crunch of the almonds.” Clarine held her fork in front of her mouth. “Gianna, did you help when this dessert was made for your nonno? Because I would love to learn how.”
Blake shot Clarine a smile as her use of the Italian word for grandfather.
“I did.” Gianna beamed. “I might not remember the exact recipe, but I’m sure Henrí would advise us about the ingredients and amounts.”
From her place at the other end, Missus Wymer watched the others eating with narrowed gaze. She sipped her coffee and grimaced. “Please pass the sugar and cream.”
Blake sat opposite her and didn’t make a move. Let the others cater to his mother. He savored the next bite of tart. Even he knew that one woman asking another for a recipe was the supreme compliment. His sister was not faking her enthusiasm, and his heart warmed at the acceptance around this end of the table.
The coffee was stronger than he preferred, but he took smaller sips and became accustomed to the flavor. The salt he couldn’t taste, but the hint of cinnamon lingered. He watched Gianna over the rim of his cup. Sharing the food of her family was a generous act, and he hoped she felt her effort was appreciated. At least, by four of the five diners who enjoyed the meal. Gianna brought new tastes, new flavors, and new experiences into his life, and he couldn’t hold back a smile. She added the spice and color he’d been missing.