California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (40 page)

“All that.”

“Yeah. All that.” Elizabeth laughed.

“What would you like to start with?”

Elizabeth was startled. She’d assumed the coach would lead the discussion. “Um … Marcos, I guess.”

“Marcos being the Italian?”

“Yes. I met him while I was over there on vacation. He’s coming here in October.”

“And you’re afraid.”

How could the woman tell that over the telephone line? But then Elizabeth realized the coach was right. She
was
afraid. “Yes.”

“Which are you afraid of — going to bed or falling in love?”

“Both.” Elizabeth sank into a kitchen chair. The coach didn’t pull any punches.

“Why are you afraid to take a chance?” Carol asked.

Elizabeth searched her mind for the answer. “When I was a teenager I took a chance with Joe — my husband. We had sex and I got pregnant. My mother … ” Elizabeth’s stomach began its familiar upheaval.

“Yes?”

“She made me feel so ashamed. She told me I’d disgraced the family and it was … it was a good thing we’d never go back to Italy since she wouldn’t be able to hold her head up.” Elizabeth remembered how small she’d felt while her mother yelled.

“And?”

“Joe and I got married and I had Sarah. Joe died when she was five. Heart attack.” Her life sounded so flat. When had she had time to live? Many of her friends had carefree twenties. Where were hers?

“So what happened with the boyfriend? When did he come into the picture?” Carol asked.

What had happened? Elizabeth searched her mind for the beginning of their relationship.

“Sarah was fifteen or sixteen, I think. Bobby was my financial advisor. After working together for a year, he asked me out. Sarah seemed old enough and we kept it discreet. He kind of became part of the family.”

“Why did you break up?”

Elizabeth paused. “I didn’t want to get married. He did. The idea of being married to him was stifling.” She giggled. “Annie told me last night she thought he was a control freak I’d never looked at him that way. Most of the time he was sweet and charming. But she’s right. Everything we did was his way.”

Carol let the silence linger, and Elizabeth thought about what she’d just said. She’d never realized how much Bobby had dictated their lives together.

And Joe had been the same.

She let out a breath of awareness.

“So why does Marcos scare you?” Carol asked again. “Do you think he’s controlling?”

“Maybe.” He’d certainly taken control of their time in Italy. But at the same time he’d given her space to express what she was feeling and thinking. What was the real problem?

“I don’t really know how to be with him. Will he be like Joe, Bobby and my family? He’s Italian. Don’t Italian men need to be the boss? Won’t he make me give up my business?”

“I’m quite sure that’s a stereotype,” Carol said.

“Probably. But … if he isn’t … then I don’t know what the relationship will be like? I mean, how do I act with him? How do I figure out what he wants?”

“How do you stay secure?” Carol asked.

The question stopped Elizabeth cold. She thought about growing up with her family. She’d always known what they expected and she complied — except for Joe, who’d been her one rebellion. She’d gotten back in line after the pregnancy.

When she knew what was expected, she knew what to do. Her life was stable … and dull.

“How do you feel secure when you don’t know what’s going on?” she asked.

“Security comes from inside of each of us. Everything around us, even relationships, don’t last forever. People die, as you know. Jobs are lost, like your friend, Annie. In the end, it’s between us and God, if you believe. Otherwise, you’re the bottom line.”

“But how can I rely on myself? I’ve never done anything right!” Elizabeth wailed.

“I suspect you know that’s not true. You’ve raised your daughter by yourself and kept a roof over your heads.”

“Why do I feel like a failure, then?” Elizabeth’s mind was beginning to whirl. She had a feeling the coach was going to blow her well-constructed world to bits.

“That’s what we’re going to work on.”

“What about Marcos?”

“We’ll see,” the coach said.

Marcos’ mind wandered as he exited the snarled cars of Marseilles on the last leg of his journey to the Rhône Valley. The sun shone with the promise of later heat and traffic was light enough that he could enjoy the scenery, not that he could see it. He couldn’t rid himself of the images of Elizabeth sitting at the vineyard picnic table or the soft taste of her lips when he’d bid her farewell. He missed her already.

He tried to push her out of his mind. He was done with women. After walking in on his wife in bed with his best friend, he’d sworn to keep all females at arm’s length. Besides, Elizabeth lived halfway around the world. “
Imbecile
,” he muttered. He had other problems.

The French vineyard had yet to show a profit, or any hope of one. Last year, early rains had forced him to harvest too soon and leave un-ripened grapes hanging. Part of the small crop was in barrels, but it would be another year before he could bottle and sell the wine. The rest of the grapes had been sold at a good profit, at least he’d thought so at the time.

But he was still pumping cash into the business and it was disappearing at an alarming rate.

Almost too fast.
His manager, Jacques, had told him everything was in order, but Marcos couldn’t shake his unease.

The miles passed beneath the wheels of his car, the sun taking on the warmth of midday. Vineyards, heavy with the fruit of summer, covered the hills. He turned off the main road a little north of Avignon and began to wend his way on small roads and through even tinier vineyards.

Jacques strode out of the winery to greet him, a beret cock-eyed on his head.

“Why is it you insist on wearing that thing?” Marcos asked. “It’s so old-fashioned.”

Jacques gave a Gallic shrug. “
C’est moi
.”

“It’s you all right.”

The men hugged and patted each other’s backs.

“So?” Marcos asked.

“It goes.”

“A little more than that, please. I’ve got everything riding on this harvest. Last year we didn’t break even. If we have another year like that … ” He imitated Jacques’ Gallic shrug.

“The water and sugar levels are good.” Jacques walked toward the nearest vine and Marcos followed. The men spent the next hour walking the vineyard, pulling leaves and occasionally popping grapes into their mouths to taste them before spitting them out on the ground.

“If we manage the leaf canopy right and the rain holds off, we should get a good harvest,” Marcos said at the end of their walk. “But I’m going to need you to take over more of the management here so I can handle the Italian vineyards, and maybe one in California.”

“California?” Jacques’ eyebrows peaked. “Very dear, California land. You must be doing well.”

Marcos was startled at the man’s boldness. He shook his head. “No, not so well. You see the books for this vineyard. We’re in the red. But I want to move forward with my plan. Land is cheaper with the recession.”

Jacques looked at the ground. “
Peut-être.
But we need more money to make it through harvest since the government has given the workers a pay raise.”

“
Mannagia tua
!” Marcos blew out a deep breath. “So be it. How much?”

Jacques told him.

“I’ll wire the money when I get home.” Marcos shook his head and walked to the winery, his shoulders slumped. Even if the minimum wage had been increased, the figure Jacques had indicated seemed too high.

Marcos spent the rest of the day in the cool of the barn he’d converted, tending the three barrels of wine he’d made from last years’ grapes. The pinot noir was aging well, but still hadn’t developed the peppery zing he’d hoped to get from it.

During his evening meal in a small café, Marcos’ thoughts turned back to Elizabeth. The kiss had been a tease. He wanted more. What would she look like with her hair mussed and spread out on a pillow, her lips swollen from his kisses? It had been a long time since he’d had a woman in his bed.

He shifted uncomfortably. Probably not a good idea to continue down that path of thinking. Instead, he took out his phone and pulled up a calendar. Harvest came in late September at the earliest. A few weeks of hard labor and he’d be able to make a brief trip to California in October.

He’d intended to spend all his time in Napa, but Elizabeth’s description of the Santa Cruz Mountains intrigued him. Of course, he could only go if he could depend on Jacques to complete the vineyard chores after harvest.

He’d known Jacques for years. But all of a sudden he began to feel he didn’t know the man at all.

Marcos shook his head. He was imagining things.

But was he imagining the attraction between Elizabeth and him? He could see her, find out if the desire was still strong in America and use the distance as an easy out if he wanted one.

Of course, if he did care for her, the distance was going to be a problem.

• • •

Elizabeth cursed the coach as she stared at the blank page, her morning cup of coffee on her nightstand. The coach had assigned her to write three pages, longhand, every morning, preferably before getting out of bed.

But nothing was going to come between Elizabeth and her morning cup of coffee.

Now she understood how Annie had felt about the coach’s assignments. They were guaranteed to make her think too much.

Dutifully she began. “‘Today is the first day of the rest of my life.’”
Wow. That was old.
She tapped the pen on the journal. Carol had told her she could write anything she wanted, she just had to write. “I wonder if the bank will get me a loan? What if they won’t? I better make sure my numbers are right. That’s what I should do today … ” As she started thinking and writing about her business, the words flew from her hands. Three pages were done in no time.

There. Now to more important things: a shower and breakfast.

An hour later, Elizabeth sat down at her computer to look at her email. An unfamiliar email address caught her eye and her pulse began to speed up.

Marcos.

“Ciao, bella,”
the note began.

“I have missed your bright smile and your laugh. It seems like a long time before I will be able to visit you in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Already I am making plans to finish harvest quickly and leave the clean-up to my vineyard managers. They will hate me for the extra work, but it cannot be helped as I am anxious to see you.

“How is your business going? Are you making your products? I will be happy to test them for you. We are a lot alike — mixing things together to make a new substance. And we both are willing to take a risk to make a dream come true. I look forward to hearing your success.

“Your friend, Marcos.”

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, studying the short email, her heart beating more rapidly. Marcos had awakened desire, hot flames that she hadn’t felt since she and Joe had groped each other under the bleachers.

But flames could be destructive. Both Joe and Bobby had tried to constrict her life to meet their idea of what a marriage or relationship should be.

Elizabeth frowned. She had let them do that to her. Could she have an affair with a man and still remain who she was? Marcos had possibilities. His major redeeming quality was that he lived half a world away. Some emails, the occasional non-conjugal visit — all manageable.

All she had to do was keep a steady head and she’d be able to concentrate on her business and have a safe, mild flirtation with a gorgeous looking man.

She typed a reply to Marcos.

• • •

After getting a second cup of coffee, Elizabeth sat back down at the computer to do some research. She found two companies that created, tested and manufactured private label lotions and sent off an email to each of them requesting approximate costs and more information. Noticing the time, she shut down the computer and headed for Beauty by the Bay.

She’d been at the store an hour before her assistant, Lara, bustled in. Lara was grinning from ear to ear. “I found something last night that’s perfect for the store. An Italian company makes organic products and is willing to ship to America. They’ve got rave reviews on the web. That way you wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of making your own line.”

Elizabeth took the printouts that Lara thrust at her, feeling her mouth tense as she did so. She forced herself to smile. Lara was trying to be helpful, just like Elizabeth’s mother had tried to be when she was raising Sarah.

It was still annoying.

“Thanks. I’ll look these over, but I’m intent on starting my own line,” Elizabeth said.

Her assistant frowned. “I thought I was doing the right thing. If you start your own line, you’ll need to get a loan from the bank and you know all the numbers you have to gather for a bank loan. What a lot of trouble! And then banks aren’t giving out money these days. They’re being really stingy!” Lara hustled to the back room, her voice continuing to waft through the doorway.

Elizabeth stared at the rear of the store. What was up with Lara? Was she afraid Elizabeth would require too many hours from her? Or was it the bank loan itself? Did Lara fear for her job? She’d been laid off once before, so that might be the problem.

Elizabeth shook her head, put the papers aside and went back to checking her online inventory.

The day turned out to be busier than even Elizabeth had anticipated. In addition to the massages and facials they already had booked, several drop-ins wanted make-up sessions. It took both of them to keep things running smoothly.

After Lara left at five-thirty, Elizabeth closed out the register, ran the daily totals, stapled the slips together and slid them into the box she kept for the purpose. Then she glanced out the front window. Seasons were subtle in California, but she could see a slight dullness in the leaves on the sidewalk trees outside her shop. In no time October’s brief Indian summer, and Marcos, would arrive; then the rainy season would begin to drift into the Central Coast.