Read California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances Online
Authors: Casey Dawes
Tags: #romance, #Contemporary
“Then I hope you succeed at your goal.” She smiled at him.
“You have a similar goal … and I know you will achieve it.” He placed his hand on hers. “But like our sleeping habits, our success might be more easily achieved if we worked together instead of continents apart.”
Her eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
“I admire you, Elizabeth. You have strong character — see what you have done already with your life.” He lifted his hand to caress her cheek. “And you are beautiful. It is why I cannot refrain from kissing you. All the time I was in Italy, all I could think about was you.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I want to tell you how I feel and I am doing it poorly. I do not want something casual with you, Elizabeth. I want something more. And at the same time, I know my desire would turn your life upside down. Will you think about what I am saying? You are so good at thinking, Elizabeth.” He smiled.
“More coffee?” The proprietor asked.
• • •
As they drove down Silverado Trail, Marcos at the wheel, Elizabeth noted the bare trees, a few bright-hued leaves bravely clutching the branches guided their way. Because the Mediterranean climate was temperate, lush foliage still competed with cyprus and other evergreens that littered the valley, but winter would be here soon. Dominating the view in every direction were rows of vines, some clinging to their green, others giving way to bright foliage of late fall.
“It is beautiful, is it not?” Marcos asked.
“Yes, but I’m a little worried about all the vines. They could be so easily wiped out by disease — or what is that bug that kills them?”
“Grassy-winged sharpshooter.”
She gestured at the vine-covered valley floor. “If something like that happens, the whole economy is wiped out. There’s no fall-back position.”
Marcos nodded. “The problem with monoculture.” He glanced over at her. “It is a joy to be with you. You think too much, true.” He grinned. “But you think about important things. Most people would look at the valley and notice it has beauty and commerce. You know enough to ask ‘what if?’” He reached over and squeezed her hand.
Elizabeth wanted to hug herself with pleasure. Men in her life had never told her she was smart. They’d liked her, even loved her, but they were always giving advice, telling her what she should do, making her feel like she always needed fixing.
She smiled at Marcos and took in the details of his face. He wasn’t model-handsome, but had the rugged skin and leanness of a man who worked outside. His lips were wreathed in smile wrinkles that extended to the corners of his eyes. This was a man who viewed life as a ripe peach, savoring every bite.
She could do worse.
He grinned at her. “Stop thinking so much with your head,
cara
. We will soon be sampling wine with a well-known winemaker. I want you to think with your tongue. Maybe we can repair the damage from this morning.”
Elizabeth laughed and relaxed as they drove up the curving driveway to a low-slung slate-rock building, resembling something Frank Lloyd Wright might have created, almost part of the earth it stood on.
Soon they were seated in a back room with the winemaker and a few people he introduced as his assistants. Clustered near one of the assistants were four unlabeled bottles filled with deep red wine.
“Today we’re tasting a blend I’ve been working on from the grapes we harvested last year,” the winemaker began. “I’ve varied the amounts of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Petit Verdot and Malbec.”
“Ah,” Marcos said. “The classic Bordeaux.”
The winemaker nodded and gestured to his assistant who poured the wine into five glasses and passed them out.
Marcos leaned to Elizabeth and whispered, “Remember to taste with your senses, not your mind.”
Elizabeth watched the others at the table and followed suit, sniffing, swirling, sniffing again and finally tasting. She rolled the rich liquid around her mouth and tried to do as Marcos asked. Soon silky flavors of ripe cherries on a warm summer’s day flooded her senses, followed by a tinge of strawberry and a hint of hot chocolate in the rainy winter that stayed on her tongue long after she’d finished swallowing her wine.
“Nice finish,” Marcos said.
“Yes,” the winemaker said, “but not my favorite. I could do without the cocoa and I’d like a little mint in the mix.”
They went on to taste the other three blends. Each time, Elizabeth became more seduced by her senses, picking up flavors she’d never imagined with wine — hints of leather, earth and even a smidge of lavender in one blend.
“You have a good palate, Elizabeth,” the winemaker said as they finished the last tasting. “I find it’s interesting to have several people taste my blends as I go along. If I’m the only one, then the wines only have a ‘house palate;’ everything begins to taste the same.”
He turned to Marcos. “So have you settled where your next vineyard will be?”
“I’m in negotiations for a top of mountain vineyard in Santa Cruz.” Marcos told the winemaker where the vineyard was located.
“Ah … yes. The old Burnap place. You should be able to get some interesting grapes from that piece of land. It used to belong to David Bruce, but he never did anything with it. I’d like to sample what you grow.” He took out his business card and handed it to Marcos.
A thrill of excitement raced through Elizabeth. All of a sudden, Marcos’s plan made sense to her — find the land where the best grapes were grown and create vineyards. Winemakers would always be interested in good grapes. In her mind’s eye, Elizabeth could imagine a Tuscan tasting room at the top of the hill in Santa Cruz, filled with good food and fine wines made by the man at her side.
Perhaps there’d be room for a shelf of her skin-care lotions.
She looked at Marcos and found him staring at her, his face tilted to one side as if he was seeing her for the first time. She smiled at him, silently willing him to know that she finally saw his vision.
“Good thing harvest is done,” the winemaker said. “Looks like it might rain.
Elizabeth turned to the window. Dark thunderclouds were moving rapidly their way.
Elizabeth was silent as they headed up the road to Calistoga. By glimpsing the vision that Marcos had for his life, she began to see what was missing in her own.
Marcos put his hand on hers. “You look like you have discovered something,
cara
.”
“I think I finally understand what you’re trying to achieve.”
“
Molte bene
! Good! So what do you see?”
“I see well-tended vineyards, a beautiful tasting room filled with things from your country, a place where people can experience the flavors of the earth in food and wine. Your grapes will command top dollar and your wines will be exquisite.”
“It is nice to have someone have so much faith in me!” He laughed gently. “And, Elizabeth, where are you in this picture?”
“Me? Nowhere. It’s your dream. I’m in Costanoa, watching my shop and happily looking at glowing sales figures for my product line.” She laughed, but there was a tinge of bitterness at the edges. The life she’d outlined sounded hollow.
Marcos pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant as the drops of rain where beginning to fall. “Dreams are better shared,
cara
. Let us eat and I will tell you how I think your dream and my dream fit together.”
The hostess sat them at a small table near a window looking over fields of grass. It was strange to see land that wasn’t under vine, but good to see there was still a place that was natural within the commercialism of Napa Valley.
“What did you think of the wine?” Marcos asked.
“It was interesting — tasting it without thinking too much!” She smiled at him. “I really got what you were saying about how the wine shows the place it was grown and the spirit of the winemaker. From what I tasted in Italy, I know you have the same talents.”
“A person needs to follow a passion. It is for the best. Otherwise, we are only making the motions of living.”
Elizabeth nodded. While Sarah was growing up, she’d focused on her daughter. Now was the time to follow her own dream.
The waitress placed their meals in front of them. They’d both ordered the pasta special — mushroom-filled home-made raviolis in a cream sauce.
Elizabeth toyed with one of the pasta pockets, reminded of her own desperate efforts at making ravioli. “I’m determined to learn how to make these, although I seem doomed to failure!”
“Making food for others can be an act of love, creative expression,” Marcos said. “The passion we both share, I think, is for
la dolce vita
. Wine, food, luxuries things like your lotions … ” He trailed off and picked up her hand and turned it over. He traced a finger down the center, like a palm reader, sending shivers to every sexual point of her body.
“These are important for
la dolce vita
,” he continued. “But the most important part is love,
cara
. I know you have been hurt, but I hope you can find it in your heart to love again.”
He traced her palm again. “I have told you how much I like you and desire you. I am happy you have a dream for yourself.” He shrugged. “Women who have only a desire to be a shadow do not appeal to me.” His finger moved to trace her jaw line.
“But what happens if it doesn’t work out? Or … you … ” She steeled herself to say the words. “You find someone else and don’t know how to end it.” She couldn’t bear the pain of Marcos’ betrayal.
In a flash, she understood she was falling hard for this man.
Marcos leaned back in his chair and took several sips of wine, as if he was trying to determine the best way to answer the question.
She held her breath.
Finally, he spoke. “I am not proposing anything without thought,” he said, his blue eyes intense. “I told you I have done nothing but think about you since we met. I know a relationship must look impossible to you, you might even think we are happening too quickly, but I believe love can happen if we can both care for each other and talk about what we fear.”
“But how can I believe you? I don’t know you! I thought I could trust Joe and look what happened.” She felt a betraying tear slip down her face and she wiped it away.
“
Cara
, I told you. I know what it is to be betrayed and I would never do it to anyone, especially someone I care about.” He put his glass back on the table. “My wife and I are no longer together because I walked in on her in bed with someone I thought was my best friend. I know the pain you feel, Elizabeth, and I would never, ever hurt you that way. You must believe me.”
She looked into his intense blue eyes and wished she could.
• • •
Marcos took her to Schramsberg Vineyards in the afternoon. The damp caves hand-dug into the mountains shut out the world around them. Cob-web ridden racks of aging champagne reminded her of the effort it took for the sweet life and how short it was.
Was she being a fool? Tour guide droned on about
assemblage, tirage
and riddling while she tried to decide if she’d be able to adhere to her resolve not to make love with Marcos on the trip.
Maybe if she just got him out of her system by sleeping with him, she could forget about him.
She glanced at the lean man in form-fitting clothes beside her.
Fat chance.
Marcos’s hand took hers, he leaned in and said, “Stop thinking.”
She grinned. The man had a point. Instead of thinking, she could enjoy the touch of his hand as they walked back into the tasting room. And she could certainly enjoy the champagne tastings that were being poured for the group. She could live
la dolce vita
instead of always wondering when it was going to show up.
Everything went better with champagne.
“What do you call this in Italy?” she asked Marcos as she picked up the glass of sparkling wine.
“
Spumante
— sweet sparkling, or
prosecco
— for something dry like this is.” He took a sip and smiled. “This is very, very good.”
“Will you ever make champagne?”
“It’s not in my plan, but if I get good Pinot Noir from the new vineyard … ” he shrugged. “It depends.”
“On what?”
He took another sip. “On the grapes, the weather, God, and … ” He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. “ … on the heart of a beautiful woman who thinks too much. You cannot make good champagne without love.”
“Oh.”
“I have heard it said,” he continued, “that a dentist asked a woman to marry him. She told him she would, but only if he promised her a bottle of champagne every night.” He sipped the wine in the next glass in the flight and wrinkled his nose. “Too sweet.”
“So did he?”
“He did her one better. He bought a vineyard and made his own champagne. That is what a man does for a woman he loves. That is what I will do for the woman I love.”
Love. What was she supposed to do with his love? She couldn’t fall for someone like him. He was too … too … different.
The problem was, she knew she had already fallen. If she ended it now, it would hurt less than if she did it later.
Before leaving, Marcos purchased three bottles of sparkling wine. “One for tonight, one for tomorrow and one for the woman who deserves champagne as often as she wishes,” he said to the clerk.
“Very good, sir,” the man replied.
“I thought we might go back to the inn before dinner,” he said. “They have a nice hot tub that would be good for relaxing. You did bring your bathing suit?”
She nodded. The thought of being semi-naked next to Marcos sent tingles through her body.
“And then we go to dinner.”
Back in her room, Elizabeth changed and wrapped the fluffy robe the inn had provided tightly around her. She eyed the jar of
Amoré
she’d slipped into her suitcase at the last minute.
Did she dare?
She stepped from the room and Marcos joined her in the hallway, also wearing a robe. He hadn’t bothered to belt it, so she had glimpses of a hair-covered chest and lanky legs.
He must have caught her looking because he grinned. “Like what you see?”