California Wine (5 page)

“So you never have to commit to anything before you break her heart.” Sofia raised her arms in frustration. “To you it is only a lunch. To a woman, it is an invitation.”

He shook his head as she rattled on in rapid Italian, but her observation made him pause. How had Elizabeth viewed the invitation to the vineyard? Did she see it as more than the simple act of friendship it was intended to be? Time to change the subject.

“And I see Gina in two weeks.”

“I’d better get to see her, too.” Sofia slammed the cheese on the cutting board and sliced off a hunk. She wrapped the cheese in paper and thrust it into a wicker basket. “You’ll supply the wine, yes?” Sofia handed him his lunch. “And bring my basket back.”

“Yes, Sofia. I always bring your basket back, don’t I?” He pulled out his wallet to pay the amount on the bill she’d scratched out on the back of a paper bag.

She took the money and stuffed it in her apron pocket. “Go then. But make sure the American doesn’t fall for the romantic Italian with a stone for a heart.”

He kissed her on the cheek and left the store, his mind rumbling with new questions. What was he doing with Elizabeth? Since the breakup of his marriage, he’d dated some women and slept with others. But Sofia was right, he’d kept them all at arm’s length. That’s what had made time with Elizabeth perfect. They could enjoy each other’s company and there was a built-in distance to keep the relationship from getting too serious.

But the remembrance of the quick brush of their lips made him want more. It had been a long time since he’d felt as comfortable with a woman as he did with Elizabeth. For the first time in years, he wanted more than a simple companionship. The stone heart Sofia had accused him of having had developed a crack.

And, as Sofia had so helpfully pointed out, the woman who caused the break lived half a world away.

• • •

Maybe, Marcos thought as he paced the small hotel lobby, the same pull wouldn’t be there when he saw Elizabeth in the daylight.

Laughter exited the tiny elevator before the two women appeared.

Luck wasn’t with him. The crack widened a fraction.

He walked toward Elizabeth and Sarah, a broad smile breaking across his face. “
Bella!
You both look wonderful. I’ve picked up a most magnificent lunch from my cousin, the sun is shining and it’s a wonderful day to be alive in Liguria!”

“Are all the people in town your cousins?” Elizabeth asked.

“It must seem that way, but no. In Italy, we buy from who we know.” He shrugged. “And who we know are usually our cousins!”

Elizabeth’s smile invited him into a place where he could relax and be himself, odd-ball sense of humor and all.

Catching his breath, he said, “My car is right outside. It will take us about an hour to get to the vineyard.” He led the way through the lobby, sending a brief wave to Rosita.

“Where are you taking my guests today?” she asked.

“The vineyard.”

“A beautiful day for it.”

“
Si
.” He held the door for the two Americans, and they stepped out into the fragrant air of a summer day in Liguria. Bright bougainvillea lit the stucco walls, reminding him of childhood summers, and enticing him to let go of his worries for the day. He seated the women in his Alfa-Romeo, rolled the top down, and cruised into the hills toward the vineyard.

Soon they were driving under the canopy of thick-leaved trees. Fuzzy clusters of nuts hung from many of the limbs. “Chestnuts,” Marcos said to the women, playing tour guide. “Liguria is known for them. The poorer people who live deep in the mountains make everything from them — porridge, pasta, and furniture from the hardwood.” If he kept reminding himself that the day was no more than a picnic with a few acquaintances, he could keep his growing attraction to Elizabeth at bay.

“I can’t believe it’s so much like Santa Cruz. Ocean, a little bit of flat, a lot of hills, high mountains and little twisty roads,” Elizabeth said to her daughter.

“Your home must be very beautiful,” he said, stealing a glance at her. A smile curved her moist lips, bringing back the memory of his quick taste a few nights earlier.

A blaring horn brought his attention back to the road.

“Merda
!”

A truck coming from the opposite direction veered over the line and forced them to the edge of the road, an edge that fell into nothingness a foot from the pavement. The wind generated from the vehicle pushed the little sports car around and Marcos fought to control the steering wheel. With the screech of tires and smell of rubber, he managed to pull the car back into the lane.

He checked his passengers. “Are you okay?”

Elizabeth drew a shaky breath. “Too bad you don’t believe in guardrails.”

“How would that be fun?” he said without thinking and immediately regretted it. Perhaps she wouldn’t get his sense of humor.

A smile played with her lips. “I suppose you like to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, too.”

He chuckled and grasped her hand with his. “I am sorry. I cannot stop here, but there is a village a short distance ahead. Will you be all right until then?”

“Yes.” She unwrapped her hand from his. “But two hands on the wheel for my sake.”

He shrugged and did as she asked. “With danger, you appreciate life.”

“With safety you live it longer,” she retorted.

“Long … but very, very dull,” he said.

“I see.” He heard the seat squeak as she shifted. “Does your love of danger only apply to physical danger?” A teasing note belied the seriousness of her question.

Without thinking, he replied. “Oh, no. We enjoy the zest of life in all that we do — art, music, sports, love … ”

He realized his mistake as soon as the last word slipped out.

“I see,” she said, her voice noticeably cooler.

Damn.
The woman had viewed his invitation as Sofia suspected. Why couldn’t he have let things be and regard the dinner as a pleasant memory?

“Is the village much further?” Sarah asked from the back seat.

“Only a few more curves. Don’t worry. I’ll get us there safely.”

He returned his concentration to the twisting road. As they drove further into the mountains, small terraced farms carved from the landscape appeared. Everything was crammed into the small plots — olive trees, vineyards, leafy green vegetable gardens. Marcos felt his spirits lift with the abundance he saw around him. He would enjoy the day and hope Elizabeth would as well.

The road widened as they crested a hill and drove into a small town of red-roofed stucco buildings, Here and there women bore shopping baskets and bags filled with string-wrapped packages of meat and leafy fronds. Marcos pulled over near a bell tower marking the end of the shopping center and stopped the engine.

Turning to face Elizabeth and Sarah, he said, “I am so sorry for the scare. You are okay? Would you like a cup of coffee?” He placed his hand on Elizabeth’s, the heat from her skin warming his hand.

Again she withdrew her hand.

He would need to stop touching her if he was going to keep the day light and casual.

“How close are we?” Sarah asked.

“Almost there,” Marcos said.

“You okay, Mom?” Sarah’s hand rested on her mother’s shoulder.

Elizabeth patted her daughter’s hand. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s going to take a little more than a near-death experience to ruin my day.” She smiled, but it lacked the fullness of her earlier happiness.

“Then why don’t we get to the vineyard and drink some wine?” Sarah suggested. Color suffused her cheeks, contrasting with the pallor of the rest of her face, but she was grinning.

Marcos took one more look at Elizabeth and restarted the car.

The road leading from the village narrowed, clusters of fields crowding either side of it. Small vineyards with neatly strung vines heavy with ripening fruit were scattered between carefully tilled rows of beans, leafy greens, and small shoots of onion stalks.

They were at the cusp of harvest when Marcos would get the results of months of work. Carefully, he turned the car down a narrow dirt lane shrouded with vineyards on either side.

“The vineyard has been in my family ever since they came up from Southern Italy centuries ago,” he said.

“Beautiful,” Elizabeth said.

He rounded a bend and a small building of traditional stucco came into view. His heart filled with pride at the picture the winery made nestled in the vineyard. “Ah, here we are!”

He stopped the car, got out and dashed to the other side to help them out of the car. “Welcome to my winery and barrel room.” He swept his arm to indicate that all they could see was his. Pride brought the joy of the day back to him.

A long and well-worn wooden picnic table nestled under an arbor covered with vines, providing shade from the hot sun. Flowering pink and gold shrubs separated the area from the chestnut forest that abutted the vineyard on the north side.

Marcos plunked the basket on the table and unlocked the padlock to the winery building. When he spread the door wide, cool air rushed out from the dark within. He gestured for them to follow him into the damp, sweet-smelling room. Barrels were stacked ceiling-high in the back of the room and four stainless-steel tanks lined one wall. To the left a plank spanning the tops of two wine-barrels held glasses, beakers and two hand-labeled bottles of wine.

“My humble blending table,” he said gesturing at the crude surface.

Elizabeth picked up one of the bottles of wine. Her face became more alive with interest. “What does it mean?” She gestured to the scrawled numbers on the bottle.

“Not much,” he said. Their fingers touched hers as he took the bottle from her and the flash of heat took him by surprise. “I have the date of the blend and a number that references my notes.” He pointed to a wine-stained notebook at the edge of the table, making an effort to get his thoughts back on winemaking and away from lovemaking.

“What kind of a blend is it?” she asked.

“How much do you know about winemaking?” he asked.

“I took a class at the community college. I enjoy wine, so I wanted to learn about it.”

“And?” He poured wine from the first bottle into a glass, swirled it, sniffed it, and took a sip. Faint notes of blueberry were chased by a heavier hint of tobacco. He was almost there.

He poured two more glasses and passed them to the women. Sarah took hers and wandered toward the barrels at the back of the building.

“I found winemaking fascinating,” Elizabeth said. “A lot of patience is required, isn’t it?” Her eyes peered over the rim of the glass and he became entranced by the warmth of her gaze.

His heart cracked a little more.

“Most good things require patience. You will need it when you develop your lotions. I’m sure you’ll be trying to balance aromas with the texture you need for a silky feel.” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together to demonstrate.

She turned away and he saw her shoulders square before she turned back to look at him.

“Is what’s in the other bottle just as good?” she asked, a small smile on her lips.

“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

• • •

Elizabeth couldn’t take her eyes off Marcos’ hands as he opened the second bottle and poured the wine into two more glasses. His fingers were long and thin, like a pianist’s. What would they feel like if they played a tune on her body? And why was she thinking this way?

He handed her a glass, a bemused smile on his face indicating that he knew what she had crossed her mind. “Let me know which one you like better.”

“The first one was yummy,” Sarah said as she returned to the blending table. “I can’t wait to taste the second one. I’m going to need to take some sommelier classes at Davis to learn something about wine. Rick and I will need a good wine list for the restaurant.”

“You have a restaurant?” Marcos asked as he poured wine into her glass.

Sarah flicked her eyes at her mother. “I have a dream. Right now I have to finish college.”

“Dreams are important,” Marcos said. “Without them, you don’t have anywhere to go. You’ll stumble around lost, never knowing who you are.”

Elizabeth swallowed a shimmering blend of currents and smoke. She didn’t need Marcos egging Sarah on. “Going to college is essential. The dream can come later.”

“College can be important, but never as essential as the dream,” Marcos said. “Life can be hard. Having a vision of where you want to be keeps you going when things go wrong.”

He put down his glass and touched Elizabeth’s shoulder. “You know that. Your dream is standing right there.” He pointed to Sarah.

Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes, but she blinked them back. She had to keep reminding herself that Sarah was beyond her control.

“But mom needs a new dream, now,” Sarah said. “I’m following my bliss.”

“And getting a degree,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes, Mother. I’ll get the degree.”

Elizabeth suspected her daughter was mocking her, but decided to let the subject drop.

“So which wine do you like best?” Marcos asked.

“The second,” Elizabeth and Sarah said at the same time.

“Good. That is what we will have with our lunch.” He led the way back outside.

They settled around the picnic table. Elizabeth and Sarah exclaimed over every delicacy as Marcos withdrew it from the basket.

“What a magnificent feast! Thank you, Marcos,” Elizabeth said and touched his hand. The electricity between them jolted her. She pulled back and looked around the table. “Napkins?”

“M-o-ther, you don’t need napkins at a picnic.”

“Yes, you do,” Elizabeth said. “Otherwise, everything gets … gets … ,” she looked at Marcos, “messy.” All of a sudden, it was difficult to breathe.

“My cousin includes everything,” he said, draping a multi-colored napkin over her plate. He raised his glass. “
Buon appetito
.”

They chattered about the meal as they dove into the variety of cheeses and meats. Even as she ate, Elizabeth was aware of Marcos watching her as if he was storing up memories. Her body tingled with the attention. But she needed to remember this was simply a lunch. In addition to living in Italy, Marcos seemed to live on the edge, flitting through life without commitment.