For the Love of Family (12 page)

Bedlam was an understatement.

She could barely squeeze through the front door, so many people were jammed up against it. In the center of the long, brick-floored room, the cast and their crew held court. Someone had a guitar. The lead actress, not
an A-list star, but definitely a B-plus, stood on a table, singing “O Sole Mio.” She was okay, actually, but her costar, who had decided to dance along with the music, definitely shouldn’t give up acting.

Around them, regular customers ogled and craned their necks so that they wouldn’t miss a second. Belle wondered how on earth she’d ever find Matt in the chaos.

“You must be Belle!” A gorgeous young man grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek with enthusiasm. “Bless you, you beautiful creature! I’m Red, and we’re absolutely desperate! Go straight to the kitchen. Grab an apron and a pad, and as many water glasses as you can carry. Start passing them out to anyone who doesn’t have one.”

She nodded, dazed by the energy the man gave off. As quickly as she could, she sidestepped and wriggled her way through the crowd toward what she hoped was the kitchen. Two swinging doors, one hard shove and finally she was in.

Not that it was any less hectic in here. Four men in white were working like a synchronized dance team, wielding long-handled implements, sliding pizzas into and pulling them out of the wood-burning ovens faster than seemed possible.

Off to the side, three other men were kneading, pounding and shaping dough. One of them was Matt.

He looked up and grinned. “Reinforcements!” He elbowed the man standing next to him. “Colby, this is Belle.”

Colby smiled. Then Matt turned his head, though his
hands kept deftly moving through the dough. “Nana Lina! Belle is here!”

Oh, God.
Her stomach swooped. She had expected to work among a bunch of the restaurant’s other employees, in comfortable anonymity. She had no idea the whole family was here.

The beautiful older woman she’d seen at the party came gliding around a corner, apparently the only one immune to the chaos. Her hair framed her face in perfect white waves, and over her black dress she wore a crisp white apron with delicate green embroidery along the edges.

“No,” she said firmly as she passed Colby. She halted his hand on the measuring cup. “Since you were six, always too much flour.”

Then, as Colby laughed and set the cup down, she extended a slim hand to Belle. “It is very generous of you to come, Belle. It’s not easy work, and these customers have no manners. But they will have the best pizza in San Francisco, if I can persuade my grandson to stop adding flour with a shovel.”

Looking into those amused chocolate-brown eyes, Belle realized that she’d do a lot more than fill water glasses if this woman asked her to. No wonder Colm Malone hadn’t been able to see any other women.

Belle tried not to compare that relationship to her own grandparents’. Women other than his wife hadn’t been invisible to Grandpa Robert, had they? He’d slept with another woman, maybe for years, while he was married to Sarah. He’d even fathered children by that woman. So what had gone wrong? Was the fault in Robert? Or in Sarah?

Or was it unfair to try to affix blame, so many years later, with so much left unexplained?

“I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Malone. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’m happy to try.”

“My grandson tells me you’re a very fast learner. My husband used to say a willing heart and a sensible mind can do anything.” She picked up a tray and handed it to Belle with a wink. “However, in this case a pair of strong arms and a high tolerance for fools would be even more useful.”

The next three hours flew by. As word got out that the film people were here, Diamante’s large dining area filled to overflowing. Soon a line formed at the door, but no one who was already inside had any intention of leaving. They had to order something to justify hanging around star watching, so Belle quickly graduated from water girl to waitress.

Even during her waitressing days in college, she’d never worked so hard in her life. By the end of the first hour, her shoulders ached and her feet throbbed inside her sensible pumps. Thank heaven she hadn’t decided to wear a pair of Pandora’s “fun” shoes today!

By the end of the second hour, every inch of her body had gone numb.

But she was having the time of her life. At her house, this level of stress would have sent her dad into a rage long ago. Her mother would either have retired to weep alone, or worked on in stoic silence, sacrificing herself on the altar of family peace.

Not this family. As the stress increased, they just ramped up the energy and adrenaline. They laughed,
they sang songs, they danced around one another in the kitchen and in the dining room. They clearly enjoyed working, and they welcomed a challenge.

And no one got mad when a mistake was made. They rallied around the one who had goofed, joking and sharing their own dumb moments, until any embarrassment was laughed away. When Belle compared that to the disgusted criticism that followed any errors at the Carson household…

It seemed as if she had stumbled into an alternate universe. A fairy-tale world, where the very air was flavored with joy, and hard work became a game. Where everyone was on the same team, and no matter what happened, you won.

Every time she delivered an order to the kitchen, she found her gaze drawn to Matt and Colby, who seemed so at home, standing at the counter kneading dough, rolling it out, even now and then tossing it in the air while the others whistled and laughed. They applied pepperoni slices like Las Vegas croupiers dealing cards, and sprinkled onions, mushrooms and crumbled beef through expert fingers.

Of course, they were at home. They’d grown up helping out here, and probably tossing pizzas at home, as well. This was the family tradition.

Through all the take-out expansions, this charming brick-and-wood space, made out of the first floor of a whole block of town houses, remained the one and only sitdown Diamante restaurant. The walls were covered with pictures of celebrities who sent their love to Lina, as well as family pictures that took Colm and Angelina,
their son, and finally the three grandsons through all the stages of life.

At the end of three hours, Belle almost felt like one of the family. She had picked up their serenity, and didn’t even get rattled when a fussy customer demanded a special pizza. Mushrooms applied first, cooked briefly, then followed five minutes later by onions, but only yellow onions, and they must be slivered, not chopped, about as thick as your pinky finger.

Wow.
The kitchen had openings at each end, and she entered by the one nearest Matt and Colby. She read off the woman’s insane list of requirements to Matt, who was standing nearest to the door. He listened, though his hands never paused, deftly spreading marinara sauce over the dough he’d just shaped into a pan.

She apologized for the intricacy of the order, but he just smiled. “That’s Mrs. Tarkington,” he said. “We’ve been making that pizza for years.”

He glanced toward the other counter, where his grandmother was supervising the mixing of more dough for tomorrow, as they’d undoubtedly use everything they had tonight. “Nana Lina, where do you keep the Tarkington onions these days?”

His grandmother didn’t even turn around. “Top left. But she was here yesterday, so we may be out.”

“Dang it,” Colby grumbled. “Wouldn’t you know it?”

“Grab a knife and cut some, you lazy boys.” Angelina’s dry voice was amused. “Unless now that you’re so expensively educated, you’ve forgotten how to perform even the simplest practical task.”

The brothers exchanged looks, and Colby reached for
a couple of yellow onions and a knife. “God, she’s a tyrant, isn’t she?”

Matt winked at Belle, brushing flour from his cheek with his free hand. “Promise me something, Belle. When we get back to the office on Monday, swear that you’ll erase the memory of my grandmother bossing me around like a naughty little boy.”

“Sorry,” Belle said, shaking her head and trying not to grin. She slipped Mrs. Tarkington’s order into the overhead slot. “I have a photographic memory. This image is burned in my brain for all time.”

“Oh, yeah?” Matt tilted his head. “Actually, that doesn’t sound all bad, now that I think about it.”

Colby made a small snorting sound, which he covered up quickly. “Excuse me,” he said with exaggerated innocence. “Something in my throat.”

“I am not,” Angelina said crisply, “paying the three of you to stand around flirting.”

Matt laughed out loud as he slipped a pizza peel under the pie he’d just created and handed it off to the bakers. “You’re not paying us at all, you slave driver.”

“That is entirely beside the point.”

She wiped her hands on her apron, then stepped closer and took hold of Belle’s hands gently.

“I’ve been watching you, my dear. I like you. You have character. So I’ll be honest. My grandsons already operate under the delusion that they are irresistible. I’m counting on you to give them…shall we call it a reality check? Ignore them. It will do them a world of good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Belle said, feeling her cheeks flush with irrational pleasure. Warmth trickled through her
like the honey that was the secret ingredient of Diamante’s pizza crust.

She turned to Matt with a grin. “Have to get back to work. Sorry, boss. I report to a higher power now.”

H
E HAD DRAWN THE LINE
at wearing swim trunks.

He was as determined as anyone to make a success of this event, the first of the beach parties designed to launch a new franchise. He’d said yes to almost everything Belle and George suggested. He had agreed to give away Cinnamon Diamonds, and he had agreed to donate one hundred percent of his pizza profits. He had approved radio interviews, and he didn’t complain about the radio van broadcasting pop music right there beside them on the sand. With his permission, they’d sent free pizzas to the stations all week, drumming up excitement.

And he was devoting his whole day to the darn thing. He had accepted the need to personally hand out pizzas in the hot sun.

But he was
not
willing to become the feature act in a beefcake show.

Francie had taken up a petition at work, just to devil him, and everyone, even the computer techies, had signed it twice. When they heard about the controversy, Colby and Red had presented him with a thong swimsuit that had a very unusual crotch, which promised to
lift and enhance. The bastards had almost broken ribs laughing at the look on Matt’s face when he opened it.

Well, they could enjoy the joke while it lasted. When Matt arrived at the little half-moon bay where the event would take place, he wore blue jeans, a yellow T-shirt and a navy jacket. He was the boss. They could just live with it.

Belle greeted him in the parking lot, clipboard in hand. She looked absolutely fantastic in a sleeveless yellow sundress, short enough to tickle the tops of her knees, and sandals that made her pink-tipped toes look X-rated. Her hair was loosely tied back with a white ribbon, but was already spinning free around the edges and dancing in the breeze.

She looked professional, but still…the minute you saw her you started thinking of hot sex in the sand.

He’d been worrying for nothing. He could have come out here stark naked and no one would have noticed him. Not with Belle around.

“We’ve got quite a crowd already,” she said, running her pencil down the list on the clipboard as they walked toward the beach. “You have your first interview, with WWHM, in about five minutes. Then one with the guy from the local paper…he’s the one over there in all black. Then you’re on pizza duty for about two hours, with five-minute breaks every thirty minutes for other interviews.”

She grinned like a kid who brought home all A’s. “That’s pretty good, isn’t it? Sundays are fantastic for this kind of thing. Slow news days. The TV stations, especially, will bite at any piece of fluff you offer on a Sunday.”

He smiled. “Hey, now. Don’t flatter me like that. I might start thinking I’m important.”

“Oh, I—” She groaned, but then started laughing. “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s true. Don’t pretend you didn’t already know that a guy handing out free cinnamon rolls on the beach isn’t exactly the Pulitzer Prize exposé of the year.”

“No,” Matt said with a one-sided smile. “I had no idea. I’m crushed.”

She groaned and flipped her legal pad shut. He loved it that she no longer cowered. Partly, the difference was that she was growing into the job, soaking up information from George like a sponge and gaining confidence every day.

But the night they’d slaved together serving pizza to bratty movie stars had somehow been a turning point. Now she was more comfortable around him.

It was almost like being friends.

He put his hand under her arm, pretending he thought she might need help with her balance as they picked their way across the soft sand between the dunes. He had always thought guys who did that were losers, but now he saw how useful chivalry could be.

They reached the Diamante table and trailer far too soon. He would have liked to walk right on past it, his hand still tucked into that warm, satiny place inside her elbow. And then he’d like to keep walking until they ran out of beach.

Instead, he had to let go. About two dozen beachgoers with pink shoulders and wet, sandy hair, stood around waiting to see what was going to happen. Most
of the males, young and old, seemed to be watching Belle. Even a punk little kid of maybe twelve was staring at her with his mouth open, as if she were better than a big, sweet lollipop. Ordinarily, Matt liked kids, but that one got on his nerves.

Belle didn’t seem self-conscious about her audience. She smiled at everyone, even as she made her way quickly up to the guy with a microphone who stood beside the big, tacky WWHM van.

She chatted with him as if he were her best friend, when really he was an overweight noise box with a balding head and a face definitely made for radio. The boss in Matt appreciated how quickly she was mastering the skill of artful networking. But the male in him thought she should back down the charm. The WWHM guy was too old and too fat to get this kind of jolt to the libido.

She led the disc jockey over to him. “Mr. Malone, this is Andy in the Afternoon, from WWHM. He’s broadcasting from the event today, and he’d like to start by talking to you for a few minutes.”

She gave the man a smile, full of understanding camaraderie. “He knows you’ve got another interview in ten minutes, and some hungry people here, too, who are all hoping the pizza sales will start on time.”

She moved away diplomatically, and made her way to the Goth-looking kid who passed for a local reporter around here. The kid was talking to Belle’s cleavage, the little—

Just in time, Matt recognized how negative his attitude was, and why. He pulled himself up hard. Doing
the jealous-male routine in front of a dozen cameras would be dumb beyond belief.

He turned on the switch that had seen him through a million meetings, parties and interviews in the past. He held out his hand and shook the other man’s beefy paw.

“Hey, Andy. Thanks so much for coming by. It’s going to add a lot to the event, having your station here.”

Matt kept his focus all day. He handled Andy in the Afternoon, Proud Mary from WMIX, and a parade of other small-paper and TV reporters who pretty much all asked the same questions. By the end of the day, he was straining to think of another way to say “excited about the expansion” or “so proud to donate to this excellent charity.”

The turnout was respectable. He sold about three hundred pizzas to college students and families with hungry kids, two groups guaranteed to be attracted by freebies. Even better, they all seemed to love the food, which boded well for the franchise’s future.

Beside him, one of the pretty young managers from the new franchise handed out the free Cinnamon Diamonds, along with an explanation of the special diamond ring promotion. Of the three hundred cinnamon rolls, ten percent had rings planted inside, a number George had decided on as plentiful enough to sustain hope, but rare enough to create excitement.

Now and then a squeal and a cheer would go up, indicating another prize discovered. Business always picked up a little right after that, the curious drawn in by the noise.

The marketing company handling the larger sweepstakes had sent a rep to help with the entries. Together
the rep and a couple of waitresses from the downtown Diamante took information from all the winners, to make sure they got their bonus entries submitted.

Belle was never near enough to talk to, except when she brought the next reporter up to interview Matt, or ushered the last one away so that he could go back to selling. She had a million details to oversee, and she never stayed in one place for long. But somehow, through it all, he managed to keep her in his peripheral vision, as if she were a flickering yellow sunbeam dancing on the horizon.

They sold the last pizza just as the sun was dropping low enough to sizzle slightly on the water. He gave his last interview with the colorful sunset as a background, and then he went to find Belle.

She was in the vending trailer, thanking the two chefs who had kept the hot pizzas coming. They’d all been premade back at the new franchise, of course, but someone had to keep them hot, out of the sun and ready to distribute.

“Belle? Got a minute?”

She turned around. “Sure.” She looked slightly edgy. “Did that last interview go all right? I didn’t come out to remind him time was up because he said it was going to be live, and usually that means they—”

“It went fine. No problems with any of that. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She stepped carefully out of the trailer, saying her goodbyes to the men inside. The air had grown nippy since the sun began to sink. She shivered as a breeze cut past them.

“I knew I should have worn something else.” She grinned, chafing her upper arms. “My friend Pandora gives the world’s worst advice about clothes.”

Matt wanted to tell her that wasn’t true, that Pandora was a genius, but some remnant of common sense stopped him. He took off his jacket and draped it around Belle’s shoulders, which maybe wasn’t too smart, either. It clearly surprised her, and the sight of it swamping her small frame was shockingly intimate.

“You can’t concentrate if you’re freezing to death,” he said, in a lame attempt to make it sound like a business-related loan. “It might take a few minutes, what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “What is it?”

“I’ve heard from Nana Lina. I sent her a copy of the speech you wrote.” He turned his back on the trailer and started to walk, feeling the urge to get away from the table where he’d been dispensing pizzas for so long. Belle automatically kept pace with him. “I thought we should go over what she said.”

Belle looked up at him, her hair on fire in the peach-colored sunset. “Oh, dear. Did she hate it?”

“No, no. For the most part, she was quite happy with it. She had a couple of problems with the middle. You remember—that part was from the first version. We suspected it might still be a little too personal. I thought it was worth a shot, but she’s already put a big red X through it.”

Belle laughed. “I knew she wouldn’t go for it. Once I met her, I realized that the speech I originally wrote was all wrong.”

“Well, you fixed that. Amazingly, with that one ex
ception, she’s approved the whole thing. That’s damn rare, with Nana Lina. Ask George. He’s had to rewrite some press releases five, six, even seven times before she’s happy.”

Belle did a little skip on the sand to demonstrate her delight. Matt caught the scent of her perfume, drifting alongside the salty brine of the ocean. To his horror, he felt his groin tighten.

He should get out of here. He should take his jacket and go home.

Before he did something really stupid.

“Belle.” He stopped. They hadn’t gone more than about five hundred feet, but the people back at the site were silhouetted against the sunset, oddly anonymous and faraway. He turned toward her. He could barely make out her features in the dying light, but even so, arousal shot through him like a lust-tipped arrow.

“Belle…”

“Yes?” She sounded slightly breathless. He wondered whether she could feel it, too. Something arcing between them, tugging at thoughts they both knew they shouldn’t be having.

The wind had kicked up harder, and his coat made a ruffling sound, ballooning out around her. Her yellow skirt lifted, as if unseen hands had slipped under it.

He couldn’t control what was happening to him. His jeans tightened, and his heart was like a drumbeat, insisting, insisting.

Her hair feathered against her cheeks, her lips, her eyes. He reached out and brushed it away, just to feel the silk of her face under his fingertips.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he said, his voice husky. “For everything you’ve done since you joined us. I know it wasn’t a job you particularly wanted, but you’ve really put your heart into it.”

“I love it,” she said. Her voice was breathy, too, and she didn’t pull away from his fingers, even though he’d left them there, just under her ear. It was as if they were having one conversation and their bodies were having another.

“Do you?”

She nodded against his hand. “Yes. I’m beginning to, I mean. So much…so much more than I thought I would.”

“I’m glad.” He would have said more, but didn’t want to talk. He wanted…

He lowered his face toward hers. He went slowly, agonizingly slowly, so that she would have time to stop him. He felt the warmth of her body rising to meet him, and he sensed when she tipped her face toward him, just a fraction of an inch, but enough to send the signal.

Yes. Yes.

After that, nothing could have stopped him. He held her chin with both hands, as if her heart-shaped face were a cup from which he needed desperately to drink. He touched her mouth softly at first, and then let the kiss deepen, until he heard her make a low sound, and felt her lips part beneath his.

He drove in, then, with all the painful need that had been shooting through him…perhaps since the first moment he saw her. It made very little sense. But she did things to him, dark, inexplicable things that had nothing to do with logic.

He knew her lips. He’d kissed them in his dreams. It
was almost too much to bear, having it finally be real. But it was. He tasted the cinnamon that had dusted the corners of her smile, and the darker, muskier sweetness that was hers alone. It was a familiar taste, as if he’d known her forever, as if her mouth had belonged to him always.

It was how longing had always felt, and smelled, and tasted, in his soul.

She put the heels of her hands on his chest.

It was the universal sign of a woman who wanted to stop. He let go of her immediately, though his pulse was still throbbing heavily in his throat.

“Belle?”

“I’m sorry…it’s just that—” She seemed to be having trouble finding words. She kept taking breaths and starting over. Her round eyes looked slightly dazed. “I don’t think we should—”

“Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Damn it. What had he done? He inhaled air as far down into his lungs as he could, trying to clear his head. He backed up a step, hoping it might help if he wasn’t still close enough to smell her perfume mingling with the scent of him, carried on his coat.