“That was more dramatic than any movie scene I’ve ever filmed,” said Hank in the car. Ella let him drive. He grabbed her hand without asking. Squeezed it tight. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I think so. But poor Mama. I can’t even imagine how she’s feeling. Did you see her helping the girls scoop out the tiramisu? She kept praising them, acting as if nothing had changed. Which is good, because really, nothing has.”
“Right,” Hank assured her. “She’s still your mother. And Sofia’s daughter. And Giuseppe’s daughter, whatever the test results are.”
“But she was under such stress,” Ella said. “I’m sure she wanted the gathering to end. But she stayed and acted cheerful for everyone.”
“It was a massive shock, I’m sure,” Hank said. “It would be for anyone. It’ll take a while to process, don’t you think?” He released Ella’s hand, not wanting to take advantage of her wobbly emotions.
“Yes,” Ella said, her voice breaking a little. “Mama is strong.”
“She’s a real trouper,” Hank agreed.
“I wish Papa were here to support her.”
“You’re here, and all the family,” Hank reminded her.
He hated to see her so upset, but what could he do? Nothing, really, except be her friend.
“I’m counting on the test saying my grandfather Giuseppe was her biological father, and this whole crisis will pass.”
“Of course it will,” he said, turning her car into the driveway to the carriage house. They passed the Wilders’ big house, the corner of it glowing under a street light, then moved into almost total blackness, save for the tiny porch light on the carriage house’s front step. “It will pass even if it turns out her biological dad is the son of the vineyard owner. Your mother will have lots of loved ones to support her.”
“I hope that doesn’t happen.”
“It won’t be easy,” he said, turning off the car engine. They sat in silence, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. “Change is hard. Especially, I’ll bet, when you’ve believed one thing for fifty years or more, and you find out you didn’t necessarily have all the facts.”
Ella let out a gusty sigh. “I had no idea I was leading you into the lion’s den today. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Hank said, and dared to look at her. “I’m worried about you. Not only about how you’re feeling about your mother and her situation. What Nonna Sofia said about you not being married—it wasn’t an insult, but it’s obvious that you’re the odd woman out in some ways in your family.”
Ella nodded. “I’m used to that. I’ve never been very traditional. But I think they’re proud of me for stepping out, getting Mancini women to think about their options. Not that I don’t want to be a wife and mother someday … I do—if I find the right partner. But marriage isn’t the only way to be happy. I want my little girl nieces and cousins and my youngest sister—the one who keeps kissing frogs—to realize that they can have a full, wonderful life on their own, with friends and family. And if they’re lucky, they might find a partner to lean on and love in return. So says the matchmaker.”
She grinned and stole a glance at him.
He put a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re amazing,” he said.
She smiled shyly. A beat passed. “I know,” she eventually replied, and laughed out loud.
It was a relief to hear her do that. He laughed too. “I’m glad you realize you’re the cat’s meow.”
She shrugged. “It took a long time.”
“It was my fault,” he told her. “When I left, did you think I thought you were lacking somehow?”
“I couldn’t help but wonder that, yes,” she said.
“I never did.” He tried to maintain eye contact with her, but she looked away. “It was all on me. I had issues. Not you. You were wonderful then, and you still are. Better than ever, in fact.”
Yes, he was talking too much. But guess what? He had to stop thinking so hard and simply be who he really was, whether he got rejected or not.
“We should go in,” she said quietly.
“Okay.” He wouldn’t push it any further, and she obviously didn’t want him to either. “I wonder when Pammy will be home?” It was nine o’clock. Her date had lasted a good three hours.
Pammy was a safe change of subject.
“I don’t know,” Ella said. The house was dark. “But it must mean she’s having fun. And that makes me happy.”
“Me too.”
Things felt a little more normal, or at least less tense, between them. He wanted to win a second chance with Ella, but he hoped that somehow—if he maintained faith in what he believed they still had between them—she would move toward him too.
When they got inside, Hank flipped the light switch in the living room, and a lamp turned on in the corner, casting a yellow beam over a worn leather armchair with a matching ottoman, scuffed from lots of shoes being put up on it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat in a beat-up recliner with a couple of magazines or a good novel. He had plenty of downtime on movie sets, but he used those hours to call friends and business contacts, answer emails, and read scripts. He was usually in a trailer, which shouted temporary the same way a hotel room did.
“You okay?” he asked Ella. “Should we do something like go to the Blind Tiger and play some pool?”
She waved a hand. “No, thanks.” She put her purse by the door and plopped onto the sofa. “This is heaven,” she said, “Just sitting here. I love my family, but…”
“But they suck a lot of energy out of the room. Like a tornado.” He tossed her car keys into her purse.
“You’ve described the Mancini clan well,” she said. “Usually, though, I come home feeling revived. The tornado picks me up and puts me on fresh green grass. But tonight? No. That’s not happening.”
“Would a glass of wine help?”
“Sure.” She sounded distracted, and no wonder. “I had plenty at Mama’s, but it’s one of those nights that another wouldn’t hurt.”
In the kitchen, Hank opened a bottle of red wine—not nearly as good as what they’d had at Mama Mancini’s, but it would do. There was no TV, so everything was quiet. He realized they’d have to chat. Or play a game. Maybe Scrabble would take her mind off things. “You want to get out the Scrabble board?” he called to her.
“Sure,” she said again.
He could tell she wasn’t too invested in talking or being social.
Under any other circumstances, Hank—who was used to tons of attention—might feel mildly insulted. But he couldn’t blame Ella for withdrawing. He wanted to comfort her badly. But he had to remember his boundaries.
No flirting, he commanded himself when he exited the kitchen with two empty glasses and the open wine bottle. Ella was busy setting up the Scrabble board on the coffee table. He pulled up an armchair on the side opposite her, then poured them each a glass of wine. She pushed seven blank wood squares toward him, the letters facing down, and a letter rack to stand them on. She set her letter rack up too, an adorable squiggle on her brow.
He’d been right to remind her of Scrabble. She could forget for a little while what had happened at her mother’s house that night.
His phone vibrated and he looked at it. Date going well, Pammy texted him. Won’t be home tonight.
Sure you’re not moving a little fast? he texted back.
If you call taking the nine pm to six am shift at the homeless shelter’s front desk moving fast, she wrote. Reginald asked if I’d want to hang out with him, and I said yes.
Good for you for volunteering, Hank texted. Can you take the day off tomorrow?
I’m the master wood craftsman, so I make the rules, Pammy said. But I’ll probably come home, eat breakfast, and work until one. Then crash.
Sounds good, he texted, and sent her a thumbs-up emoji.
She sent one back.
And then he sent her the emoji of an eagle. Pammy loved birds of prey.
She sent him a GIF of puppies.
Pammy was being mischievous. She knew he wanted a puppy but had never committed to getting one. He could ignore her teasing, but it was much harder to ignore Ella, who chewed her lower lip as she moved her tiles around, looking like a pouty sex goddess. He sighed inwardly. She was oblivious to the illicit direction his thoughts were taking as she prepped to take him down. He was determined to do the same—to focus on annihilating her at Scrabble.
Hah. Fat chance. Fat chance that he’d win—she was brilliant—and fat chance that he could stop thinking about her—
With no clothes on.
Yeah, he was a Neanderthal like that. Not that anyone would ever know. He was a sophisticated guy. A ladies’ man too, but a gentleman, above all. He was proud of that fact.
“What exactly are you thinking?” She eyed him suspiciously.
He had to come up with something quickly. “Words.”
“What kind of words?”
Luscious.
Sexy.
“Scrabble words,” he said. “Like ‘aardvark.’ ‘Meticulous.’ And ‘ostentatious.’”
“Right.” She gave a short laugh.
Okay, so she didn’t believe him. In fact, she saw right through him.
Which sucked. The whole night dragged before them. It was going to be difficult to think about Scrabble words and not Ella’s beautiful form and her warm heart. Hank desperately wanted to bed her. But he refused to cave and admit that he was lusting after her. It was time to summon his best acting chops.
“May I go first?” he asked, pretending he was chomping at the bit. “I’d really like to, if you don’t mind.”
“Be my guest.”
He saw that wary look in her eyes. He was almost positive it wasn’t about him being a horndog but about Scrabble. She wanted to win, and she was worried he had a really good word. Thank God she was so competitive.
“Okay,” he said, and started to panic. He didn’t have a great word. The best he could come up with was “stove.” La-di-da.
He put it down, picked up five new wooden squares to put on his letter rack.
“Stove,” she said.
The clock on the mantel ticked loudly. He was determined to keep his poker face. Was that a twitch of her mouth he saw? Was she about to laugh at him?
“Your turn,” he said, to take the heat off.
“Okay.” She hunched over the board, her hands folded loosely and dangling between her legs. Her thinking pose.
The clock ticked. And ticked.
“Don’t you have anything?” he asked, putting the pressure on. She’d appreciate that. If there was anything Ella hated, it was someone letting her win. She wanted victory fair and square. And she liked her opponents to be challenging, or the win meant nothing to her.
“I do have a word,” she said.
“Bring it on.” He watched her fingers hover over the little shelf holding the tiles.
She started with the S in “stove” and put an E underneath it. Then she looked up. “I’m going for a lot of points on this one.” The next blank on the board was for a triple-letter score. She laid down the letter X, and looked up at him. The X was worth eight points. Times three.
What was that expression in her eyes? He couldn’t tell.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he asked her.
“Nope.” She paused, then added three more letters—T-E-T—to spell “sextet.” “Get your mind out of the gutter, Mr. Scorekeeper. That’s twenty-nine points. Write it down.”
He shook his head. Wrote it down. Looked back up. Saw her smile. It was a wicked one. Mischievous as hell.
“Sextet,” she said, “as in a set of six people or things.”
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t mess with me, all right?”
“We’re playing Scrabble,” she said.
“We’d better be,” he said back. “You’ve had a rough night. Let’s keep it simple.”
“I am,” she said. “Your turn.”
If she was going to mess around with him, he’d mess around right back. He looked at the mix of letters he now had. Oh, she was going to regret that she’d ever started this!
He picked up an O. Put it next to the first T in “sextet.” Added an N for “ton.” A really crappy word worth almost no points. He paused and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She had that little smirk going. So far, so good. He wanted her to think she was winning in more ways than one.
“Well,” he said, and sat back up. Looked at her as if he was done.
“That’s it? ‘Ton’?”
“I didn’t say I was finished.” His tone was casual. He added a G.
“‘Tong,’” she said. “That’s better. Although I always think of a pair of tongs with an S. I’ve never used it in the singular. But you could. You should have added it to the second T in ‘sextet’ so you could have gotten a double-letter score on G.”
Such a smarty pants.
“I’m not done,” he said, and took a sip of wine. He laid down a U. And then an E. “‘Tongue.’ Now I’m done. And by the way, by using the first T in ‘sextet’”—he emphasized the word—“I managed a double-word score. More points this way.”
She shifted uneasily. “Right. I didn’t know you were going to spell … ‘tongue.’”
“Now you do,” he said. “You’re still winning, but this game is far from over.” Let her think any double entendres she wanted.
She looked at him over the rim of her wine glass. The air between them crackled with tension.
“Fine,” she said, and started unbuttoning her shirt. “I agree. This game has only begun. Let’s get it really started. You and I both know it was headed this way, didn’t we?”
“Ella,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her fumbling fingers. “What exactly are you doing?”
“You see what I’m doing.”
“You’ve had too much wine. And a big shock.”
“Not to mention you’re my ex-boyfriend who dumped me when I thought you were about to give me a ring. I’d be an idiot to take off my clothes.” Her expression was serene. Sexy.
She was the only woman in the world who could totally take him by surprise.
He jetted a breath. “We can’t do this. You’re in no condition. And if that’s not enough to convince you, you never quit Scrabble before you win.”
But she kept unbuttoning. “I haven’t had nearly as much wine as you think. And I’ll grant you that the shock of what happened to Mama is making me a little crazy, yes. But it’s also made me realize that life is short. Secrets suck. And the truth is, I’ve been lusting after you—against my better judgment—since I bumped into you when I was coming backward down the stairs with my suitcase. That kiss today didn’t help. I’m not going to hide it anymore.”
He put his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m in an awkward position here.”
“You might as well give up.”
He looked up. Met her eyes. She stopped unbuttoning. Her shirt gaped wide and her gorgeous breasts, encased in a silky bra, were a sight to behold. But it was her eyes that got to him. She was seeking something from him. That much was clear.
But she was also defiant.
“I told you,” she said, “I go after what I want these days. And until someone stops me, I keep going.”
“I’m going to stop you,” he said.
“No, you’re not.” She shrugged out of her blouse and started working on her bra clasp.
He could feel his resolve weaken. “Just think about it, Ella. Seriously. I’m leaving when this week is over.”
“Uh-huh.” She was still fiddling with that bra. “I’m aware of that.”
And then he heard the clasp release. The bra popped forward, the straps sliding down her arms. Her breasts were still covered. Just barely.
“You really want to get involved this way?” he asked.
“I’ve made it obvious. Do you?” She slid a strap off her arm.
Hank thought a few curse words so he wouldn’t give in to temptation. She was more gorgeous than ever. “Of course, I do,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman. And…”
“And what?” she asked. She was now naked from the waist up. She leaned back on the sofa with her glass of wine. Her free arm was slung across her abdomen. She looked comfy lounging there on a sofa with her wine, her breasts unbound.
But he wasn’t thinking comfy thoughts.
“You were saying?” She took a sip of wine.
“I said you’re beautiful. And you know you’re special to me.” There. He got that out. “Which is why I’m not going to ruin things by getting involved this early.”
“Meaning you were planning on getting involved before you left,” she said, her unflinching gaze fixed on him.
“I wanted to,” he said, admiring her confidence. “But I had no idea if we’d be in that place. I didn’t want to force it.”
“I’ve taken the first step, obviously.”
“You have. In a big way. I didn’t expect this, Ella. At all.”
“But you’re an international celebrity, Hank. This must happen to you all the time, women throwing themselves at you.”
“You’re not just any woman, and you’re not throwing yourself at me. I feel distinctly unworthy. This half-naked-on-the-couch seduction scenario feels like you’re intentionally reminding me of that fact.”
“Maybe so.”
“It’s like waking up on Christmas morning after you’ve robbed a bank the night before, and Santa still gives you a gift. You feel guilty as hell when you open it.”
She laughed.
“Well played, Ella.” He said it with affection.
“Tell me this, Hank.” She sat up a little higher. “You could have come down to Charleston any time, so why’d you wait for a movie role?”
“It was a good excuse. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise, you would have nothing to hide behind,” she filled in for him.
“You’re right.”
“What are you afraid of, Hank?” She swung her crossed leg. Took another sip of wine.
“Hurting you again,” he said. “And never getting to touch you again. You can see I have a problem, and I don’t see how it’s solvable.”
“It’s not.” She put her wine glass on top of the Scrabble board. And then she stood and unzipped her jeans, her eyes on his. “But venturing into that territory is a risk I’m willing to take. The older I get, the less inclined I am to run away. There’s too much good stuff mixed in where hurt and fear reside. I don’t want to lose out.”
“I don’t either.” He stood.
“I’m getting naked. Feel free to join me.” She got one leg out, revealing a pair of tiny silk panties that matched her bra. Back in the old days, she never had matching sets. She got her undergarments from discount department stores, five pairs of cotton panties to a pack and a bra on a plastic hanger, all for a song. The underwear she wore now was expensive, something a successful working woman could afford.
And then she started working on the other leg.
“If we do this, Ella, we’re going to do it every day,” he said, “until I leave.”
She shimmied out of her panties. “We’re on the same page.”