| |
Jonathan’s Thunder SUV prototype sat at the curb outside her cottage. As Carlo clicked a button on the fob, the interior lights clicked to life. At her questioning glance as Carlo opened the door for her, he said, “Jonathan wanted someone to put it through everyday paces while he and Connie were away.”
“Not quite sure I see you as a soccer mom,” she teased and sat in the luxurious interior of the SUV. The seats were a buttery soft leather. The assorted gauges on the dash looked like what she imagined high tech rocket ship controls would appear, only wrapped in gleaming burlwood and charcoal gray polymer.
“Very nice,” she said as Carlo slipped into the driver’s seat.
He grinned and soothed his hands across the shiny wooden steering wheel. “Perfect for a soccer dad. You know us Portuguese love our soccer.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t I?” She glanced toward the back of the luxury SUV. “So how many soccer players do you think you could fit in here?”
He shot a quick glance back before starting the engine with the push of a button. “At least three or four kids. Perfect.”
Just like it was funny that they’d never been on a date, they’d never talked about what either of them wanted in life. “You think you’d like three or four kids?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Never much thought about it. Two would be nice. Boy and a girl. And you?”
As he watched her from the corner of his eye, she said, “I never thought about it because . . .” She didn’t know how to finish because in the space of a millisecond they’d stepped onto dangerous ground.
He shot her a quick look and apparently sensing her discomfort, he said, “I’m grateful Ricardo and Javier have so many kids. It takes the pressure off the rest of us, you know.”
His words alleviated some of the pressure she had been feeling and luckily, they had reached the restaurant which was less than a mile from her home. As smoothly as he had pulled the car out of her driveway, Carlo parallel parked it a few spots away from their destination.
“You know it parks itself, right,” she said and motioned to a button on the dash.
With a shrug, Carlo said, “Growing up in the Ironbound you had to know how to parallel park to survive. Don’t want to lose the skill.”
Emma laughed and held her hands up in surrender. “Us suburban girls don’t do parallel park.”
“And Jersey Girls don’t pump gas,” Carlo said with a chuckle and hurried out of the car.
She opened the door and he rushed over to help her out of the SUV. A sharp breeze blew off the river inlet, sending a chill through her and Carlo tucked her against his side and shielded her from the wind with his body. They picked up their pace and speedily reached the entrance of the Victorian-style building where the restaurant was located.
The restaurant had three stories and its location close to the mouth of the river gave it an unimpeded view of Sea Kiss Beach, the river inlet, and across the way, the piers and lights of the neighboring Jersey Shore towns to the south. On the ground floor a front porch wrapped around the entire building while the other stories had verandas that faced the beach and river. In warmer weather guests could sit and have drinks on the front porch or meals on the verandas.
Even though it was off season, the restaurant was fairly full, but since Mac and Meghan were friends, the hostess immediately had a table ready for them. After checking their coats, they were guided to a spot on the third floor. From that height, the views were spectacular and thanks to a clear night, dozens of stars were visible against the inky dark sky.
Fine linens and china graced the table. Crystal twinkled with the light cast from the votive candle in the table’s center. A tussie mussie of bright colored flowers and herbs sat not far from the candle.
“This is lovely,” she said as Carlo held out the chair for her.
He bent and whispered in her ear, “But not as lovely as you.”
Heat raced across her cheeks and she hoped the intimate light would hide her telltale blush. “Thank you,” she said and took an inordinate time to open her napkin in the hopes of letting the color fade.
The waiter arrived barely seconds later with the menus and quickly rattled off the specials.
“May I get you something to drink while you decide?” he asked.
“How about some wine?” Carlo asked and at her nod, he ordered a bottle of a vintage she recognized as being quite expensive.
As the waiter hurried away to place the order, she lowered her menu and whispered, “You don’t need to impress me.”
“But I want to impress you,” he teased and grinned, his dark eyes bright with humor and a wink.
A wink? In all the times they’d been together, she’d never seen him wink. Ever.
She circled her index finger around in the general direction of his eye and said, “What was that?”
“This?” he said and winked again. “I thought it was pretty obvious what it was.”
“A spasm? Maybe a twitch? Oh my god, are you having a stroke?” she teased.
“Come on, Em,” he said just as the waiter came over with the wine. After showing Carlo the label, he expertly uncorked the bottle, poured a bit into a glass, and offered it up to Carlo, but Carlo gestured for the man to let Emma do the approving.
“She’s the real expert,” Carlo said in explanation.
With a nod, the waiter handed Emma the glass. She took it, swirled the wine around to check out the legs, and then took a sip, inhaling air with it to bring out the full flavor of the wine. “Excellent,” she said and the waiter immediately poured her more and prepared a glass for Carlo.
They placed their orders and after the waiter walked away, Carlo lifted his glass and said, “To our first date. May it be the first of many.”
“Only if you promise not to wink again,” she said.
Carlo stifled a chuckled. “I promise,” he said, but punctuated it with a playful wink.
“You’re so bad,” she replied with a laugh and shake of her head.
“You can’t even begin to guess how bad. Just ask mamãe,” he challenged.
“No way. I can’t imagine you doing anything to upset your mom,” she said, but he proceeded to tell her a story about how Tomás, Paolo, and him had terrorized their mom one day with a collection of frogs.
“She’s afraid of frogs? I never pictured your mom being afraid of anything,” she said.
The waiter came over that moment with their appetizers. Emma had ordered a roasted beet and goat cheese salad over arugula. Glazed pecans were scattered across the surface along with a duo of crostini fragrant with garlic.
Carlo had ordered lobster bisque, creamy and topped with a few pieces of lobster and the meat from one claw.
“It all looks delicious and not at all like the frogs legs my mamãe fed us,” he said and picked up his spoon.
“She fed you the frogs?” Emma asked, grimacing at the thought. They might be a delicacy to some, but all she could picture was unappetizing slimy green skin on a plate.
“Well, she told us they were frog legs. Made us sit there and eat them.” With a shake of his head and a lopsided grin, he added, “Tasted like chicken because it was chicken. We didn’t know it at the time, so she got her revenge.”
“Yes, she did,” Emma said with a laugh and wondered what it must have been like to raise three – no make that five – such active boys. But as Carlo told her a story about another adventure, she realized it was one more tale about just the three youngest brothers.
“I guess you didn’t hang out as much with Ricardo and Javier because they’re so much older than the three of you,” she said and was surprised by the hint of sadness that crept onto his features. She reached out and took hold of his hand when he reached out to pick up his wine glass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s just . . . Ricardo and Javier stuck together more because they were older, but also because I think it took them a little time to get used to having a new mom and then us.”
Emma was taken aback by his comment. “New mom? I don’t understand.”
“Mamãe is my dad’s second wife. Ricardo and Javier’s mom died from cancer when they were very young. My dad, their dad, was single for about three years before he met and married my mom. I was born about three years later,” he explained, squeezed her hand to reassure her that he was over any upset, and then went back to his bisque.
As she returned her attention to her salad, she wondered what else she didn’t know about him despite the many years they’d spent together. Much like there was so much he didn’t know about her. Since he’d shared a part of his past that obviously bothered him, she decided to share as well.
“My dad walked out on my mom and me when I was seventeen. As hard as it was because of the way he treated us, I was upset when he left,” she said and didn’t say more even though she could have. She could have told him about how that upset turned to hate when over the course of the next few days they’d discovered that he’d stolen every last penny from their bank accounts. Luckily, he hadn’t been able to touch the house whose sale had given them a bit of a cushion, but only a little cushion.
“I guess there’s a lot we have to learn about each other, but it can’t be all bad, can it?” he asked as a busboy came by to whisk away their dirty plates.
“Not at all. I was lucky to meet Maggie, Connie, and Tracy while I was doing work study at Princeton. They’re like my sisters. I wouldn’t trade that for anything,” she said.
“I’m happy to say that Ricardo and Javier finally decided it was good to have little brothers they could torture,” he replied with a laugh and raised his glass. “To family.”
She smiled and joined him in the toast. “To family and to us getting to learn more about one another.”
As they sipped the wine, the waiter came over with their meals. Carlo had ordered a porterhouse steak with a porcini mushroom compound butter, scalloped potatoes, and broccolini sautéed in garlic. She had opted for something a little lighter. Perfectly seared scallops paired with lemony orzo and spinach.
Hunger for food replaced the hunger for more knowledge about him. Silence reigned for long moments until the edge was off that hunger and conversation resumed.
“Are you excited about becoming an aunt?” Ricardo asked while he was cutting a piece off his steak.
“Terrified. I’m not used to babies,” she confessed.
“You and me both. The women in my family don’t seem to think men can take care of babies so they tend to keep them away from us,” he admitted.
“The da Costa family is old school, huh?” she said.
Carlo wagged a finger with indignation and shook his head. “Don’t include me. I plan on being a hands-on kind of dad.”
It was easy for Emma to picture Carlo that way. He was always so patient with his brothers and the staff that worked with him. It was so easy it was scary, but also comforting. She let herself focus on the positive picture of Carlo holding a little baby. Maybe even her little baby.
“Will he be born with soccer cleats?” she teased, wanting to keep the mood lighthearted.
“He or she,” he said, smiling. “I’m an equal opportunity dad.”
With a chuckle, she said, “I’m impressed, but I always suspected you weren’t as chauvinist as your older brothers.”
“I was trying to impress,” he said, grinned, winked, and with another few forkfuls, he finished off his meal. “This was so good.”
She nodded as she also took the last few bites of her meal. “Mac did an awesome job.”
“Makes me a little jealous,” Carlo admitted.
His comment caught her a little off guard. Carlo made meals this good but for sometimes hundreds of people. “You can rock a meal like this in your sleep.”
He seemed a little chagrined and shrugged. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”
Reaching across the table, she took hold of his hand. “I know, but I want you to understand how good you are. As a partner and a friend.”
***
CARLO HEARD THE FRIEND word again. It was one Emma seemed to toss out a lot, but if it wasn’t already clear to her, he wanted to make sure she understood. “I want to be more than just friends, Emma. As for being partners, we haven’t talked about it in a while, but that would be nice as well.”
A splash of color painted her cheeks and her green eyes darkened to emerald. “It would be nice, Carlo.” She hesitated, but then forged ahead. “I want to be more than friends too, I think.”
He’d take that . . . for now. “Would you like some dessert?”
A sexy smile came to her lips. “I thought we might go back to my place. I made a cheesecake and I have some fresh berries for it too.”
“My favorite. Thank you,” he said and hoped that her desire to be alone with him would be another step to a change in their relationship.
He signaled the waiter for the check and in no time they were out of the restaurant and in the SUV, heading back to Emma’s cottage. He pulled into the driveway and hurried around to help Emma out of the car, but she was already stepping out. He held out his arm for her and helped her avoid an icy patch. Together they hurried to her front door, chased by an arctic blast of wind.
Once inside, Emma gestured to the couch. “Make yourself at home.”
He rubbed his hands together against the chill that had followed them from outside. “Mind if I get the fire going?”
She ran her hands across her arms. “Please and may I say you get brownie points for not assuming.”
“That’s me, sensitive guy,” he said, but in his mind he could hear his brothers kidding him about checking to see if he still had his balls.
Unlike the gas fireplace in her bedroom, the one in the living room was wood burning. She’d already laid out the logs and paper to get a fire started. He struck the match and lit the newspaper. The flames spread greedily and in seconds the first pop from the wood told him the fire had caught. He held his hands out to the flames as they grew, savoring the warmth.
The clatter of plates and cutlery from behind him alerted him to Emma’s return. She had placed thick slices of cheesecake on two plates and topped them with assorted berries in a fruity sauce. She set the plates on the coffee table in front of the couch next to empty glasses and the uncorked bottle of wine he had brought.
“That looks great,” he said, sat on the couch and poured them each a glass of wine.
She handed him one of the plates as she said, “I used your recipe, so I hope it came out as good as when you make it.”
He cut off a big piece and popped it into his mouth. Murmured an appreciative, “Better.”
She smiled and picked up her own plate. Forked a piece of the cheesecake and ate it. “Mmm. Maybe I should bake from now on and let you handle the planning.”
He shook his head vehemently. “No way I am dealing with those bridezillas any more than I have to.”
Laughing, she cut off another piece and chewed on it thoughtfully. Eyeing him intently, she said, “I’ve seen you charm the worst of them. You just give them that melty chocolate look-”
“Like this,” he said and forced himself to look intense.
“God no,” she said with a laugh. “That’s you’re scary pissed off look. Usually one you shoot at Paolo when he’s not listening.”
As much as he loved his brother, Paolo could be a handful at times. Restless much like he’d been at his youngest brother’s age. Finishing the slice of cheesecake, he laid his empty plate on the table and snared his glass of wine. He leaned back into the cushions of the sofa, sipped the fine cabernet, and said, “Don’t you ever get tired of dealing with the crazy ones?”
With a sigh, she raised her own glass and tasted it before replying. “Sometimes, but it’s good business. Some of them even end up being repeat business,” she said with a grimace.
“Second marriages –”
“And third or fourth,” she jumped in with a harsh chuckle.
“Not for you, I guess?” he asked and hoped that her answer wouldn’t be one about never getting married. Peering at her intensely, he waited for her response, but instead she half-smiled and did a little circle around his face.
“That’s the look that melts those women,” she said, obviously in avoidance mode. He wasn’t about to let her off so easily.
He shifted closer on the couch, until his knee brushed her thigh and when she looked away, he cradled her cheek and urged her to face him once again. Apparently realizing he wouldn’t give up until he had an answer, she licked her lips nervously and said, “If I marry someone, it will be forever.”
