Dreaming of Love (23 page)

“Trust me. Nothing will hold me back from picking you up at the airport.” He patted her thigh. “You need to shower so you can say goodbye to me outside.”

“Dae Bray, are you kicking me out of your bed?” She drew her brows together, trying her damnedest to look offended, and she knew he’d see nothing but how much she’d miss him.

“I’m kicking you out of my bed so I don’t miss my plane.”

Twenty minutes later they were standing by his car draped in each other’s arms.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Emily Braden.” He pulled back and she clung to him. “My sweet monkey, if I don’t leave, I’ll miss my plane.”

She dug her fingers into his back. “You think that’s going to help your case?”

“I love you.”

She reluctantly let go, and he smiled down at her. The only way she’d make it through this goodbye was by making herself laugh.

“You should go. I hear the next guest is arriving soon, and he’s single.”

Dae narrowed his eyes and backed her up against the car. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” She shouldn’t wrap her hands around his waist again, but she had to, just one more time. She promised herself she’d let go this time.

“It’s a damn good thing I trust you. You could be in a room with Brad Pitt, Chris Hemsworth,
and
Chris Pine, and I know these beautiful lips of yours would remain faithful to me.” He rubbed his thumb over her lips.

Her knees weakened. How did he do that to her with just a touch, a look, a whisper?

“Promise me Saturday?”

When their lips met in a sensual, loving kiss, she’d have promised him anything.

“Saturday,” she whispered.

“And you can be damned sure that I’ll be faithful to you.” He leaned into his car and withdrew a gift-wrapped package. “Open this after I’m gone, okay?”

“Impossible,” she whispered. “When did you have time to get me a gift?”

“When you love someone, nothing is impossible.” With one last hug and kiss, he climbed into the car and started the engine. “And you can be damn sure I love you, Em.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He slid on a pair of sunglasses, which made him look sexier than hell. “Try to be done with the new guest by then, ’kay?”

She laughed. “I’ll be too busy missing you to give anyone else the time of day.”

“That’s my girl.” He blew her a kiss and drove down the driveway.

Emily wrapped her arms around the package and stared after him long after his car was out of sight. She carried the gift to the porch and unwrapped it while sitting on the steps. It took her only a moment to realize it was the beautifully knitted, poppy-red scarf she’d admired in Greve. She picked up the scarf, and beneath it lay a small leather journal with a thin leather strap wound around it. She ran her fingers over the soft leather.

“Dae,” she whispered. “Where did you get this?”

She unwound the thin strap and opened the soft leather journal. A photograph of her gazing at the sunflower field slipped out.

“I don’t remember you taking this.” She ran her finger over the image of herself, scrutinizing it.
I look pretty and happy. I look like I’m in love
. Her lips curved up.
I am in love. So very much in love
. She turned her attention back to the journal. The paper inside was thick and flecked with pieces of parchment; every page was different from the next. She read Dae’s handwritten note.

Smile, sweet Emily,

I’m right there with you—at least my heart is. Hand or arm?

She laughed. “Arm, you big fool.” She read the rest of his message feeling much happier than she’d been only moments before.

I hope you find the time to do these things while we’re apart.

—Stroll through the vineyard on the way to Chianti. I wrote the address and name in the back of this journal. Ask for Giovanni. He’s expecting you. We never had a chance to do that together, and I don’t want you to miss it.

—Find the exact spot in the picture. You’ll know it when you see it. Stop wrinkling those pretty eyebrows of yours and trust me. Just go there.

I miss you already and I haven’t even left yet. I’m sitting next to the bed in OUR room, watching you sleep. You’re so beautiful that it’s hard to concentrate on writing this.

I love you, Dae

He hadn’t written a list of tourist attractions or given her the task of seeing all the places she’d had on her initial itinerary. He’d asked her to do only what they had missed out on doing together and to revisit the place where she looked so happy in the photograph. He must have known that all those other touristy places wouldn’t mean as much without him there. He must have realized, as she was just beginning to understand, that part of what made the iconic sites such as the musty, dark stairwell of the duomo in Florence so special was that they’d been together. Otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a damn thing that was romantic about climbing more than four hundred stairs. It would always be the place she felt his presence the most, the place he first wrapped her in his arms. The place they’d shared their first kiss.

THE VILLA SMELLED like bread and spices and all things heavenly. Emily followed the scent into the kitchen. Dishes full of sliced salami, ham, and sausage were spread across the kitchen table. A plate of sliced tomatoes and cheese brightened the otherwise dark spread.

“Buongiorno, Emily.” Adelina wore an apron tied around her waist and was wrist deep in a large mixing bowl.

“I’ve made you a special meal, to heal your sad heart from your handsome boyfriend’s departure.” She moved to another counter and uncovered a bowl. “
Pappa al pomodoro
, a hearty soup. This will help you feel better.” She set it on the table and pulled out a chair for Emily.

The dish looked more like a mush of tomatoes and bread than soup, but it smelled incredible.

“Comfort food,” Adelina said as she patted Emily’s shoulder. “Did you know that every city in Italy has different specialties?”

“Yes, I’d heard that about Italian cuisine.”

Adelina nodded as she settled into a chair across from Emily at the wide table. “But no two cities cook
pappa al pomodoro
the same. Ours is the best.”

Emily couldn’t mask her amusement at Adelina’s confidence, but after one taste of the thick, tangy soup, she was convinced.

“Adelina, this is amazing.”

“Thank you. Bread symbolizes life, and olive oil symbolizes love. This will bring you strength while you and your Dae are apart.”

“I don’t know if it’s the soup or just being here, but I feel a little better already.”

“See?” Adelina patted her heart. “Cooking heals. Did you know that here we bake bread without salt?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yes. Some say it started because of taxation on salt; others say it was because of a rivalry between Pisa and Florence a very long time ago. I say it doesn’t matter why we do it. It makes us stronger. We’re survivors. Tuscan people are strong and not wasteful.” She said this with an emphatic nod of her head. “Today I’m making a feast for friends. You eat; I’ll talk.”

She listened to Adelina tell her stories of her mother’s recipes as she prepared several dishes. Serafina joined her, and when Emily was done eating, she was invited to join their cooking festivities, too. She listened and learned and soaked up as much information about love, life, and cooking as they were willing to share.

Before Emily knew it, daylight was giving way to dusk. She was surprised to realize that she’d spent the whole day not wallowing in Dae’s absence, but reveling in the comfort of these amazing women, who were teaching her things she could share with Dae. And, she realized with a smile, she was beginning to understand and to see the beauty in how a woman could be completely fulfilled by taking care of her family and those she loved instead of building a career outside the home. Emily had always been driven to prove herself to her family, the town where she grew up, heck, even her absentee father on some crazy level. She’d never slowed down enough to learn how to care for others through anything other than giving her time and attention. Cooking, like sewing, and probably a million other handy things, had fallen by the wayside while she strove to prove herself.

After spending the day cooking with Adelina and Serafina, she realized how much more she could offer, how much she’d missed out on, and she now understood why she felt so much comfort when she went to her mother’s house for a home-cooked meal. Love came in many different forms. Some were visible: smiles, hugs, kisses. But other forms went largely unnoticed: the effort that went into cooking, the simple act of shopping for just the right ingredients and caring if a person’s cup of tea was steeped the way they liked it. How many times had she taken those things for granted?

Too many to count.

As she watched Adelina move around the kitchen with familiarity and appreciation, she realized that Adelina didn’t cook for her family or friends because she had to. It wasn’t an obligation. It was another way to show how much she cared for them. Emily felt as though she should apologize to her mother for all the times she acted like cooking for her and her siblings was no big deal. It was a very big deal.

Emily watched, listened, and learned, because she wanted to add cooking to her arsenal of skills. She wanted to show Dae she cared in this way, too. Maybe there was something to the old saying that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

She was pretty sure there were quicker ways—sexier ways centered around areas below the waist—but this would be fun, too.

“MARCELLO!” ADELINA CALLED out to the patio where Marcello had been fixing a break in the stone. She ran around the kitchen, her eyes darting from one cooler to the next, as she lifted lids and counted something off on her fingers.

“Come. It’s time.” Serafina reached for Emily’s hand. Serafina and Emily had wrapped all of the dishes they’d made and packed them in coolers.

It was after seven o’clock. Dae wouldn’t be landing until midnight Tuscany time. She had nothing but time on her hands, and after cooking all afternoon with Serafina and Adelina, she was excited to bring the delicious meals to their friends.

Marcello made three trips out to the car carrying the coolers. Adelina handed Emily a basket of bread covered with a pretty cloth.

“Time to go to the House of Wishes.” Adelina handed a basket of several containers of olive oil to Serafina. “We are meeting women there to make the grandest of wishes together.”

Emily had known that they were cooking for Adelina’s friends, but she hadn’t known that they were meeting at the House of Wishes. Now she was even more excited to see what they had planned.

Marcello came back into the kitchen and settled a hand on his wife’s arm. “
Il mio amore
, I have faith in you.” He patted his chest over his heart, then kissed each of her cheeks. “Go. Make your wishes. I’ll look after my little man.”

They arrived at the House of Wishes just as the last hint of daylight melted away. Cars spilled out of the packed driveway onto the side of the road. Bicycles were strewn across the lawn, along with several strollers. The house was dark, but even from the street Emily could see that the backyard was illuminated. They parked across the street, and when they stepped from the car, distant sounds of women’s voices brought a smile to Adelina’s and Serafina’s faces. They exchanged a glance of appreciation. At the sound of voices coming closer, Emily turned back toward the house. A handful of women hurried across the lawn in their skirts and jeans, smiles on their faces, arms waving in greeting.

“They’ve come to help carry the food,” Serafina explained. She brushed Emily’s shoulder with her own. “I’m glad you’re here. This is what I sometimes forget. When women from all over come together, it’s so joyful that you believe they can make any wish come true by sheer will.”

One by one Serafina introduced Emily to the women, who each embraced her and air-kissed both of her cheeks. She felt as though she’d fallen into the center of a large family as they laughed and carried on, half the time in English, half in Italian. The women worked in pairs to carry the coolers and bags to the backyard, which hummed with positive energy. It reminded her of her own family gatherings back in Trusty, only there she was surrounded by men and women, but even the air felt alive in the same familiar way.

Tables covered with vibrant cloths were set up in the backyard. Bottles of wine and wineglasses were set along the tables, and chairs lined the perimeter. Candles sparkled in the center of the tables, sending shadows dancing across the place settings. It felt like a festive occasion with voices and laughter rising and falling as the women emptied the coolers and set the tables. Adelina hadn’t been pouring strength and love into the dishes for women who were just friends. This was a community of women, extended family even if not related—that much was evident by the familiarity with which they interacted.

Women of all ages gathered around the tables to eat. They filled one another’s glasses, bounced babies on their knees, and shared stories that brought laughter and tears. Every once in a while one of the women would leave a table and stand by the tree, her head bowed. Sometimes she’d set a hand on the massive trunk. Emily pictured women doing this for hundreds of years, and she wondered how the myth had begun. What was it about this house, or this tree, that was worthy of being the center of something so momentous?

She listened to the cadence of the group. Even though she couldn’t understand everything that was said, she understood enough, and the rest was evident in their eyes. A world of emotions was taking place right before her eyes as they told stories of grandmothers, aunts, mothers, and daughters who had come to the House of Wishes over the years, seeking something. Women spoke of being blessed with babies or finding a lost loved one. Emily couldn’t keep up with the stories. Each one was slightly different from the next, but the themes never veered far from the heart.