Crush on You (6 page)

Liam and Seth were surprised, too. But it was a good idea. The experience he had in mind would teach Alessandra Baci a lesson—and prove to himself that he’d learned the one Lana Lang had taught him four months ago in L.A.

“There’s a condition,” he added, hoping he was disguising his evil grin.

Her pink mouth pursed, and he noticed her lipstick matched her fingernail polish, too. If he got his way she wouldn’t be thinking about makeup and manicures for the next few weeks.

“What condition is that?” she asked, and the look she gave him wasn’t the least bit teary. Her brown eyes were as suspicious as Penn should have been of Lana and her hard-luck story.

But it was Alessandra Baci he was thinking of now and he let his evil grin go free. “That I’m Job Boss and that you, baby, are Laborer Number One.”

Alessandra’s life had dished up unpleasant tasks before—including not getting married on her wedding day and picking out the headstone for her father’s grave—so agreeing to work with Penn Bennett for the next few weeks should seem like recess in comparison.

But this didn’t feel like jump rope.

She popped open the passenger door of Penn’s truck the minute it rocked to a stop in front of Edenville’s old-school hardware store, eager to exit the close confines of the cab. As a kid, she’d looked forward to recess—and she’d been good at jump rope, too—but she definitely wasn’t good at this. In Penn’s presence she was edgy and almost breathless, and if she didn’t get a hold of herself he was going to notice he made her . . . what was the right word? Nervous?

Yeah. Nervous.

She couldn’t wait for his snarky comments regarding that . . . Not.

They stepped into the street at the same time and in a replay of the incident she’d witnessed from the beauty salon days before, a car screeched to a halt behind them. This time it was the driver who shouted a muffled “Build me up!” as he struggled out of his ripped and dingy wife-beater. Wearing his trademark grin, Penn obligingly reached into the backseat of the truck’s cab, found a T-shirt, and then tossed it at his fan.

Alessandra watched the guy drive off, now covered by a new, royal blue and white shirt emblazoned with what she assumed was the logo of Penn’s show. Before she had a chance to remark on it, a snazzy convertible paused in the middle of the street. A blonde waved to get Penn’s attention. “Penn Bennett!” With her car still running, she kneeled on her seat and stripped off a tight nylon shirt. Underneath she wore a sportsbra that made a stunning presentation of her centerfold-sized cleavage. “Build me up!”

“Sorry, I’m all out of T-shirts,” Penn said, his smile not the least bit apologetic. The big liar wasn’t even pretending to look the woman in the eyes.

Alessandra leaned back inside the vehicle. Her searching hand immediately found a healthy stack of T-shirts. In two seconds she’d peeled one off and thrown it in the direction of her “boss.” It caught him smack in the face.

Still, he remained smiling as the woman, now decently covered, accelerated off. “Thanks for helping me out,” he said to Alessandra, though his focus was on the receding vehicle as he waved a reluctant good-bye to the buxom blonde.

Alessandra smoothed out her scowl. “Sartorial upgrades, too?” she questioned sweetly. “When they said you were an expert at improvements, I had no idea just how far that went.”

He turned his head. “Truth? I’m nothing more than a glorified handyman.” His gaze trickled down, taking her in from pale work shirt to lightweight hiking boots. His smile went seductive. “But I will say I’m good at what I do. You have something in need of repair, sweet thing?”

The way he said it, the way he looked at her, sucked the air from her lungs and caused her skin to prickle like a sunburn. “Just the cottage,” she choked out, turning away from him. “That’s all we bargained for.”

The bell rang as she opened the hardware store’s door. Inside, the smell was a pungent combination of bubblegum balls, WD-40, and rosebush food. She didn’t bother to ensure Penn followed before the door swung shut. It was easy to ascertain he was on her heels. The curiosity stamping the faces of the owners, Ed and Jed, told her that. In twin gestures—apropos, since the elderly men
were
twins—they rocked back on their heels and slid their hands into the front pockets of their khaki coveralls.

“Hi, Jed. Ed.” Alessandra moved quickly along the side counter they stood behind, knowing what she was after could be found at the rear of the store.

“Alessandra.” One of the old men nodded a greeting.

The other just stared behind her. “That isn’t your boyfriend,” he declared, his faded blue eyes narrowing.

“Of course not,” she answered, keeping her feet moving and keeping her voice light. “He’s just doing some work at the winery.”

“Then why’s he staring at your backside like that?”

Face flaming, Alessandra whipped her head over her shoulder to glare at Penn.

He lifted his hands from his sides, the picture of innocence. “Senile,” he mouthed, sliding a meaningful look at the elderly twins, but the corners of his lips were twitching, as if ready to smile again. It made her want to smack him.

Which meant she would have to touch him, and instinct told her she shouldn’t do that.

Instead she increased the speed of her footsteps. At the rear she found the display of work gloves. Shoving her right hand into one that was much too big, she ignored Penn as he came up beside her. “I love hardware stores like this one,” he said, sounding happy. “You can still dump nails in a brown paper bag and weigh them like grapefruit.”

Her second choice of handwear caught his attention. “Not those,” he said, plucking the flowered pair away. “You wear that kind when cutting flowers or weeding the herb garden. I’m putting you to real work, honey.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “Don’t call me ‘sweet thing’ or ‘baby’ either, and don’t look at my . . . my . . .”

“Ass?” he supplied, still in that happy voice. “But you have a very cute ass. I can’t help myself.”

She huffed out a sound, knowing he was discomfiting her on purpose, knowing that he took enjoyment from it, but unable to stifle her annoyance anyway.

“What?” He was all innocence again. “Is there some law around here against checking you out?”

“Yes,” she hissed. Because there kind of was. And she liked it that way.

“No,” he scoffed, picking out a pair of sturdy leather gloves and handing them to her to try. “It’s just part of your game—”

“I don’t play games!” Frustrated, she whirled to face him. “You don’t know anything about me, about who I am, about what I—” She broke off, mortified that her frustration had morphed into a telltale sting behind her eyes. Some people were just easy criers, damn it, and she’d always been one of them.

“Here the tears come,” he said. His expression hardened and he made a point of glancing at his watch. “Right on schedule.”

Without answering, she stomped off again, heading for the other side of the store and the paint counter. There was a small line there and she reached toward the old-fashioned metal dispenser and took a paper number.

Thirteen. Yeah. Her lucky day.

As she queued up, the person in front of her turned. “Alessandra! Good morning.”

She managed a smile for an old friend of her father’s. “Morning, Rex.”

“You need paint?”

“Picking some up.” She felt Penn’s presence and explained for him, too. “I ordered a few gallons to refresh the kitchen when I get the chance.”

“Then step up, girl,” Rex said. He tapped the lady in front him. “Alessandra needs to get her paint.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to go ahead . . .” She started to protest, but already she could tell how this would turn out. Throughout the last five years, the town’s citizens had given her special treatment. She’d been determined to put a stop to it until her sister Stevie explained that it assuaged some of their grief by doing so.

“But I want you to,” Rex assured her, and the woman was shuffling back and the man in front of her turned around, saw it was Alessandra, and with a gesture ushered her to his place at the start of the line.

The transaction was over in just a few minutes, but it felt much longer with Penn radiating disapproval. It didn’t take a genius to guess he considered her manipulative and most likely spoiled, and this latest episode must seem like just more proof.

She could explain the kindness and consideration by telling him about what hadn’t happened five years before. The wedding of Alessandra, age twenty, and Tommy, age twenty-two, had been eagerly anticipated, in part because their youth made the union so sweetly romantic. The bigger bonus, however, was it had presented an opportunity to celebrate health and vitality as only those whose livelihood depended upon farming—grape-growing was really nothing more, after all—could appreciate.

Yesterday, Liam and Seth had been a breath away from detailing at least some of that. For a second she’d wanted Penn Bennett to hear the story and see him squirm like the lowly worm he was. Then he’d be sorry, she’d thought. Then he’d be sorry for
her
. But . . .

She didn’t want his sympathy. And why should she care what he thought about her anyway?

She didn’t.

She wouldn’t.

Back in front of Ed and Jed, she purchased the items they’d collected. Besides the paint and the gloves, Penn had picked up a new broom and a stack of disposable face masks. He tossed wooden stir sticks onto the counter and plopped a tissue-thin painter’s cap on top of her hair. “If you’re going to do some painting, you’ll need this, too.”

“Uh . . . thanks.” She glanced at him, but he shifted his gaze away and busied himself stuffing change into a collection for the San Francisco Ronald McDonald House.

Jed was putting the loose items into a bag while Ed watched. Then his head snapped up. “I have something I want to tell you. I said to Jed—”

“ ‘I have something to tell Allie,’ ” his brother parroted.

“Right.” Ed looked at her expectantly. “So what was it?”

She laughed. “I don’t know, Ed. What
was
it?”

He frowned. “It’s so damned irritating this getting old—oh, I know now!” His smile beamed on. “Thinking about getting old led me straight to thinking about dying young.”

Alessandra’s own smile faded. She sent Penn a sidelong glance, but he was still plunking nickels and quarters into the plastic canister. “So, um, what do you have to tell me, Ed?”

“I went to visit Carlene on Friday.”

“Oh.” Carlene was his late wife.

“Passed by your dad. Everything looks great there.”

“Good.”

“But Tommy . . .”

Tommy. She saw him then, still too thin, but grinning like a fool, like someone who’d won the lottery, like someone who was marrying his love the very next day. “We’re going to have such a great life,” he’d whispered to her at the rehearsal dinner. Happiness had swelled like bubbles inside of her, filling with the sweet juice of expectation, just like grapes growing in a summer vineyard. How young they’d been. How big her heart.

Pressing her lips together, she forced herself back to the present. “Is there a problem at Tommy’s grave?” she asked, then regretted the phrasing immediately as beside her, Penn froze. A final coin landed with a lonely plink.

“A vase was knocked over, filled with some purple spiky things.”

Lavender. She’d brought them on her last visit.

“I re-righted it,” Ed continued. “Tried to prop it up against the headstone. But it may fall over again.”

“Okay.”

“I thought about calling Sally, but with her so involved with Clare’s wedding and all . . . well, I decided to wait until I saw Tommy’s girl instead.”

“Thanks, Ed,” said Tommy’s girl. Tommy’s almost-bride. “Thanks.”

With the purchased items stowed in the truck, there was nothing left to do but get into the cab. It was quiet inside as they drove toward Tanti Baci and a different kind of tension now thrummed between her and Penn.

Alessandra pulled in a breath and then glanced over at him. “So . . .”

He continued staring out the window as he steered. “I’m going to feel like an asshole, aren’t I?”

Despite everything, she felt a smile try to take over. “Maybe.”

“Then don’t tell me,” he said. “Don’t tell me another word.”

She let the smile go ahead and bloom then. It eased the sadness inside her and wrapped a little cushion around the tight kernel of her heart so that it didn’t rattle quite so much in the cavern of her chest. For the first time since meeting Penn she felt relaxed. Her normal self. Alessandra Baci, the Nun of Napa.

Penn seemed comfortable, too. Or he was quiet anyway, as they parked the truck beside the cottage and unloaded their purchases. At his instruction, she tidied the cottage’s floor with the new broom. He stripped off his shirt and began to move panels of Sheetrock from the porch to inside. They kept clear of each other, until her sweeping took her into the main room. She had to sidestep to give him a clear path to the bridal boudoir. Her foot found one of the white plastic bags they’d brought in from the hardware store, and it slid on the film of grit she’d yet to clean.