His and Hers (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Misty parked the old black and white coupe in the dusty lot, between a Humvee and a pickup truck. It looked like the whole of Long Valley had descended upon the Olive Grove for Cain’s concert. She turned off the engine. Outside, the masses exited their vehicles, lawn chairs, blankets, and picnic baskets in tow. “Don’t these people have anything better to do on a Friday?”

Grandma sat alongside, digging in her handbag. “It’s Long Valley, kid. Not much else to do.” She leaned into the vanity mirror and swiped bright lipstick across pursed lips.

Misty watched as she rubbed them together, observing the effect in the reflection.

“Ready to go hear that new man of yours?”

“He’s not my man. He’s just…” Misty searched for the words, but nothing came close to describing it. They’d shared a handful of moments—an incredible kiss on the porch swing. What was Cain, to her, anyway?

Grandma shot a knowing glance and folded her hands in her lap, a slight frown marring her lips.

Misty leaned to dart a quick kiss on her powdered cheek, inhaling her trademark lavender scent. “You look great, Grandma.”

“It isn’t me I’m concerned with. You need some darker lipstick, darling.”

Gaze heavenward, Misty accepted the tube, a shade somewhere in the neighborhood of rouge-red. She dotted it on lightly, and didn’t even need to look to see her grandmother’s abject disapproval. “Give me a break! It’s hot outside! It’ll melt before the show’s even over.”

“Stage makeup, kiddo. He needs to see you out there, alone, against that entire crowd. You want to stand out a bit, don’t you?”

There was nothing left to say. Swipe she did, and added some powder from her own compact for good measure. “Satisfied?”

Nona’s jade eyes twinkled as they joined the gathering masses. Arm in arm, Misty walked her from the car to the stage. She un-shouldered the camp chairs, and helped her grandmother settle in as the locals came over to bid their respects to one of Long Valley’s most loved citizens.

Misty watched, always in awe of this part. Though Grandma almost never went out, whenever she did her celebrity status came into full view. Case in point, three faculty members from the college cornered her to discuss plans for the upcoming festival—the number in the family’s party, where they’d sit, and who would introduce her film.

“We’re expecting a full house, Mrs. Darling.” The theater professor, Mr. Wiggersham, puffed out his chest like a prize turkey. “We’ve almost got a sold out show.”

“That’s marvelous. It’s so much. Misty…” Grandma’s hand clenched her arm in a vice. “My granddaughter—will handle all the arrangements. She coordinates me, you see.” With a smile and a slight giggle, she shooed the faculty off to enjoy the show.

“Since when am I your coordinator!” Misty gaped.

“Since our social calendar has suddenly filled up! You’re ready to get back out there, kid. Don’t you feel it?”

Misty swallowed the ice ball building in her throat. “But…”

“Shh. The show’s starting.” Grandma’s attention riveted to the stage.

The lights angled and swayed as a young boy of about thirteen messed around with the amplifier and sound system.

Cain appeared, striding in long steps up the stairs to the stage. He scooped his auburn hair from his forehead and placed hands on hips, scanning the crowd.

Misty approved of his understated costume, typical Cain in black jeans and a simple, plain white t-shirt.

The audience hooted in response, and erupted in a scattering of applause. He nodded and waved, answering a few comments from an obvious group of friends circled around the side.

His gaze settled upon her and he smiled so easily, looked completely comfortable in his own skin.

Her cheeks bloomed with heat, knowing that broad grin was hers alone.

He gave a quick nod and walked across the risers for a mike-check. “Check one. Mike one, two. Check.”

Someone spun a spotlight, changed gel covers from white to amber to blue and back again. Misty eyed the event with the revelation that this was his moment. Of all Cain’s odd jobs, this was his heart, what he loved most of all, and the moment radiated with his joy.

Grandma crossed her arms. “You were saying?”

“Of course, I’ll coordinate you. We’ll get fancy new dresses, and be the bells of the ball. Just don’t make me do the introduction. Promise?”

Grandma pursed her lips. “We’ll see.”

Misty blew through her bangs. Grandma would get her way with that, too.

“There she is. Grab her, Matt.” Emily Raineer’s voice startled as she stepped in to interrupt at just the right moment. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I had to thank you myself. I was in such a snit the other day, and you brought that gorgeous arrangement to the house. Matt ‘fessed up that it was all your idea.”

“I would have been lost without The Flower Field girls. And you, of course.” Matt smiled, ear to ear.

“He’s sweet, but not terribly sentimental beyond my standing flower order. Not a lot of thought goes into that, I know. But, I love the flowers…so how can I complain!” Emily hooked her toned arm into her husband’s. She darted a glance at Grandma and back to Misty, who made introductions.

“Pleasure.” Grandma greeted them as a queen taking subjects.

Misty pursed her lips as she thought Emily might curtsey.

“You’re the old movie actress! I mean, you used to be a star…I mean…Matt?” Emily’s mortified gaze shot to her husband, her hand slapped over her mouth as she jumbled an apology.

“What my wife means is, you’re Nona Darling, the movie actress from the fifties. One of her favorites.” Mathew laughed and elbowed his bride. “Open mouth, insert foot, Emmie.”

“How lovely!” Emily gushed. “My daddy’s on the board at the university. Look forward to seeing you at the film awards banquet, Mrs. Darling.”

“Uh, the show’s about to start.” Misty pointed as the kid brought out a stool and a bottle of water to the microphone. The Raineers set off to their own chairs, blanket, and gourmet picnic.

Flutters of applause sprang to life around the audience. Misty sank to her seat at Grandma’s side, opened the picnic basket, and poured a glass of sparkling wine for each of them.

Cain stepped on center stage with a bright smile. Cheers rang out, and Misty scanned the scene.

Families of all ages had come to hear him play. He slung his guitar, settling down on the stool. He finally caught her gaze and held it a long beat. His face slid into a slow, sexy smile.

“Welcome to the Long Valley Olive Groves. I’m Cain Trovato.”

Cheers and applause dusted the crowd as he strummed his fingers, and launched into a classical, Spanish ballad.

Misty’s arms erupted into chills with the silver tone of his voice from the speakers. His resonant alto wound its way through the crowd, and she’d swear he was singing for her.

Lovers leaned, shoulder to shoulder, sipping wine. A slender, black-haired woman passed out boxes and picnic baskets. She stepped lightly in stylish slip on tennis shoes and cargo shorts, a red-checked blouse tied at her waist.

Misty watched Cain and the woman’s gazes lock. The woman’s full, Angelina Jolie-looking lips curled into a slight grin that made her own heart jog. Cain finished his song, bantered with the crowd a bit before launching into the next one.

Misty couldn’t wrench her focus away from the waitress. Of course, they knew each other. Eyeing her new competition’s thin waist, the trim legs, and slender face, Misty guessed her to be early twenties. Why shouldn’t a girl go gaga at the sight of a stellar-cool guitarist? She finally turned from the careful observation, and glanced back to see Cain focused on her. Oops.

He cocked his head slightly, pursed his lips as his fingers worked.

Misty did her best to nonchalantly lean back and toss an olive in her mouth. And missed. The olive bounced off the tree behind her, and rolled onto the neighboring quilted blanket. Shaking her head, Misty grimaced.

Onstage, Cain stifled a laugh.

Oh, that was just perfect! So much for being the cool girlfriend. Girlfriend? Where had that random idea come from? She pressed her lips together. Chills skittered across at the memory of the porch swing What a kiss.

To her right, Grandma tapped her foot to the beat, obviously enjoying herself.

Misty turned her attention from the stage. She’d been so twitter-pated to get here, that she’d barely noticed the setting. She leaned into her chair back and took in the glorious olive groves. A breeze danced in the gray-green leafed trees. The wide, sturdy trunks gave way to twisting branches, forming a canopy overhead. Children scrabbled over the exposed roots, and shimmied onto the higher limbs, dangling their bare feet overhead.

The main house and barn peeked over the treetops. Typical Long Valley style, the Victorian peaked, shingled roofs. Through the soldier course of trees, she saw the barn, rustic and graceful, set apart by a small field and split rail fence.

She returned her focus to Cain’s hands. The same hands that had played in her hair, held the back of her neck as he’d run those lips, fire-trails across her cheek. Before she knew it, the song ended. She cheered—louder than most. “Fine.” Misty’s heart looped and she took a slow breath to calm her pulse. “I’ll introduce your film, just like they asked. One condition, though.”

“Yes, dear?”

Misty focused on the man who’d found his way into her life. “I get to bring a date of my own.”

Chapter Fifteen

The stars peeked out of the twilight canopy and Misty caught sight of Grandma yawning out the corner of her eye. The crowd already had milled back to the olive oil, wine tasting, and banquet tables.

Onstage, Cain stowed his guitar in the case.

The exotic waitress took the steps two at a time and ran to his side, her mouth set in a wide grin.

Misty’s heart skidded to a halt as Cain returned her embrace and settled a hip comfortably against the amplifier. She strained to read their lips, to see what they talked so animatedly about. The young woman held his total focus, and Misty’s grand plans circled around, then down the drain.

“Come on, Grandma. Let’s get going.” Misty stood and collapsed her chair, then stuffed it in its shoulder bag.

“What about Cain?” Grandma shot a quizzical glance. “Don’t you want to congratulate him?”

Misty frowned toward the stage. “Looks a little crowded up there, already.” She took Grandma gently by the elbow. Together, they made their way to the parking area, following the crowd. Then the throng parted.

“I almost didn’t catch you.” Cain jogged to a stop, a hesitant grin touching his lips. “Off in such a rush?”

“We need to get home. It’s been a long week.” Misty slipped the key in the Buick’s lock and clicked the heavy door open. “Grandma’s tired.

“I’m not that tired.” Grandma’s jade eyes went flinty, as she sat in the passenger seat.

“See you later.” Misty turned her back to him, taking a step toward the driver’s door.

“Wait a sec.” Cain placed a hand on her shoulder, halting her escape. He drew her close. Warmth radiated from his skin, smelling slightly of sweat, mixed with spicy cologne. “I didn’t even get a chance to talk to you.”

“No.” Misty leveled her gaze with his. This close proximity left her lightheaded, though her lips quirked with bitter humor. “I figured I’d leave you to your fan club.”

“My fan…”

His unexpected laugh wrapped around her senses.

“You mean Desiree?”

“Is that her name?” She spoke through a clenched smile.

“My sister, Desiree. She’s a waitress here.” Cain leaned to the car window that Grandma had cranked down, and shrugged in explanation. “It’s kind of a family business.”

“She’s lovely.” Grandma gave his hand a pat. “I can see the resemblance in you two.”

“Oh,” Misty uttered. She fiddled the keys in her hand, her mind scrambling for an excuse for jumping to conclusions. Every attempt seemed more feeble and awkward than the one before. The keys jangled and chinged in her fingers—her only contribution to the conversation—while Grandma and Cain made small talk about the show, his song choices, and him being a few years too late to try out for American Idol.

Cain shifted his guitar strap, angling the case further up his back. He turned the full force of his attention to Misty. “Sorry you two have to run off. I’d have liked to show you around.”

“Well, some other time.” She reached for the door handle.

He stepped to block her, and then wrapped his free hand around her own. Deftly, he retrieved the keys from her busy fingers. “Mind if I drive you?”

She stomped her right foot, fine dust powdering in a little cloud.

“It’s kind of tricky getting out of here in the dark. And this baby doesn’t exactly turn on a dime.”

Her objection died on her lips with his swift, butterfly-light kiss. The scruff of his cheek set hers sparking.

He guided her, a hand at the small of her back, fingertips dragging along her beltline. “I’ll go slow. I promise.”

In just a few moves, he shuttled her into the backseat, dazed. But his wink at her in the rear view mirror left her wondering if he was talking about her or the car.

****

Cain saw them both safely up the front porch stairs. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for them then watched Misty help her grandmother inside, a solid hand to the little lady’s elbow.

Switches flicked as they went, and Tiffany-shaded lamps set to glowing. Light glimmered through, warmed up the walls, and pushed back the shadows.

He scanned the room, ordinary enough in the light of day. Now, he could have been setting foot fifty years in the past, with all the gleaming china from the cabinet, the artful display of statues on the mantel that he recognized as film awards, and finally, the full sized portrait glowed to life.

Misty crossed the Persian rug-covered floor, back to her grandmother. She whispered a joke that made the spunky old lady laugh.

More obviously relaxed on her turf then she’d been after the show, Misty’s sandy-blonde hair was now windblown, soft, and lovely. He flicked his attention to the life-size portrait of Nona Darling, and back to the two women. The resemblance knocked him back. Man, I’m in deep.

Misty’s fingers feathered his arm. “Thank you, Cain.”

“My pleasure.” He swallowed around his cardboard tongue, and then turned his attention to her companion. He gave her hand a light squeeze in both of his. “Good night, Mrs. Darling. Misty, I guess I’ll see you…”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Darling interrupted and kissed his cheek, followed with a pat as one would a small boy. “I’ll just get to bed and leave you two to your aperitif.”

Misty turned, captured him with a wink. “Have a seat in the parlor, if you like. And help yourself to the brandy.” She directed him through an arched doorway with her open palm.

The parlor? Who had a parlor anymore? He tucked in the tail of his shirt and absently slicked a free hand over his mop of hair.

No room for argument, Mrs. Darling ascended, Misty at her arm. The outing looked like it had both invigorated the old woman, and worn her out. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited.

Misty glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching, her lips sealed in a smile that her expression couldn’t hide. Lord, help me. His thoughts were a prayer as he wished he knew what she was thinking. Once they were out of sight, he exhaled.

Hand to his jaw, he gave an idle rub to the little lady’s dry kiss. His heart surged after thoughts of his own grandmother. Cain pushed back from the banister rail, stepping into the parlor.

He wrenched thoughts away from the vision of her at the end. Better to dwell on happy memories. Of running through the fields and hills behind his grandparents’ villa. Music, light, and laughter always came to mind when he thought of their home. Summers drenched in sunshine, his belly stuffed with her homemade Bolognese-drenched pasta, sauce made from rich, fresh tomatoes, sharp fresh grated parmesan, house filled with aromas of roasting garlic, and thick dried bunches of fresh basil and oregano, hung in the open windows.

Though Mom tried, his taste buds had never experienced its equal since Grandma had passed on. The house had lost its spirit. He hadn’t returned to Italy since the funeral. Guilt washed over him in a chilling breeze.

He blinked at the collage of framed photographs hung in a jumble on the wall. The young, amorous faces of John and Nona Darling smiled back.

He knew the stories. John Darling had taken her from bodacious fifties bombshell and turned her into America’s sweetheart. No one watched those early pictures anymore. Only the ones she starred opposite the likes of Rock Hudson and Steve Reeves. The town attorney changed the starlet’s life forever, and now he was gone, too, leaving her a lonely old widow perched high on the hill.

Is that what was in store for all of us? To love deeply, once, and then live on with the shadow of memory for the rest of your life?

He’d been lucky that his own grandfather continued to thrive in spite of such loss. He trudged through every day, still working like a young man even in his mid-seventies. Cain scratched his chin. Perhaps working so hard made it possible to get through. Perhaps staying outside under the olive trees where they’d walked together was easier than climbing into an empty bed at night. Lord knew the ladies in the surrounding towns were after him, but Grandpa had tunnel vision where women were concerned. He promised that he would wait for his love until his own death—that was—until recently.

Cain slid a glance to the light at the top of the stairs. Guilt swam laps in his gut. First, Poppa had asked him to translate a few e-mails from Italian to English. Now he was in it, and in deep. Maybe they’d understand if he explained just how much he’d embellished things. Or, maybe they’d string him up by his heels. They’d find out for themselves, soon enough. Sometimes it’s easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.

Upstairs, feet shuffled. Water ran. Muffled voices spoke. He turned again to the painting of Nona as a young woman. The soft hued, oil painting captured a moment from a movie. A look of longing haunted from those pale-green eyes—a mirror of Misty’s.

Funny, now that he thought about it. The sweet Mrs. D. was the same sassy, spunky starlet his mother had always wanted him to watch in those old comedies, or the romances. But what kid would sit still for a black and white, or grainy color comedy when he could be blasted away at his X-box? Or watch something more exciting, with dinosaurs or aliens?

Thoughts of those irate refusals to his poor mom erupted in a ricocheting laugh, echoing across the empty room. Better stem that with something, quick. Misty might think he was laughing at her. She was sensitive, sweet, and secretive in a way that intrigued him far more than it should.

So, he’d paint their house that funky cornbread yellow for her until his arms ached. He’d kiss her on her porch swing whenever she’d let him. And though he’d love to do much more than leave her at the door, all instincts had him reining himself in. She had to want him just as much as he wanted her or it just wouldn’t matter.

His thoughts angled to tonight’s show as he ambled to the bar. The thrill of Misty in the audience, taking it all in, and the added bonus that he’d seen the jealous flare of her temper. Jealous! Of Desiree! He couldn’t wait to work that one into his favor.

The crystal decanter beckoned. He tipped its amber contents into two brandy snifters, then swirled the liquid, inhaled the honey-hazelnut flavors. Why not? Being in this museum-quality house made him think of those old flicks. Men in white ties and cummerbunds sniffing from narrow mouthed, wide bowled goblets. Of ladies in shimmery silk dresses, who looked longingly into the distance as their rich lips begged for dramatic kisses. Speaking of…

Misty floated down the flight of steps, an angel in blue jeans. Her focus settled upon him. “You stayed.” She joined him at the bar, her expression, unreadable.

“No pressing engagements.” He offered her a glass. “Grandma’s orders.”

Misty hooked her fingers around the stem, then turned and strode into the kitchen.

He followed at a quick pace, her annoyance palpable. It was classic, the way she tried to dance around him. He had to settle her down like a skittish pony each time they met.

She pulled back a chair, sat, and rested her elbows on the table. “Why not go home? You’re bound to be tired.” Her glass played between lithe fingers.

“We didn’t get a chance to talk.” He joined her, caddy-corner, and took a long slug of the warming liquid. “I loved having you watch tonight.”

“Thanks again, by the way.” Misty tilted her glass. “Grandma had such a great time.”

He watched as she drank, rubbed her full lips together, and tasted the wine. He freed her fingers from the stem of her glass. “My pleasure.” He drew her open palm in his, and pressed a light kiss in its center.

Her breath caught, ragged and sexy. Cain closed his eyes briefly at the sound. Control.

She continued with a flood of small talk. She went on about the Raineers. About Grandma’s friends. About how lovely the orchard looked. Even about his sister. She cornered him with questions, babbling with nerves.

“Everyone’s talking about the film festival.” He offered a word in edgewise.

“They’re showing her award winners all week long, and then ending with the banquet, and the showing of His and Hers next Saturday night.” Her eyes clouded, her brows knit together. “I’m supposed to coordinate her—”

“Like handbag with shoes?”

“No. With the event people.” His blank stare had her shaking her head. “These things don’t just come off without a hitch by accident, you know. We have to talk seating, schedule, our arrival time. There’s quite a bit to be done, actually.”

“Who’s taking you?” His question interrupted. “You never did say.”

Misty’s gaze darted down, and then flashed up to hold his, shy no longer. “I’d thought I’d go stag. You know. See if there’re any hot guys to pick up on.”

“Oh?” Glass forgotten, he folded his fingers on hers. “Anyone special in mind?”

She cocked her head, her heated gaze had his heart kick up tempo. “There’s this musician I’ve had my eye on.”

“You like guitarists, do you?” He drew her fingertips to his lips, inhaled her orange-blossom scent.

“And, there’s the olive oil salesman. But, this handyman who’s been helping me lately? He’s super sexy.” Her lovely mouth twitched. “I can’t decide which one to ask.”

“You’re going with me.” It wasn’t a request.