The Healing Summer, page 16
“Cara,” he said in a quiet voice, lowering his hand and brushing his fingers against her jawline.
She had to look at him then.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Antonio,” she said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. “It will already be hard enough to say goodbye to you.” There, she’d admitted it. He could do what he wanted with that information. But it was the truth.
“Why do we have to say goodbye?” he whispered.
He was so close that she could smell his spicy soap and feel the warmth of his breath.
“You said it already,” she said. “We both have broken hearts that are beyond repair.”
“I was wrong.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I was wrong,” he said. “When I’m with you, I don’t feel broken. I feel … alive.”
Her breath caught. She didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or run through the garden until she reached the bungalow and could shut the door between Antonio and her feelings for him. She opted for the former. She slid her hands up his chest and behind his neck, then she pressed her mouth against his.
Antonio didn’t hesitate; it was as if he’d been waiting for her to kiss him. At last.
As his warm mouth captured hers, she wondered who she was kidding. How in the world was she going to say goodbye to this man? Let him go? He’d been so unexpected, still was, and she sometimes wasn’t sure if she was existing in reality when she was with him. But this moment was real. His touch. His taste. His beating heart against hers.
When he, at last, drew away, he rested his forehead against hers. “Cara, please. Don’t end us now.”
Her eyes were still closed, and all kinds of emotions hummed through her. Mostly that she wanted more from this man. Her pulse was singing, but her fears were screaming. Exhaling, Jo blocked it all out. Listened. To her heart.
“If you come to Seattle, I can’t promise anything,” she whispered.
“I’m not asking for any promises,” he whispered back. “Only a chance.”
And that was how, three days later, Antonio arrived at her front door in Seattle. She’d said yes, and he’d shown up.
Jo had spent the last hour getting ready after a morning of packing and stacking boxes into separate piles of what would go with her to the condo and what would be donated. Sadie had been curious about the packing at first, but now she just lounged and watched the activity through half-closed eyes.
“You’re such a help,” Jo teased her dog.
Sadie snuffled in acknowledgment.
Then, on a more serious note, Jo added, “I hope you remember Antonio. Remember we talked about you being on your best behavior? No barking or growling.”
Not that Jo was worried. Sadie had been perfectly in love with the man at first sight when Antonio had come to their rental house. Jo eyed her dog, feeling momentarily guilty that she was about to lose a great yard. But it couldn’t be helped.
When she headed upstairs to get ready for Antonio’s arrival, Sadie padded after her. Jo had looked a fright. She quickly showered and changed into clean clothing. With Sadie looking on, Jo painted her fingernails and toenails and spent a little extra time on her eyeliner. “I know, I know,” she told Sadie. “I’m going overboard.”
Sadie merely blinked.
When a knock sounded at the door downstairs, Sadie leapt to her feet and woofed.
“Now you have energy,” Jo mused. She checked her appearance once more. Maybe she’d overdone it, but it was too late now to scrub everything off.
There was a rental car in the driveway and a man on her porch.
Jo headed down the stairs after Sadie, who’d ignored all of her instructions and was now barking at the door.
“Enough, Sadie,” Jo commanded. “You know it’s Antonio. No more barking.”
Sadie sat down, her nose pushing against the crack of the door as her tail thumped the floor.
Jo opened the door, fully expecting to see Antonio there, but not Antonio holding roses.
“Hi,” she said. “You made it.”
His dark eyes danced over her face, and the edges of his mouth lifted into a smile.
Jo smiled back.
Sadie woofed and pushed her way onto the porch.
Antonio looked down at the dog. “Hello, there,” he said as he gave Sadie a hearty scratch.
Jo was already glad he’d come, but she was also nervous, and her pulse was in overdrive. Could she really handle a relationship? Would she get even more burned in the end?
“These are for you.” Antonio held out the roses.
“Oh, wow. Thank you,” Jo said. “They’re beautiful.” Even though she shouldn’t let her mind wander, she thought back to the last time Liam had brought her roses. It had been their anniversary, a few months before she discovered his infidelity. The Jo back then had been naïve, foolish even.
But these roses were different, much different, because they were from a much different man. She inhaled the sweet fragrance, and when she looked up again, she found Antonio’s gaze on her. With Sadie still between them, and in full view of her entire neighborhood, he leaned forward and kissed her.
She smiled against his mouth and half-melted against him. He hadn’t shaved, and the scruff of his chin sent a warm shiver all the way to her toes.
“I missed you,” he murmured against her lips.
How could such a simple phrase upend her carefully constructed world?
And how had kissing him become a regular part of their friendship? She was fooling herself if she thought they were only friends. Clearly, Antonio was fine with amping things up.
Sadie whined, and Antonio drew away with a chuckle. “Don’t want to be ignored, do you?” He reached down and scratched her head.
“You’re spoiling her,” Jo said. “She’ll be your friend for life if you keep petting her.”
Antonio winked at Jo. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Come in, then,” she said. “I guess I’d better put you to work if you’re going to be my dog’s best friend. She’s been useless with the packing.”
Antonio stepped inside, and then he whistled. “This place is fantastic—minus the mess, of course.”
It was a fantastic house, and Jo would miss it. But it was also the right thing if she wanted to move on with her life. Watching Antonio walk through the first level of rooms, with his tall frame and dark hair, so unlike Liam, was surreal.
She was looking at the house through his eyes now, and when he complimented the woodwork or any original or upgraded features, she explained the work she’d done. With Liam, of course, but she tried not to mention him too much.
When they reached the narrow dining room, Antonio ran his fingers over the antique dining table. “This is beautiful.”
The darkened oak table was intricately carved at the sides, and the chairs all matched—rare, indeed. Of course, right now, it was covered in stacked paperwork she’d signed for the closing.
“I found it at a flea market a few years ago,” she said. It had been an overcast summer day, and Liam had claimed a headache. So Jo had taken Alec, and they’d wandered for hours. He’d picked out some vintage toys, and Jo had found this dining table. When they’d returned home, Liam was gone. He’d left a note that he’d headed into the office.
Now … looking back, Jo was only suspicious.
“Are you all right?” Antonio said, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.
Jo hadn’t even realized she’d been biting her lip and staring into space. She blinked and said, “Just a lot of memories in this place. Some harder than others.”
Antonio bent close and kissed the back of her neck. “Think of all the new memories you have to look forward to in life.” He slid his hands down her arms, then linked their fingers.
She leaned against him, and he rested his chin on the top of her head. His arms moved around her, their fingers still linked. Her back pressed to his chest created a cocoon of warmth—surrounded by his arms and by his spicy soap scent.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, her throat feeling raw with emotion.
“I’m glad, too,” he murmured against her hair.
Maggie had canceled on Jack Wentworth because she’d awakened the morning following the gallery opening with a headache that rivaled a lightning bolt from Zeus. She’d taken ibuprofen and gone back to bed. But then the headache lasted a second day and a third.
On day four, Maggie was finally pain-free, and she had to assess the damage of a neglected bungalow. Bless Stella’s heart, the woman had brought over a few meals and tried to convince Maggie to see a doctor.
But Maggie had refused. Headaches ran their course, eventually. And she was sure this one was simply the result of the accumulation of so many events in such a short time. Moving in the first place would do anyone in.
Someone knocked at the door as she was wiping down the kitchen counter.
“Maggie? It’s Stella.”
The woman was certainly persistent.
Maggie headed to the front door and opened it, expecting to see Stella holding a platter of food. Instead, nothing was in her arms, but she was smiling.
“You look better.”
Maggie touched the hair that was a combination of a rat’s and a bird’s nest. “I feel much better.”
“Great,” Stella said with quite a bit of enthusiasm.
Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Are you here for a friendly visit?”
“Not quite.” Stella exhaled. “You have a visitor at the main house. I told him I didn’t know if you were up to visitors, but he insisted I check.”
“He?”
Stella nodded, her eyes gleaming.
“It’s Jack Wentworth, isn’t it?”
Another nod.
Maggie sighed. “Give me twenty minutes.” She shut the door and walked to her bedroom. She didn’t want to dress up too glamorous, but she wanted to appear cool and collected. She slipped on a pale gray sarong dress, then pinned up her hair. Next, she donned some comfy slide-ons.
She shouldered a colorful handbag she’d bought in Mexico. Heading out the door, she could hear voices coming from the terrace. Stella’s, Gianna’s, and a deeper male’s—must be Jack’s.
Maggie felt light-footed, admitting to herself that she was looking forward to seeing the entertaining man again, and of course, hearing some Orlando stories. Through the trees, she caught a glimpse of his tall form. It was remarkable, really, that he’d been good friends with Orlando. And now, here they were.
She moved toward the terrace steps just as Jack turned, his eyes sparkling when he saw her.
“Ah, good afternoon, Ms. Maggie.” His grin was contagious, and she found herself smiling back.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wentworth.”
He practically jogged down the stairs and offered his hand to escort her back up them. What a spry man.
“So gallant,” Maggie murmured. “Thank you.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“I am.” She glanced over at Stella and her mother. “Thanks to these ladies’ good care.”
“It was nothing,” Gianna said in a generous tone. “Headaches are never pleasant.”
Well, maybe her tone wasn’t entirely generous.
“And you eat like a bird,” Stella said, pulling out a chair for Maggie. The table had been set with drinks, sandwiches, and fruit.
“Goodness, it’s like I’m a queen around here,” she said with a laugh.
“According to Orlando, you are a queen,” Jack quipped.
“Thank you, but I’m sure your memories are quite embellished.” Maggie smiled at the other women. “How long will Antonio be gone?”
“I’m not sure,” Stella said. “He wasn’t very specific. Not that he can’t make phone calls and do business from Seattle. And it’s nice to have a bit of a break from his brooding bossiness.”
Maggie chuckled. “He’s not that bad, is he?”
“He is when he’s your brother,” Stella said.
“Or your son,” Gianna said, affection back in her tone.
“Where is Toni?” Jack asked.
Everyone fell immediately silent, and Jack looked about the table, amusement in his eyes. “Ah, is this a private family matter?”
“Not exactly,” Stella said. “He’s in Seattle, with Jo.”
“Who’s Jo?” Jack’s gaze was definitely interested now.
The other two women looked at Maggie. “She’s my former neighbor, and she was on the road trip with me when we connected with the Gallo family. Antonio is there helping her pack her house.”
“Is she moving here as well?” Jack asked.
Gianna took a long drink from her glass.
“She’s not,” Maggie said. “She went through a divorce, and now she’s moving on.”
“Ah.” Jack looked at Gianna, who shrugged, her lips pressed in a thin line. “And your neighbor Jo and Toni are …?”
“Friends,” Gianna said.
“Friends,” Maggie agreed.
Stella sighed. “They’re more than friends, and we all know it. Well, you now know it, Jack. And Mother doesn’t approve.”
Gianna’s face pinked. “It’s not that I don’t approve, it’s that Toni’s ex-wife wants to get back together. But with Jo in the picture now …” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, never mind. It’s not like anyone around here cares about my opinion, anyway.” She rose from her chair, her cheeks still flushed. “Excuse me.”
Gianna headed into the house, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.
Stella tapped her glass. “She doesn’t approve.”
Jack chuckled. “That was quite obvious. But I thought that Valentina mowed through men like a kid in a candy store. Does Gianna think her son should be punished?”
Maggie was more and more impressed with Jack by the moment.
Stella didn’t seem bothered by the deeply personal question. “It’s a tricky balance. Mother is close to Valentina, and she doesn’t want to think the worst of her. Or she thinks she’ll change, maybe?”
Jack turned the glass in front of him as if he were thinking. “I’ve been alive a long time, and well, zebras don’t usually change their stripes.”
Stella nodded.
“I’m happy for Toni, truly, and your friend, Jo.” Jack flashed a smile at Maggie.
“Me, too,” Maggie said. “Now, enough about other people. Tell me your Orlando stories.”
“My first Orlando story starts when I was a kid,” Jack said.
“Oh, you’ve been friends that long.”
Jack’s gaze became intense. “Do you not recognize me, Maggie?”
She was surprised by his question. “Something about you is familiar, but I’m not sure why.”
His smile was soft as he placed a hand over hers. “The earthquake. Orlando saved me. I was that kid he pushed out of the way.”
Maggie stared at Jack—this man—who was that boy. She covered her mouth with her hands as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on one cheek, then the other.
Jack chuckled, and when she finally drew away, he said, “So you see, my stories go way back.”
She nodded, taking a shaking breath as she wiped at her tears. “I want to hear them all.”
And he obliged. They talked for the next two hours as Jack told Maggie about their friendship. Stella eventually excused herself, so then Jack and Maggie were the only ones left sitting on the terrace. As the shade shifted around them, they moved with it as well.
Jack’s stories were illuminating into the life of a man she’d known for such a short time but had felt so deeply bonded with.
“He was good through and through,” Maggie mused. “Not only rushing to help people in the middle of an earthquake, but he lived his life like that.”
“Yes.” Jack had eaten two sandwiches and refilled his glass twice. “And he’s doing it again. Helping people.”
Maggie thought of the gallery, and all of the people who’d be visiting it over the years, receiving inspiration of their own. “You’re right. Everyone who sees Orlando’s art will come away better for it.”
Jack shook his head. “I meant the fact that Orlando brought us together. I now have a new friend. It’s been a pleasure talking to you and remembering so many things.”
Maggie tilted her head, studying the distinguished man sitting across from her. “It’s been a pleasure speaking to you as well. You don’t know how much it means to me to hear about Orlando’s many joys and successes in life.”
Jack extended his hand across the table. “Friends?”
She smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Jack winked, and Maggie could only shake her head in amusement. He was a charming man, and perhaps, if they had met a decade or so earlier, she might have been able to talk him out of his established bachelorhood …
He rose from the table and dipped his chin. “I hope to see you soon. You have my number, correct?”
“I do.”
He smiled his charming grin. “And I’ll be stopping by the gallery here and there if you don’t mind.”
“I certainly don’t.”
Jack tipped an imaginary hat.
Maggie smiled after the man. He was certainly entertaining. And good company.
Now that she was by herself, she relished in the peace of the pond and gardens that extended from the terrace. The estate really was beautiful, and more than once, she’d tried to imagine Orlando walking about, maybe seeking inspiration for his art. It was a nice image to dwell on.
“Where is she?” a woman’s voice screeched, startling Maggie.
She straightened and looked toward the terrace doors where the cry had come from. It wasn’t Stella, and it didn’t sound like Gianna, either.
“Valentina,” a sharp voice said. “Neither one is here. Now, did you bring Teresa?”
“She’s at her dance class,” Valentina replied, in a tone that sounded about ready to screech again.
And suddenly, the woman was standing in the doorway of the terrace. Valentina’s dark eyes were rimmed in red, and her hair was like a tornado about her head. “You …” She pointed at Maggie. “You started all of this.”
