Last First Kiss, page 6
Princess.
Parker shook her head to clear the memory of the smeared red letters she’d scrubbed at until her skin bled. It wasn’t the word itself that bothered her, it was the tattooed memory of how it felt to be frozen.
A horn blared suddenly across the road and startled her out of the memory. A taxi was parked haphazardly against the curb, and the driver was staring at two women, one holding the hand of a child, standing outside the open door. Parker watched him tap his thumb on the steering wheel and look at his watch for emphasis. The women glanced at him hurriedly and embraced, then one of them pulled off her jacket, stooped down for a moment, and held it while the boy put it on. She stood up and brushed a tear from the mother’s face, pausing to hold her close and whisper in her ear. Finally, she pulled sunglasses from her pocket and handed them to her, then stepped back onto the sidewalk as they disappeared into the taxi and it sped off into traffic, horn blaring.
The woman watched the car until it rounded the corner, pulled out her phone, and spoke into it as a sudden wind whipped her hair around her face. She hesitated at the edge of the road, then found a break in the traffic and crossed to the boardwalk. Parker watched as she dropped her phone back into the pocket of her jeans and wrapped her arms around herself, shielding herself from the evening wind sweeping across the beach from the water. Parker followed her as she started to walk. By the time she caught up with her, she smelled jasmine in the air.
Either that, or it was Alessia’s perfume.
Parker handed Alessia her own jacket as she fell into step with her as Alessia, for once, looked too shocked to say anything at all.
The wind seemed to pick up on cue and the sea crashed onto the rocks beside them, then swirled back onto the beach, edges lined in white foam. As they rounded the next corner, a restaurant stood out to the right, made of bleached wood with a turquoise tile roof. A white ceramic fountain splashed water into a small, sky-blue pool, but there was no sign, just an antique red bicycle leaning against a clapboard wall dripping with bright yellow jasmine vines. Parker slowed, breathing in the sweetwater scent that reminded her of humid Alabama evenings.
She stopped and nodded slightly in the direction of the door. Alessia hesitated, looking back in the direction they’d come from. Her hair was as wild as her eyes, cheeks pink from the cool wind still sweeping up from the beach.
“No offense,” Parker said, one eyebrow raised. “But I’m starving, and you look like you could use a drink.”
Alessia hesitated, then took one more look down the boardwalk before she walked through the door that Parker held open for her. Warmth enveloped them as they looked around, almost as if they’d walked into someone’s kitchen, complete with crumbling brick walls crowded with hundreds of family portraits. Raw wood planks suspended from the ceiling held ivory candles lining the length of them. There were open fireplaces at both ends of the restaurant, sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from every direction, and the air was fragrant with crushed herbs and roasting garlic.
A waitress waved them over to a small curved booth tucked into a corner, and Alessia pulled Parker’s jacket off as she slid in first, handing it back to her. She wore faded Levis and a black shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the delicate line of her collarbone and soft curve of her breasts. Her face was bare and windswept, and there were two delicate emerald rings on her right hand.
A huge brick pizza oven sat in the center back wall, with the bustling, open kitchen swirling around it in a semicircle, separated from the dining area by glass. The same waitress, with a gunshot voice and sparkling eyes, fired off orders in Italian to the guys tossing dough into the air and spinning it on their fists. Eventually she stopped at their table, swiping at a red stain on her apron as she took out a small notepad. Alessia glanced at Parker before she ordered for them both in Italian.
“I can’t believe I managed to walk into an Italian place in Greece,” Parker said. “What did you order?”
“I ordered a bottle of Spanish Tempranillo for me,” Alessia said. “And an Italian tutor for you.”
“Cute.” Parker locked her eyes onto Alessia’s and paused. “Now tell me why you have a Glock on your hip.”
Alessia smoothed the hem of her shirt back down over the black leather holster. She didn’t answer, but Parker didn’t let her look away.
“Fine,” Alessia said, sweeping her hair into a glossy bun at the nape of her neck. “I’ll cancel the tutor and get you a wine you can handle, but we’re not talking about that.”
Parker sensed the edge to her words. Clearly she’d have to approach that subject later.
“What do you mean, ‘a wine I can handle’?”
“Well,” Alessia said. “This one tastes like tar and charred wood until you get into it, so I’m assuming it will be too much for you.”
The waitress set down two large glasses and a dark bottle with a black-and-gold label, then turned to head back into the kitchen, stopping for an impromptu dance with one of the cooks as she passed.
“All right, wine girl,” Parker said, nodding in the direction of her glass. “Hit me.”
Alessia smiled, then poured a taste into each of their glasses, spinning one for a few seconds and handing it to Parker before she picked up her own.
“So what am I supposed to be tasting here?”
“No way.” Alessia picked up her glass. “You almost impressed me once, which I’m positive was some kind of accident. Let’s see if you can do it again.”
Parker raised the glass, but Alessia caught her eye and lowered her own nose into the glass she was holding. She inhaled deeply and Parker followed her lead, closing her eyes against the intensity of the aroma before the wine even touched her lips. When she opened them, Alessia was watching her.
“What do you taste?”
“It’s intense,” Parker said. “Dark and dry like you’d expect at the start.” Parker hesitated. “But then it…softens.”
“What do you mean?”
Parker ran her hand through her hair, trying to wrap words around the layers of scent. “It becomes soft but almost acrid, almost like raw vanilla pods were dried over a fire and crushed into the wine.”
The waitress appeared again suddenly, and they made room on their table for the antipasto platter she had balanced on three fingers. She put it in the center of the table with a small dish of olive oil, tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, and disappeared again.
Alessia picked up a brined green olive and glanced at Parker.
“Tempranillo grapes are aged in French oak. Some winemakers hand-flame the insides of the barrels to char them, so that’s the smoke element you noticed.” She met Parker’s eyes and held them. “Most people don’t pick up on that, or if they do, they call it something else.”
Parker picked up a slice of baguette and dipped the crust in the oil, then layered it with a thin slice of dark, peppered meat and pickled red pepper before she handed it to Alessia.
“So, what are you doing in Greece?”
“Trying to bring you up to speed on the international wine scene, clearly,” Alessia said with one eyebrow raised, taking a bite of the bread and handing it back to Parker. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m with Gender Perspectives at NATO, so I’m here at a conference about domestic violence.”
“I thought you were an MP.”
Alessia finished pouring them each a glass of wine, catching a single ruby drop on the side of the bottle with her thumb as she put it back on the table. The glossy slick of polish on her nails perfectly matched the wine.
“I am an MP in the States,” Parker said. “But here I’m a Gender Perspectives officer. Officially I deal with wartime violence as it relates to women, but we also try to make a difference in surrounding communities when we can, and violence is a real issue here.”
Alessia nodded, spreading baked garlic onto a toasted baguette slice. “Italian culture can be centered around men, but I think it’s even worse in Greece.”
Parker started to say something, then paused.
“What?”
Parker glanced at Alessia’s shoulder and she brushed off what she thought was a string, realizing too late what it was as it fell through her fingers.
“So,” Alessia said, taking a sip of wine and glancing back at her shoulder. “You just untied my bra strap in a restaurant. Is that standard training in the American military, or is that a Parker move?”
Parker’s eyes followed Alessia’s to her bare shoulder and noted that the delicate ribbon tied at the top was now gone.
Alessia raised an eyebrow. “You planning on tying that back together?”
Parker held her eyes and lowered her voice. “Well, unless you’re going to take your shirt off for me, those straps might be hard to find.”
“Well, I can’t walk out of here with my bra undone.” Alessia turned slightly in the booth to face Parker, holding the challenge between them. “So good luck with that.”
Parker held her eyes as she unbuttoned two buttons of Alessia’s shirt. She slid her fingertips over her skin, slowly tracing the warm curve of her breast until she felt the loose ribbon under her fingers. Parker brought it up and leaned closer to tie the two ends back together at her shoulder.
When she was done, she sat back and handed Alessia her wineglass. “Maybe that should be an army move,” she said. “Because you haven’t taken a breath since I started.”
Later, as they walked out of the restaurant, Alessia turned to Parker.
“I want to show you something.”
Parker stopped, smiling. “I tried to get you to do that in the restaurant, but you made me tie it back together.”
She shook her head, lifting Parker’s jacket off her arm and slipping it on as she walked. “Actually, I think you’ll find this more interesting.”
Alessia turned sideways to avoid a wide group of American tourists walking with maps in front of their faces, which wasn’t entirely successful, and turned off the boardwalk away from the beach.
“So, are you ever going to tell me what you’re doing in Santorini?” Parker asked as Alessia led her through a maze of back alleys and crumbling brick streets. Night was starting to fall, and the streetlights clicked on as they walked past a café filled with people and gold light that spilled onto the sidewalk, alive with the clink of glasses and laughter.
“No.”
Alessia turned and started up a wide, whitewashed staircase.
“No, what?” Parker said, confused. “No, you’re not going to tell me?”
“No, I am not going to tell you what is not your business.” Alessia looked back from a few stairs above, her hands on her hips. “Do you need me to wait for you?”
Parker closed the gap between them and stopped on the step above her.
“Yeah, I can barely keep up,” she said with a wink.
She turned and took the stairs two at a time to the next landing near the top of the city, surrounded by an expansive view of the deep golden sun setting just beyond the blue, white-capped water.
“God, this is beautiful,” Parker said, a railing the only barrier between her and the sea below that sparkled with the last of the evening sunlight. The waves had picked up closer to the shoreline, the only sound was their crash against the seawall below. Birds circled overhead, and Parker caught sight of the pale outline of the waning moon on the dark side of the horizon.
Alessia caught up and paused for a moment at the railing, the wind blowing her hair around her face as she looked toward the next doorway, framed by a white archway. The door was a slick, juicy orange color, and she pulled a key from behind a potted lemon tree beside it. As they entered, a red tile hallway curved into a family room with a terra cotta fireplace to the side and cozy sofas with linen slipcovers. The walls were old plaster, the current warm amber color accented by older hues beneath where the plaster had cracked and fallen away over the years, like turned-down pages in a book. Plank floors painted a shiny black reflected the light as Alessia turned on a lamp and slipped Parker’s jacket off her shoulders and folded it neatly over the back of a worn red velvet chair.
“You have a house in Santorini? Or are we about to get arrested?” Parker smiled as she looked through the French doors to a brick patio below.
“Very funny. I don’t, but my aunt Lucia did until she died. My father kept it for my sister and me, although I’m the only one who comes here.”
“That’s Lexie, right?” Parker said, thinking back to what Giada had said about Alessia’s sister in the café. “Is she older or younger than you?”
“Yes, Alexa, actually. She’s older, but not by much.” Alessia pulled a bottle of mineral water out of the fridge and reached up to an open shelf. “Not that anyone would guess that. We used to be close, but I’ve been waiting for her to grow up my entire life.”
Alessia balanced on her tiptoes and reached for the cobalt blue glasses just out of her reach. Parker walked up behind her until she felt the warmth of Alessia’s body relax against hers, then took two off the shelf and handed them to her.
“What’s outside?” Parker asked.
Alessia glanced up as she was filling the glasses and flipped a switch on the kitchen wall.
“Go look.”
Parker walked through the French doors and onto the first level of the red brick patio. A long wooden table sat at the edge, surrounded by forged iron chairs and handmade candlesticks of varying heights down the center of the table, and just above, light shimmered from a crystal chandelier hung from a branch of an old fig tree. Dense moss had grown between the aging bricks to form a maze underfoot as she followed the limestone steps to the curved lower level and a wooden arbor heavy with ancient wisteria vines. The dense clusters of flowers dropped down from the arbor frame in shades of violet and lavender like vivid pools of paint swirled together and dripping onto the floor. Lanterns hung from the four corners, illuminating the black night sky as Alessia came through the doors toward Parker, carrying the bottle and glasses. She set them on a small table under the arbor between two chairs.
“This is amazing,” Parker said, running her hand over one of the wisteria vines wound around the corner post of the arbor. “Did your aunt do this?”
“I think my dad actually built the arbor.” Alessia handed her the glasses. “My aunt loved it out here so my dad kept expanding the patio over the years even after my grandparents died. She was a bit odd and never married, but she and my dad were always close.”
“What did she do?”
“Well, at first glance,” Alessia said, taking off her shoes and leaving them under the arbor. “Not much.”
“But that’s not the whole story?”
Alessia looked over at Parker, eyes reflecting the steady light of the lanterns. “You could say that.”
Parker sank down into one of the chairs as the breeze swept down and brushed a lock of hair loose from the low ponytail at the back of her neck. She slid the elastic out and wrapped it around her wrist, running her hand through her hair that fell just above her shoulders.
Alessia closed her eyes and drew in a long breath.
“Cedar. I love that scent.”
“What, me?” Parker asked. “Is it my shampoo?”
Alessia nodded. “And your skin. Both.”
Parker looked at Alessia, her eyes still closed, arms wrapped around her knees in the chair. The small, dark mole just to the right of her lips made her look like a silent movie star. “What else do you smell?”
“Just the night,” Alessia said. “Some scents are always in the air here, like salt, stones in the sun, lavender leaves…they all deepen into something different at night.”
“Is it different in Italy?”
Alessia nodded, opening her eyes. “I smell the sea in everything here. In Italy it’s the earth, like turning over a handful of raw, dark soil before dawn.”
She pulled a metal tin of lip balm out of her pocket and smoothed it on with her finger, setting it on the table between them then tucking her dark, wavy hair behind her ear. The wind took it back and brushed it lightly against her cheek.
“No one ever asks me about scents,” Alessia said. “They think wine is about flavor, but it’s not, at least not for me. It’s always been about the scent.”
“How did you get started with wine?” Parker rolled up her sleeves as she spoke. “Did you go to school for it?”
“I did,” Alessia said. “Which was challenging, but I’d been traveling with my dad and memorizing scents since I was a kid, so I think I approached it a different way. It took people a while to get used to it.”
She picked up her water glass before she noticed it was empty, then glanced back at the house before she spoke. When she did her voice was draped in memory.
“When I was six, my parents and Aunt Lucia took us to Grasse, in the south of France. Most of the flowers used in perfumes worldwide are grown there, so there are endless fields of roses and lavender, and even some of the rarer plants like narcissus and neroli.”
“You must have loved that,” Parker said, switching Alessia’s empty glass with her full one and setting them back on the table. “Did they do it just for you?”
Alessia shook her head. “They had no idea about my nose at the time, no one did. Ma and Lucia just wanted to go to see the flowers. They’d just always thought it looked like a beautiful place.”
“So what happened?”
“What do you mean?” Alessia picked up her glass and paused, the start of a smile on her lips.
“Something happened.”
“Well,” Alessia said. “You’re not wrong. The first night we were there my mom woke up and came in to check on us. Lexie was there, but I was gone and she was hysterical.”
“I bet. Where did you go?”
“There was a window in the bedroom of the cottage we were renting, and I was restless. I couldn’t sleep that night. There was a scent in the air that I’d never smelled before, and I just kept breathing it in. I knew it was a flower, but it had a strange woody, resiny undertone.” Her voice fell, slowed by the memory. “I loved it, and just wanted to be closer to it.”
