Page 66 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“Ah… well, nowyou’llknow better next time we’re on short vacation. I stay relaxed and your shirt is comfy.” She smirked and then I assume her words caught up with her. “I mean, if ever a time arises.”
My mouth spread into a smile and heat stirred my soul. If she had considered being with me in a space like this again then I was winning this tug and pull between us. And that delighted me more than anything.
“It looks like a tiny rocket ship,”she said, changing the subject, referring to the espresso.
“Giuseppe’s grandmother would roll over in her grave if she heard you say that.”
“What would she call it?”
“The heart of the home. She told me you can judge the quality of a marriage by the quality of the espresso.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for a little aluminum pot.”
I filled the bottom chamber with water and added finely ground coffee to the middle section. “Come here. You’re going to make it.”
She slipped off the stool, strolling over bare foot. I positioned her in front of the stove, my arms coming around her to guide her hands.
“Twist it tight, but not too tight,”I murmured against her ear. “The steam needs to build pressure.”
Her hands were smaller than mine, warmer. I covered them with my own, showing her how to screw the pieces together properly.
“Now we wait?”
“Now we wait. And while we wait, we get herbs from the garden.”
“In my pajamas?”
“In my shirt. Which looks much better on you than it ever did on me.”
The herb garden was Giuseppe’s pride, with neat rows of basil, oregano, parsley, and rosemary. The morning air was crisp but not cold, offering the trace of olive trees and the distant smell of wood smoke from the village.
“How do I know which ones to pick?”Naomi asked, crouching beside the basil plants.
“The young leaves, tender ones. Like this.”I showed her, pinching stems carefully. “In Italy, they say you should pick herbs while they’re still dreaming about the sun.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“That’s Giuseppe being poetic about plants.”
She laughed, filling her cupped palms with fresh basil and oregano. “I’ve never had a garden. Never grown anything.”
“Why not?”
“City living. A demanding schedule. Gerald always said it was a waste of time since you could buy herbs at the store.”
Gerald again. Even here, in this perfect morning, the shadow of her past crept in.
“Gerald was wrong about a lot of things,”I said quietly.
“Yeah. He was.” She angled her head and looked up at me. “You managed to find out a lot about Giuseppe between the time you bid on the Tuscany trip and now.”
“I had a whole year to come back and forth and see what I had won.”
She laughed. “So you were just bidding and didn’t know what all involved the bid, huh?”
“I bidded because you told me you would join me, and I would’ve bid on who should be the next face on Mount Rushmore if I could convince you to take the trip with me.”
She sucked in her laughter. “Why?”
