Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr Page 0,26
the Bay Area. She’s visiting her sister and invited me to dinner.” He looked over at her and grinned. “Since my usual date was busy, I accepted and got a pie out of the deal.”
“Oh. And so are you dating now?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Do you think life could be that kind?”
“You’re saying you want to date?”
“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me, Courtney. Stop beating around the bush.”
“If you’re so smart, what do I want to ask you?”
He sighed. “No, I am not over your mother—I miss Lana every day. And yes, I would like to have another adult relationship in my lifetime—I’m lonely. And no, no one will ever be more important than your mother. Or, for that matter, than you. I promise you I won’t be less of a father if I ever get lucky enough to actually have a girlfriend at some point.”
She thought about that for a moment. She wasn’t sure how he did that—answered every question she wasn’t sure how to ask. So she said, “Like I care.”
Five
Kelly had only been in her sister’s house for a short time, but things began to change for her in small but meaningful ways almost immediately. It all began with a cooking show. She hooked up her very small, portable kitchen TV on the counter so she could see it while she cooked. Of course the very first program she viewed was Luciano Brazzi’s Dining In. While she peeled and cut up apples to can some applesauce, Luca was preparing his famous eggplant rollatini. She watched his handsome face, his playful and engaging manner as he dipped the eggplant slices in beaten egg, then seasoned bread crumbs, then Parmesan… He joked with his pretty kitchen helper; his hands smooth and confident; his white teeth gleaming against his tanned skin, his robust laugh so seductive. He was at ease, comfortable, at peace, self-assured. Clearly he was not suffering from a broken heart.
She began to cry, and then, before the rollatini went in the oven, she was sobbing. He was perfectly fine! The man did not have a trouble in the world. He wasn’t lonely or depressed or suffering with the misery of longing. If there was anything to get over, he’d gotten over it.
He opened one of those famous jars with his face on it, Brazzi Spaghetti Sauce, warmed it and poured it over the whole magnificent meal and that was it. “You bastard,” she screamed right to his televised face. “You led me on, made promises to show me opportunities and sent your wife to deal with me! As if I were a common tramp you had bored of.” She sniffed, blew her nose and said, “I am so done!”
To which the TV responded, “And that is my eggplant rollatini! Brava! And ciao my bellas!”
“Ciao, dickwad,” she said, turning off the TV.
Then things improved daily, if not hourly. No pressure; no crazy kitchen to go back to, and the relief in this was magnificent. And though three of them shared the house, everyone went their own way. Jill spent almost all her time either outside or at her computer in her office while Colin was either prowling around the mountains with his camera or painting upstairs in the sunroom. It was the first time Kelly could remember feeling freedom like this. Even on past visits or vacations she’d constantly been thinking about getting back to the grind and was usually worried about some work-related issue.
Almost all meals and certainly all dinners were prepared by Kelly and she thrived on her small but special audience. Jill’s farm assistant, Denny, often joined them for lunch and sometimes for dinner. He was a handsome young bachelor of twenty-five, perpetually cheerful and funny. “I thought I’d stumbled on the perfect job in Jilly Farms, and that was before you showed up, Kelly,” he said. “Now I have the perfect job and restaurant! I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this well in my life! Kelly, you’re not only a genius but a gorgeous genius.”
And Kelly looked at the square, dimpled jaw, bright eyes, hard-muscled physique on his six-foot frame and said, “Oh, Denny, I wish I’d met you ten years ago!”
“Well, I’d have been fifteen, but that’s no big deal,” he said with a sly grin. “I’ve always liked older women.”
Older woman? She wasn’t that much older! She glowered at him and said, “You wanna eat, smarty pants?”
Rather than short nights or sleep that came on the