Caught Bread Handed (18 page)

That night we ended up in a tiny restaurant with aquamarine walls and umbrellas made out of coconut husks. We ate grilled fish caught fresh that afternoon and laughed for hours over a bottle of the restaurant owner's homemade wine. The wine wasn't on the menu. Wherever our travels took us Carlos befriended chefs. They befriend him back with their personal wine and custom dishes made just for us.

We made it a point never to eat near tourist hubs. “Let's go explore,” Carlos would say as he flagged down a taxi driver. “Take us to where you eat.”

Our culinary tours took us to places far off the beaten path. My palate developed on those excursions. I tasted things that I never imagined, from sea urchin to Peruvian pisco, a strong amber-colored brandy. Carlos encouraged me to immerse myself in the food wherever we landed.

The Costa Rican wine held a special place in my tasting memory. It was scarlet in color with a brilliant fruity finish and robust flavor. The restaurant owner made it from wild grapes growing on his property. For years I've tried to find a similar wine. I've come close, but never been able to match its unique flavor and color.

I swirled the glass that Carlos handed me. It had the same scarlet color and with one whiff I was back on the beach in Costa Rica.

“What is this?”

Carlos grinned. “Do you like?”

I took a taste and inhaled the happy memory. “Is this it?”

He pointed to the unlabeled bottle.

I sat up in my chair. “This is it! How did you find it?”

His smile widened. “I have been making some calls.”

“This is
the
wine from Costa Rica? Not just something that tastes like it? You found the actual wine. How?”

He poured himself a glass and sat down next to me. “I visited the restaurant when we docked in Costa Rica last month. The owner is no longer there, but they gave me his address. I took a bus out to a tiny village and knocked on his door.”

“You did?”

“
Sí.
It was an adventure.” He watched as I drank the wine. I closed my eyes and savored the moment. His voice turned husky. “I do this and more for you, Julieta, to see you smile like this. You like?”

“I love.” I held up my glass.

“This is why I find the owner. He was very surprised to see me and to know that we remembered his wine. He makes it for his family. He wouldn't let me pay him for the bottle. He says it is a gift for you. You must come and see him in Costa Rica. He wants to see my beautiful American wife again. I show him your picture. He remembers you.”

“That's so sweet.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I can't believe you found him.”

Carlos refilled our glasses and nudged the plate of tapas closer to me. “Eat, eat.”

I chose an empanada to start. It was filled with savory meat and vegetables that had been sautéed so that they were still slightly crisp. The meat had a nice kick of spice and the dough was like a flaky, buttery pie crust. “This is really good.” I took another sip of wine to wash down the empanada.

“You remember the first time I make you empanadas? You ate the entire plate and left nothing for the rest of the staff. I think that is the first time that I knew I was in love with you. A beautiful woman and pastry chef who loves to eat.
Sí,
that is the moment that I knew I must marry you.”

My heart flopped in my chest. I remembered that night too. Carlos's tapas were hot and spicy. Just like him. I couldn't hold myself back from eating the entire plate, or wanting to be with him.

Things were different now.

Carlos swirled his wine. A thin film of the burgundy liquid clung to the sides of the glass. “May I ask you something?”

He leaned so close that I could hear his heartbeat. It was slow and steady. “Julieta, I have missed you so much.”

“I've missed you too.”

He caressed my hand. “I cannot live without you. This has been a wonderful week, being together in the kitchen again,
sí
?”

“It has.”

“I do not want it to end. I cannot leave you again.”

“What are you trying to say?” Was Carlos considering staying in Ashland? I'd daydreamed about him staying, but I never thought that he might actually consider it.

He scooted his chair even closer and wrapped his hand around the base of my neck. His touch was hot. “Come back with me. Come back to the ship.”

I placed my head in my hands. “Carlos, I can't.”

“Julieta, you are my wife. We belong together, no?”

“We do.” I massaged my temples. Carlos moved his hand to my knee. Candlelight flickered in his eyes.

“Then you come back with me. Come back to the ship and I will show you every minute of every day how much I love and cherish you. I want you to meet Ramiro too. You will love him. He is pure light and joy. We will go to Spain and spend a week in the sea. We will surf and eat and drink wine.”

I sighed. “I want to, I really do, but I can't. I can't leave Mom and Torte, not now.”

He scooted away a little. “Or do you not want to? Are you still angry with me? I will find a way to prove my love to you, if you come home with me.”

“Honestly, I don't know if I want to come back to the ship.”

His face flinched as if I had wounded him.

I put my hand over his. “I'm not mad anymore. You don't have to do anything more to prove your feelings for me. I know. I do.”

He started to respond, but I squeezed his hand. “Wait, let me finish. When I first came home it was about me being angry—and hurt. I had to get away. I needed distance and space. In some ways it was easy to just be mad at you for lying. If I was mad then I didn't have to think about how much it hurt to be away from you.”

I paused to consider my words. Until this very moment I hadn't articulated my thoughts on my transformation since I'd returned home. “But things have changed, Carlos. I've changed. I love Ashland. I love Torte and I've realized that I don't miss the ship. I miss you, but I don't miss that life. I like being settled. I like that everyone in town knows my name and remembers me in pigtails with skinned knees. I like that I can't walk down the street without being stopped by one of the shop owners to talk about town gossip. I even like that people who knew me when I was young call me Juliet. I never thought I would say that, but I do.”

He took in a breath and nodded. “I see.”

I sat up and grabbed both of his hands. “It's not you. I miss you. I do, Carlos. I don't know what to do. I'm so torn. I want to be with you
and
I want to be here.”

He leaned his forehead toward mine. We sat in silence with our heads touching. “I understand,
mi querida.
”

I wanted to stay frozen in time. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn't I just hate him? He could have made it easy for me to stay angry and not forgive him, but I understood too. He hadn't told me about Ramiro because he made a promise to Ramiro's mother, and then it became too hard. He couldn't find a way to tell me.

Where did that leave us now?

Carlos kissed my head and pulled away. “You do not have to decide tonight. Why don't you sleep on it?”

“What about Ashland? Can you see yourself here?”

He spread his hands out. “Torte is beautiful,
sí.
It is you and your mother—the expression of both of you. It is wonderful, but is it for me? I do not know. I do not know if there is a space for me here.”

“We would make space for you.”

His lips moved in a smile. His eyes didn't. “Maybe.
Sí.
I know you would try.” He stood and grabbed my hand. “Come, I will walk you home. You sleep tonight. Tomorrow we will have a beautiful dinner together and then I must go back to the ship. At least for now.”

I took his hand. I didn't want to let go.

 

Chapter Nineteen

I don't think I slept much. Most of the night I spent questioning my decision. Should I go back to the ship? Was I making a huge mistake? And then there was Ramiro. I wanted to meet him, but was it fair to insert myself into his life when I didn't know what I was going to do with my own life?

I finally gave up after hours of running different scenarios through my head. I wasn't going to solve the problem by lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. And there was no way I was going back to sleep. There was only one solution: coffee. I got out of bed sometime after four and made myself a pot.

Even coffee tasted off, as I slugged it down and headed for Torte. It was a new week. I should have felt energized and ready to start brainstorming our chocolate extravaganza for the upcoming festival, but I couldn't stop thinking about Carlos. I felt like Shakespeare's lovesick Juliet.

When I made it to Torte and unlocked the front door, I made a promise to myself to stop the crazy loop I was on. It was time to focus on baking. I went through the motions of the morning routine—started the yeast rising, preheated the oven, and made a strong pot of coffee. The leftover evergreen boughs and red roses were all stacked on the front counter. They were still in great shape. We could use them as table decorations. I found Mom's garden shears and snipped the long evergreen garland into smaller half-foot pieces. While the coffee brewed, I adorned each of the tables and booths with a vase of roses and a sprig of evergreen.

With the dining space smelling like a winter forest I poured myself a large cup of coffee and started kneading the bread. Stephanie arrived a while later.

“Whoa, you must have been up early even for you. It looks like you've been here for a while.” She tossed her coat on the counter and helped herself to a cup of coffee. “Guy troubles?”

“What?” I scrunched my brow. Was it that obvious?

She shrugged. “I can't sleep when I have guy issues.”

“I didn't know that you had guy issues.”

“Sometimes. It depends on the guy.” She tucked her violet strands behind her ears and cradled her coffee mug. “Want me to start on muffins and cookies as usual?”

“That would be great.” I pointed to the butter I had removed from the fridge. “That should be up to room temp.”

Stephanie wrapped an apron around her waist. “I heard it went well last night.”

“How did you hear that? The sun isn't even up yet. The Ashland rumor mill can't be that fast.”

She cubed butter and added it to the stainless steel industrial mixing bowl. “Sterling stopped by on his way home. He brought me some tapas. They were really good.”

“Oh, that's right. He mentioned that he might. How did things go?” I tried to keep my tone casual. Getting information out of Stephanie is like trying to break into a bank vault.

“Fine. He knew that I was studying for midterms and thought I might need some food.”

“That was nice of him.”

Her nostrils flared slightly. “It's no big deal.”

“Right.” I kneaded the dough with my elbow. “But it is sweet.” I couldn't help but want to be Sterling's cheerleader. I was pretty confident that Stephanie reciprocated his feelings. But I wasn't sure that she would ever tell him that.

I knew that I wasn't going to get anything else out of her. When Mom arrived I would have to put her on the case. Mom has a way of getting the toughest customers—Stephanie included—to open up.

Within an hour there were beautiful rows of cookies and muffins cooling on wire racks and loaves of bread waiting to be sliced and packaged. Stephanie and I had the morning routine nailed down. Yet another reason I couldn't imagine leaving Torte.

By the time Mom and Andy showed up, I had all of our wholesale orders waiting to go in delivery boxes and Stephanie was stocking the pastry case with the first round of morning treats. I blew Mom a quick kiss. “Have to run. I'll be back in a few. Stephanie is in the zone back there, but we haven't started on any specials yet.”

Mom laughed and waved. “And to think that some people hate Mondays.”

“Not around here,” Andy said.

He held the door open for me and I hurried off before anyone else volunteered to do the morning delivery route. I had tucked a box of mini muffins in for Lance. I was eager to hear what he'd learned from his chat with Rosalind last night.

I breezed through the deliveries. Mondays tended to be slower. Most business owners were focused on getting their shops in order for the new week. Even during OSF's season the theater took a hiatus on Monday. At the Green Goblin I dropped off Craig's bread and two cakes. He pointed to the empty cake plates. “Your samples went over well last night. We might have to double our order.”

“That's great. Don't double it yet. I'm going to experiment with alcohol-infused cakes for you this afternoon.”

“It's a deal, but these might be gone before noon if last night was any indication. Sunday isn't even my busy night.”

“Just give us a call if you run out. Mom or I can always bring more over if you need them.”

“You're the best, Jules.” Craig thanked me and returned to a stack of paperwork on the bar.

This is why you love Ashland, I told myself as I crossed the plaza. You can't leave this. As if to prove my point I looked up and took in my surroundings. The plaza glowed under yellow streetlamps. A royal-purple Shakespearean banner waved in the wind. In the distance morning bells rang. I could almost smell the sulfur bubbling up from the Lithia Springs fountains. Each shop and storefront seemed to greet me with their royal exteriors and whimsical Old English signs.

My eyes stopped on ShakesBurgers. The lime-green building reminded me of a baking experiment gone completely wrong. I paused and blinked twice. Was that movement inside? A flashlight flicked. That's strange, I thought, crossing the street. Maybe Thomas and the Professor were working already. But why wouldn't they turn the lights on? And would they really be on the crime scene at this early hour?