Authors: Janice Thompson
Tea for Two (10 page)
The laughter must’ve caught D.J.’s attention. He looked up from the soundboard and then walked our way.
“What did I miss?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “But O’Conner is voting for Uncle Laz for President.”
“Wait. . .you’re voting for me?” Laz’s voice rang out from my right. “Really? Does that mean you’ll protect me when I’m on the campaign trail? If so, I might consider running, after all. Maybe I dropped out too soon!”
“Will you promise to feed me if I do?” O’Conner asked.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Uncle Laz extended his hand. “Glad to see you’ve joined the Rossi team, young man.”
“You Rossis
are
quite a team, all right.”
Yes, indeed. We were quite a team. And whether Uncle Laz ever saw the inside of the Oval Office or not, I had a feeling we’d go on being a team, no matter what life threw our way.
I slipped my arm around D.J.’s waist and leaned in close as Uncle Laz went off on a tangent about how the world would be different, once he landed in the White House. From across the room I caught a glimpse of Mama and Pop, who’d decided to take to the dance floor. Armando and Scarlet joined them, followed by Nick and Marcella.
“What do you say, Mrs. Neeley?” D.J. asked. “Would you like to take a little spin with me?”
“As long as it’s not a
political
spin, I’d love to.” I laughed and extended my hand.
My sweetie led me to the dance floor and pulled me into his arms, then kissed me soundly. Mmm. A kiss like that on Valentine’s night could put a girl in a romantic frame of mind, no doubt about it. I kissed him back, a long, slow kiss that promised even more, once we arrived home.
Then, with romantic music filling the air, the fella I loved more than life itself swept me off of my feet. . .for the hundred-thousandth time.
Look for More Bella Novellas in 2016!
(Available soon by pre-order)
Pennies from Heaven (A Springtime Garden Ceremony): April 15
th
2016:
That Lucky Old Sun (A Galveston Beach Ceremony): July 15
th
2016
The Tender Trap (An Autumn Shabby Chic Ceremony): October 15
th
2016
Have You Read the Books That Started It All?
THE CLUB WED SERIES:
THE BACKSTAGE PASS SERIES:
THE WEDDINGS BY DESIGN SERIES
Enjoy the first chapter of
Once Upon a Moonlight Night
,
the first Bella Novella.
I once dated a weather girl, we talked up a storm.
Jay London
When a girl is raised in a wacky Italian family, certain things are a given. For instance, she can always count on drama around the dinner table. Someone’s always trying to out-holler someone else, or get his—or her—point across. And when your family is in business together, the volume can get even louder.
That’s why, when my Aunt Rosa interrupted our evening meal to announce that she and Uncle Laz were going on a three week vacation to Italy, the volume around the Rossi dinner table rose to a deafening roar. Really? Rosa and Laz, gone for three whole weeks. . .during the holidays? How would the family survive without them? More importantly, what would we eat at our Friday evening family dinners?
“Are you serious, Rosa?” Mama called out across the ruckus. She reached for a cloth napkin and used it to fan herself. “
Three
weeks?”
To my right, one of my twin daughters started to fuss in her highchair. I glanced over at ten-month-old Holly and gave her a bite of pasta. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Ivy, tossing bites of the soft pasta onto the floor. Not that anyone noticed. They were far too focused on my aunt and uncle.
“That’s right.” Aunt Rosa beamed, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Three glorious weeks in the Old Country, touring from one city to the next. Visiting my cousins and their children. Laz and I haven’t been back home since our honeymoon a few years back, and we can’t wait to go back.”
She lit into a lengthy explanation of the various places they planned to visit, but lost me when she mentioned Tuscany. Sounded heavenly, but with so much on my proverbial plate—four kids, a husband who ran his own construction business and my work at Club Wed—the idea of traveling seemed like an elusive dream, at best.
Still, from the shimmer in Uncle Laz’s eyes, I could tell he was fully onboard for this idea. I’d never seen him look so happy. Or so tired. If anyone deserved a vacation, he and Rosa did.
My other family members seemed a little less enthusiastic. I understood why, of course. Losing Rosa and Laz for the better part of a month could potentially wreck us all. Or, at least our stomachs.
“B-but if you leave, who’s going to cook for us?” Pop reached for one of Rosa’s famous garlic twists from the platter in the center of the table and tore off a piece. “We’ll all starve to death.” He shoved the bread into his mouth and glared at my aunt.
“True, that.” I did my best not to sigh aloud. After all, Rosa and Laz did most of the cooking in the Rossi household. For as long as I could remember, their talents in the kitchen had kept us well fed and happy.
Mama paled. “I guess it’s time I stepped up to the plate. Rosa has been slaving away in our kitchen for years, poor thing. I suppose it’s my turn.” She reached for her napkin and fanned her face, then mumbled something about how she hoped we all survived her cooking.
“Slaving away?” The wrinkles around Rosa’s eyes deepened and she grew misty. “Since when is cooking anything but pure delight?”
Judging from the look in Mama’s eyes, she felt a bit panicked. No doubt this announcement had her reeling. She would be left alone to man—er, woman—the Rossi kitchen.
My brother Armando gazed with sadness at Uncle Laz. “It will be the end of the Rossi family as we know it, wait and see. You will come back from Italy to find that we’ve wasted away to nothing. I’ll be skin and bones.”
Hardly. The boy could drop twenty pounds and still have plenty of padding, especially around the mid-section. Of course, I would never say that.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” His wife Scarlet slapped his hand. “I’ll keep you well fed.” She giggled and her cheeks flamed pink.
“I know you will, baby.” He reached over to give her a tender kiss. “At least I know we’ll always have dessert.” He quirked a brow and I realized he wasn’t just talking about food anymore. Ick. These two were definitely still honeymooners at heart.
“Look on the bright side, everyone,” Mama said. “If you don’t like my cooking, you can always eat at Parma John’s.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Nick, my oldest brother, added his thoughts from across the table. “I’ll be serving up pizzas, pasta and salads at the restaurant every day, as usual. So, Rosa and Laz aren’t the only ones in the family who can keep you well fed.” My brother squared his shoulders, the Rossi pride shining through on his face.
“And if you ever want something sweet, you can always come to my bakery,” Scarlet added.
I breathed a visible sigh of relief. Nick and Scarlet had a point. We ate a good portion of our meals at Parma John’s anyway, especially on the days when Nick served the Mambo Italiano Special—a yummy Dean Martin themed pizza pie. Suddenly I felt much better about Rosa and Laz’s decision to travel. We would survive without them.
“If anyone deserves a great vacation, it’s you two.” I gave my Aunt what I hoped would look like a convincing smile. “I’ve never known two people who worked harder than you and Laz. You cook for us, help out at Parma John’s, and star in your own television show on The Food Network. And you help with every wedding, to boot. Who else could handle so much and still stay sane?”
“No one ever accused me of being sane.” Uncle Laz gave me a little wink. “But I’m tired just listening to the list of all we do. You’ve just confirmed it for me, Bella. It’s time for a break.”
“Thanks a lot, Bella.” Armando sighed. “Convince them to go. Great idea. We’re all so grateful.”
“I think they deserve a vacation,” I said. “We all do.”
“I’m not questioning your decision to go.” Pop scooped up a mound of pasta onto his fork. “Just the timing. It’s almost Thanksgiving. Who’s going to make the turkey and dressing? And the pies?”
Deafening silence filled the room as we all turned to face them. Without Rosa’s familiar dishes, the holiday would seem strangely off-kilter.
Rosa dabbed her lips with her napkin then reached for her water glass. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re not leaving until the Saturday after Thanksgiving. We fly out on the 28
th
. So, expect the usual feast on Thanksgiving day.” She took a sip from her glass and put it back down.
A visible sigh of relief sounded from all in attendance, and the clicking of silverware kicked in again as folks dove back into their food. I breathed in the luscious aroma of the manicotti’s sauce. The yummy scent hovered in the air around us. No matter how many years I’d lived in my own house with D.J., I still loved these twice-weekly dinners with my family in my childhood home.
Ah…D.J. How I loved that man of mine. Of course, I loved everyone seated around the table. What’s not to love in an Italian family, after all?
My family hailed from Italy, by way of New Jersey. How we landed on Galveston Island was a story that led back to my Aunt Bianca, Uncle Laz’s first wife. Quite the tale.
We Rossi’s pretty much melted in the heat those first few years in Texas, but slowly acclimated to both the extreme humidity and the hot summers. We wouldn’t go back to New Jersey now, even if the governor issued a personal invitation. Still, our version of “Texan” varied a bit from the norm. Yes, a few of us wore cowboy boots on occasion. And true, we’d learned to say y’all. Several of us had even learned the Texas two-step. But no one—stress, no one—in the Rossi clan could hold a handle to D.J. when it came to being an authentic Texan. That boy ate, slept and breathed cowboy. Hunky. Delicious. All-American with apple pie on top cowboy. And I’d fallen head over heels for him the moment I’d clamped eyes on him the first time. The boy knocked me off my feet. Literally. Our first evening together I’d hit the floor, literally. Passed out cold. Okay, so that incident had a little something to do with stress over a misunderstanding related to my new job as coordinator at Club Wed, but still. . .his cowboyish ways had bowled me over.
And now, years later, he was mine. . .all mine. Well, mine. . .and my family’s. We Rossis knew how to sweep people in, and no better place than the dining room table.
Surrounding myself with family was amazing, of course, but nothing could top the food. Not with Aunt Rosa and Uncle Laz creating the menus and preparing the meals.
I reached to fill my plate once again, sighing as I realized I’d already had too much. Still, who could blame me? Heaven help the poor soul trying to diet in our family. The temptations on a night like tonight would probably do them in. Who could resist, especially with my aunt and uncle at the helm. Their ethnic Italian fare, rich in flavor, captivated the imagination with their savory sauces and robust spices. Not to mention the fact that Aunt Rosa grew her own tomatoes—Romas—in the backyard, along with basil, rosemary, cilantro and much more. Having access to the finest vegetables made all the difference, and it showed in every meal the duo cooked—whether they were preparing dishes for the family or cooking in front of television audiences for their Food Network Show,
The Italian Kitchen
. Authentic Mediterranean cuisine at its finest—rich, tasty, and hearty—and all mine for the taking as I gathered together with family on a night like tonight. Just what a girl needed after a long day’s work. A true celebration of life, love and family.
I took another bite of the manicotti, enjoying its hearty flavor, rich with spices. The gooey mozzarella oozed from the shells, dribbling down onto my plate below. I managed to catch it with my tongue, but got sauce on my chin in the process. My sweet hubby reached over with his napkin and dabbed it off, then gave me a little kiss on the cheek. I winked at him, and the butterfly farm in my stomach set to flight, just as it had done that very first day I’d met him.
“No PDA at the table,” Pop called out.
I knew what he meant, of course: Public displays of affection.
“Hey, we’re old married people now,” I countered. “Remember?”
“I would hope so, what with the four kids and all.” My father let out a raucous laugh then ripped a garlic roll in half and stuck a piece in his mouth.
Oh, the feelings of joy that swept over me in that moment. So much could be said about the experience of eating with my family, but only one word came to mind at the moment: homey. I always felt bonded—with the people, the food, the whole experience. Other families experienced this feeling at Thanksgiving and Christmas, perhaps, we but Rossis didn’t wait for the holidays. We ate together as often—and as much—as possible. And no one—stress, no one—got up from the table until they were full. Very, very full.
Still, as I caught a glimpse of Mama, I had to admit, she still looked a bit worried. “How long will you and Laz stay in Europe?” she asked Aunt Rosa. “Will you be gone during the Christmas holidays?”
“We arrive home on the 18
th
of December, in plenty of time to prepare for Christmas.” Rosa clasped her hands together at her ample chest. “But we’ve given ourselves plenty of time to see all of the sights in Europe. We’re starting in Italy of course, and will go from there.”
“Oh, and Paris. Don’t forget Paris.” Laz stabbed the manicotti with his fork, then dropped it onto his plate.
“But, what about your show?” my mother asked. “Do the people at The Food Network know you’re going to be gone for so long?”
“That’s the best part.” Rosa reached across the table and snagged the butter. “We’re not filming for the entire month of December, so the timing couldn’t be better.”
Maybe. Or maybe not. Concern overtook me as I thought of one complication. “But Rosa, what about the Collins’ wedding?”
From the moment I’d taken over management of Club Wed, our family’s premiere wedding facility at the old Victorian home next door to my parents’ house, Rosa and Laz had participated in every event, catering, baking, serving and wowing guests with their culinary skills. How could I manage without them, especially with such a busy season ahead? Ack.
Crinkles formed around Rosa’s tired eyes. “Which wedding is that, again, Bella?” she asked. “I don’t recognize the name.”
“Justine Collins. Remember? The meteorologist from Channel Eleven? She’s marrying the scientist guy? The one with the PBS show for kids? The guy who likes stars? You were going to make the star-shaped pasta for their wedding on the 19
th
of December.”
“Wait. A man who likes stars?” Pop wrinkled his nose as he loaded his fork with pasta. “What kind of a man likes stars? Is this one of those Hollywood-types? Some friend of Brock Benson’s?” The mound of linguini disappeared into his mouth in one bite.
“Not movie stars, Cosmo.” Mama rolled her eyes. “The kind in the sky. He studies them or some such thing.”
Pop swallowed and took a swig of water. “Still sounds like a weird job for a man, if you ask me.”
“Harold is very famous,” I explained. “He’s got his own show on PBS. It’s an astronomy show for kids. And we’ve been working on this celestial themed wedding for months now. They’re getting married on December 19
th
because—supposedly—there’s a full moon and the stars are going to put on a show. Oh, and the weather is supposed to be absolutely ideal that day, according to Justine.”
“Put on a show?” Armando looked perplexed by this idea.
