The Love Goddess' Cooking School (22 page)

“Unless I embarrass her by trying to moonwalk or something.”

Holly laughed. She wanted to run down the road and hug him and then come right back to the safety of this cottage, but she stayed put in bed, Antonio curled in a semicircle at her feet.

All day Saturday, Holly was dying to call the Geller house and ask if Mia needed anything for the dance, if she needed help getting ready. Holly might not have gotten along so well with her mother during her own tween and teen years, but Luciana Constantina Maguire had always been there, with that box of Tampax when she first got her period, when she needed a strapless bra for her 32AA-sized chest for her first school dance, when she’d been betrayed by friends or hurt by boys. Her mother wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but she’d been there.

Holly couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be a girl with a mother who basically gave her up for a new husband
and a glittering life three thousand miles away in California with constant trips to Europe so that Mia wasn’t even sure where she should call if she wanted to reach her mother. Two years of that had to have taken its toll on Mia—and Liam. No wonder he’d had such high hopes for head-to-toe pink Jodie with her pretty highlights and focus on which colors best suited which complexions. There was a superficiality there that wouldn’t interfere in the two-ness of the fragile Geller family, yet there was a supergirliness that Liam thought would make up for a total absence of a mother. Holly didn’t have to wonder if Jodie missed Mia. She’d seen the lack of real warmth when Jodie had inquired about the cooking class. But Jodie would have come in handy tonight as Mia was getting ready, not that Mia would have let Jodie anywhere near her.

Holly would love to see Mia all dressed up in her sparkly lavender dress with the dangling beaded earrings. But she kept her hands off the phone. She had agreed to take things very slowly, which included not busting in on Liam’s first experience with his daughter’s first school dance. He could handle whatever came up. Like telling Mia she looked beautiful in a cracking voice that would assure her he meant it.

On a day when she could keep herself distracted by rolling out pasta and trying a new shape, like tortellini, which seemed very intricate to Holly, she’d barely spent any time in the kitchen at all. She’d sold four containers of the penne and six jars of the vodka sauce from yesterday, and then found herself standing in the middle of the living room and taking stock of the furniture and decorations, as though she suddenly realized
this was her home now, hers to change if she wanted. Like the depressing-to-look-at oil painting of a stern-faced older man walking with a cane, Camilla Constantina’s own grandfather. And the lamp, on the beautiful side table by the window with the See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil three wise monkeys sitting around the base, creeped her out. Holly took down the painting and removed the lamp, then went upstairs and pulled down the creaky attic steps, bringing the painting and lamp, one at a time, up with her. The small attic was very clean and spare, but there were a few lamps and several paintings and an entire bookshelf of books, most in Italian. Holly spent an hour going through everything, filling a large basket with things she loved, like three little sculptures of the human figure, a man, woman, and a child, and four small paintings, one of Antonio, looking cranky and bored, as always, one of the house Camilla had grown up in in Italy, one of this bungalow, and one of Camilla sitting on a stone bench near her tomatoes.

Holly brought her treasures down, happy with the idea that she could make this house more her own. Now that she’d gotten the catering job and there was the potential to go after other affairs, especially between now and the wedding, she didn’t feel so much like a guest in her own home anymore. She could start thinking of this cottage as hers, her home, and put herself into it. She liked her grandmother’s romantic, ornate style, her love of the Tuscan colors and European influences. But with the pretty beaded lamp in the living room and a painting of a perfect olive tree where the dour-faced grandfather had been, the living room was a place that Holly would want to spend time in, reading a
novel or just staring into space.

Once she was satisfied with the living room, she got out the cleaning supplies and spent the next couple of hours vacuuming, dusting, and polishing, enjoying every minute of the work she usually found tedious. After a long, hot shower, she dressed in soft yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt and stood in her bedroom, surveying the décor for what she wanted to change. The thick white polyester curtains on the window would have to go. Something floaty and sheer in its place, with perhaps some dark green velvet drapes. She’d ask Tamara for help with that.

The phone rang and Holly lunged for it. It was just after seven forty-five, and the Fall Ball had started at seven, so it wouldn’t be Liam or Mia asking her to come down and see how pretty Mia looked. Which, she had to admit, was a call she’d been hoping for during her cleaning frenzy. It was Tamara, and Holly was glad, because she could use a girlfriend right then.

Tamara launched into a funny blow-by-blow of the date she’d gone on last night, a good second date with a sports reporter named Cameron. He’d arranged the evening, a dinner cruise around Casco Bay, from which, Tamara noted, there was no escape, so he must have really liked her on their first date.

“He barely talked about sports the entire night,” Tamara said. “And he’s so funny! And smart and so, so hot. Holly, you should see him. He has incredible green eyes. And great guy hair, dark blond and kinda wavy. And every time I told him one of my funny stories about decorating someone’s office or
house, he really listened and asked questions. And he drove me home and gave me the kiss of my life at the door without even one lame attempt at getting inside. I was so close to inviting him anyway, but something just told me to hold off, not rush things, and he asked me out for a third date right then and there. Oh, God, Holly, I think I’m in love. Can you be in love after two dates?”

“Definitely yes. And he sounds wonderful. I’m so happy for you, Tamara.”

“He’s gonna look so amazing in a tux,” Tamara said, and Holly knew her friend was envisioning herself in her sister’s bridesmaid dress, green-eyed Cameron in his tux at her side. “I can’t believe how much I like him after two dates. I’m even thinking he’ll be getting some third-date sex.”

Holly laughed. Third-date sex. She could quite possibly have a third date with Liam any day now. If she counted dinner with the Gellers as a first date. But third-date sex was not going “very slow.” It was the opposite of slow.

“Just when I thought I was destined to spend every wedding, holiday, special occasion, and Saturday night—not to mention the rest of my life—alone, I meet this guy. Don’t you love the name Cameron? And guess what, Holl? I’m cooking for him on Wednesday night. I’m thinking your tagliatelle Bolognese, some bruschetta with the tomatoes and eggplant, and a bottle of great red wine. And for dessert, maybe tiramisu—in goblets.”

Holly was touched by the “your tagliatelle.” Not “your grandmother’s.” Not “Camilla’s Cucinotta’s.”
Yours.
“That sounds perfect, Tamara. Romantic, sexy, light, yet full of mystery.”

She laughed. “Oh, good, because that’s
exactly
what I’m going for.”

Holly thought about telling Tamara about her own date, but she wanted to keep it private for a while, keep it all hers.

The doorbell rang just as Tamara was saying good-bye. Holly headed downstairs, glancing at the grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs. It was just past eight. Juliet, maybe? Francesca, stopping by to tell her she had to take it back, that the wedding job had gone to Avery Windemere after all?

But it was Liam, looking pale and nervous and furious. Just past eight o’clock meant it was only one hour into the school dance he was supposed to be chaperoning.

“Liam? Why are—”

“Her mother showed up. One minute the band’s playing Miley Cyrus, and the next they’re singing ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Mia,’ and there’s Veronica, standing onstage holding long-stemmed red roses and looking like a rock star in some trendy outfit.”

That was unexpected. Or maybe not. “Wow. Mia must have been thrilled.”

But Liam clearly wasn’t. “Of course she was. She was so shocked she didn’t move for a moment, and then she rushed up for what seemed like the staged hug of the year.”

That seemed a little cynical. “It must have meant the world to Mia, though.”

“Her mother has done this twice before. Not seen her for months, then just blows into town like a fucking tornado and swallows her up and spits her out on her way out of town.”

“Come in, Liam,” she said, her hand on his arm. “I’ll make you some coffee. Or maybe you want a drink?”

He stepped inside but didn’t take off his coat, didn’t answer her. “She misses her birthday, makes Mia cry all day and night, then shows up three songs into her first school dance, barges in on her first date, and makes it all about her, how she couldn’t ‘bear another minute on this earth without seeing her baby.’ Right. Mia barely said good-bye to her date. Or me.”

“I can imagine how excited she must have been, though, Liam. This was her dream.”

He stared at her. “Her dream. Her dream to see her mother? Every six, eight months? Whenever Veronica is feeling low or gets into a fight with her husband and needs somewhere to hide for a while? So she suddenly remembers she has a daughter and her sudden fake love and fake concern fills her up for a good few days until she’s feeling so much better that she’s ready to go back to her jerk of a husband.”

“Liam, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know this woman. I can’t speak about her motives. I just know that she’s Mia’s mother.”

“
Barely
her mother. And when she’s tired of Mia, when Mia starts actually demanding things from her, needing things from her, like
love,
Veronica will leave and break her heart into a million pieces, and it’ll be me sweeping up again. Until the next time this happens. I’m sick of it, Holly.”

She didn’t know what to do, what to say, so she opened her arms and he hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer and let her wrap her arms around him.

“I can’t do anything either,” he said, his arms resting heavily on her shoulders. “I’m completely powerless in this. I have to just let what happens happens. That sucks.”

“Maybe things will be just fine,” Holly said, her voice almost a whisper since his ear was so close to her mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment, the feel of him against her so nice. She hoped she had the right things to say now that he needed her, needed her to say something that would make this okay. “Maybe her mother will stay for the weekend, treat Mia like a princess, then go home on Sunday night with promises to come back soon. And maybe that’ll fill up Mia till the next time. That her mother crashed the dance probably made her so happy. And everyone saw Veronica make a big fuss over her birthday.”

“Yeah, a day late.”

Holly hugged him a bit tighter. “Mia’s happy right now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So go with that. She’s happy. Her birthday wish, a day late or not, came true. She’s with her mom. Go with that and try not to think of what might happen. Because what might happen is likely that she’ll go home tomorrow night, leaving Mia feeling loved.”

He relaxed against her but didn’t say anything. Just held her. “Your hair smells like flowers again.”

“I just took a shower.”

He was silent again for a moment and then he kissed her, a kiss that seemed to contain every emotion he was feeling,
from anger to despair. But there was something in that kiss that didn’t feel very “go slow.” And so she took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen where they sat next to each other on the island stools and she fed him cheese and grapes and a crusty Italian bread until he seemed calmer.

So calm that he leaned very close and kissed her. “I’m a wreck.”

“Maybe I can help,” she whispered. She got up and stood behind his chair, careful not to get closer than she needed to, massaging the back of his neck, his strong shoulders. She could feel the knots and dug in deep to work them out.

And then he stood up and kissed her. Not a kiss like before, where he wasn’t looking at her. A full-on stare-into-her-eyes-and-then-kiss-her kiss. She kissed him back, so overwhelmed by emotion and the desire to feel his hands on her, anywhere on her, that she could barely process thought. Somewhere, the imaginary little shoulder angel and devil were having a conversation on their respective sides, the angel offering a gentle warning that this might not be a good idea, given all the drama, the complications. But the little devil, with its pudgy belly and pointy ears, was so comical that Holly almost laughed when he rolled his eyes at the angel and whispered,
Oh, whatever.

So when Liam picked her up like he was Richard Gere and carried her upstairs, she briefly, vaguely thought of saying something like
Maybe this isn’t a good idea. This isn’t very slow.
But when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out, and he took the opportunity to kiss her as he carried her up the stairs. She trailed her tongue up the side of his neck to
his ear, and when he brought her to a bedroom, what was now truly
her
bedroom, and laid her down on the iron bed with the Po River stones, she decided it was fate, that the stones were offering their blessing.

And she still said nothing as he slowly lifted her T-shirt over her stomach, over her breasts, where he spent a good few moments before slipping the shirt over her head and tossing it off the bed. She did the same to his shirt, kissing her way down as she unbuttoned. She loved the sight of their shirts in a messy heap on the floor, then her attention was completely taken by the feel of his hands and mouth making their way across various bare expanses of her skin until she was completely naked, her yoga pants and lacy white underwear and his gray pants and black boxer briefs, Calvin Klein, she could see from the waistband, joining their shirts.