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“Mr. Harrison? No, you’re wrong. I’ve only seen him twice, and there’s nothing there. Nothing. Not a thought or idea. Not a thing.”
He stared at her with a faint smile on his face. “Are you sure about that? You seem a little too adamant.”
“I protest too much, in other words?” She gave a shrug. “There’s something about him that really bugs me. I can’t describe it.”
She could tell Mateo wasn’t convinced. Not that it should matter if he was. Mr. Harrison wasn’t her type. She didn’t want to get involved with a workaholic who spent his life on his cell phone, rather than paying attention to the world around him. She knew too well what that was like. And she didn’t intend to go down that path again.
She gripped the door handle. “Thank you again for a lovely evening.”
“My pleasure.”
He started to open his door, but she put out a hand to stop him. “You don’t need to walk me to the door. I’ll be fine.”
“I may not be interested in you romantically, but I haven’t forgotten my manners.”
She got out of the car and waited for him to join her on the sidewalk. At the house, Mateo stood on the bottom step as she unlocked the front door. When it opened, she turned and looked down at him. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Good luck on your second-chance list.”
“Sherri told you?”
He nodded. “I think it’s great that you’re trying to get back into life after your brush with cancer.”
“It was more than a brush.”
He frowned. “You know my mother died from breast cancer? It was horrible to watch the life drain away from her daily.” His expression softened. “So the fact that you’re grabbing life with both hands is something to be proud of. Best of luck with the rest of your list.”
She stepped inside her house and watched him as he turned on his heel, got back into his car and left. She shut the door and locked it before placing her clutch on the table along with her keys. Leaning on the door for a moment, she retrieved her cell phone from the purse and texted Page. Salsa dancing fun. No sparks with Mateo.
A few seconds later, her cell phone rang. “What do you mean there were no sparks? The man is soooo hot, so smart—”
“We had a good time, but there was no chemistry between us.” April plopped onto the sofa and kept the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she took off one shoe, then the other. “Besides, the cancer thing puts him off a little.”
Silence on the other end. Then Page cleared her throat. “Did he actually say that?”
“No, he mentioned his mom died from it and how hard that was to watch.” She massaged one foot and eased into the sofa. “It’s fine. We’ll just be friends. No big deal.”
“So what’s next on your list?”
She plucked her journal from the coffee table and opened it. “I saw an ad in the staff lounge about Italian cooking classes being offered nearby. You know I’ve always wanted to learn to cook, so why not pasta?”
“I don’t think even you could burn water.”
“Want to take the class with me?”
More silence, then a huff of resignation. “Fine. Let me know when and where.”
* * *
ZACH BAGGED MRS. ZERELLI’S groceries as his grandmother rang up the purchases. “You’ve grown into a fine young man, Zachary.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Zerelli.” He tucked one paper bag under his arm and hoisted the second. “Why don’t I walk these out to the car for you?”
She patted his cheeks as his grandmother beamed at him. “Such a good boy.”
He escorted Mrs. Zerelli to her car and waited for her to unlock the trunk before placing her bags of groceries inside and slamming it shut. He waved away the dollar she tried to press into his hand. “It’s all part of the Rossi service, Mrs. Zerelli.”
Again, the woman patted his cheeks. “Francisco and Angelina are lucky to have you.”
He swallowed the guilt that gnawed at him since he hadn’t been with his grandparents much the last few weeks. But he smiled and opened the car door for Mrs. Zerelli, then closed it once she was inside. He waved as she backed out of the parking spot and left the lot.
Behind the register, Nonna was ringing the next customer’s purchases. For a snowy Saturday in late February, his grandparents’ market seemed to be bustling with business. Zach had planned on stopping in to get a recommendation for a caterer for the Ramos wedding, but seeing the lines and Nonna’s stooped figure behind the register changed it. When he’d been a kid, he’d helped out plenty of afternoons and weekends.
He returned to Nonna’s side and started to bag the groceries. She turned to him. “I’m surprised to see you. I thought you were at your office.”
“It’s Saturday.”
Nonna gave him a look, and he flushed. Okay, so he’d been working a lot lately, but his mother depended on him. “Actually, I was hoping to get some ideas from you for a client of mine. Well, a potential client.”
“I don’t know anything about sports. You should talk to Pops about that. He’s looking after the meat counter today.” She told the customer the total cost of her purchases as he finished putting the items in the bags. “Have a great day, and we’ll see you on your next visit.”
The customer left, and Nonna started to ring up the next person’s groceries. Zach leaned in to whisper in her ear. “This isn’t about sports. It’s about throwing a wedding.”
Nonna paused from her work and stared at him. “I didn’t even know you were dating.”
He jerked up his hands like a criminal caught red-handed. “I’m not. Like I said, it’s for a client. I need to throw him a quick wedding, and I know nothing about how to do it. The ceremony, the reception, caterers, music, Marissa took care of all of that before.”
Nonna called over to one of her staff and had him take over the register. She put her arm through Zach’s and pulled him into the office. She took a seat behind the desk, opened one of the drawers and brought out a large white binder. “These are all my neighborhood contacts. Flowers. Food. Music. A hall. Whatever you need.”
Zach accepted the book and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”
She laughed and stood. “Now, out of my way. We’re busy.”
He glanced around the market. “I could give you a hand for a little bit.”
“Trying to worm your way into a dinner invitation?”
He gave a shrug. “I haven’t had your cooking in a long time. I think I’m overdue.”
She paused. “And your mother?”
He didn’t know what shape she’d be in, but he could check on her and bring her with him if it was a good day. “We’ll see.”
“She’s my daughter, and I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
Zach understood that, but his first concern was his mother’s health. “Dinner at seven?”
This time, she kissed his cheek loudly. “You are a good boy.”
He didn’t know about that, but he tried. As he was leaving, he almost ran down a woman in a pastel pink jacket with matching hat and scarf. She tried to peer around him into the office. “Sorry, miss. Do you need something?”
She took off her hat, and he noticed that it was Dr. Sprader. Her jaw dropped at his presence, then she pursed her lips. “I was looking for Mrs. Rossi. I wanted to sign up for her cooking classes.”
“It’s you.” He shook his head, knowing that didn’t come out right. “My grandmother’s right here.” He turned to Nonna. “You still teach those?”
She shrugged and motioned for the doctor to come into the office. “I like to pass along my knowledge, so why not? Our next class is next Tuesday. Zach, it wouldn’t hurt you to brush up on your cooking skills.”
Dr. Sprader seemed a bit stunned. “Your grandmother?”
Nonna looked between him and the doctor. “You two know each other?”
“We keep bumping into each other.” The doc bristled at that and turned her back to him. “I was hoping to sign up my friend and me. But I have to admit, we’re both novices at cooking.”
“I teach all skill levels. And if you’re a beginner, all the better. You won’t come into my class with awful habits. I can mold you.” Nonna brought out a calendar. “And your names?”
“April Sprader and Page Kosinski.”
Zach looked at her. She looked like an April. A woman with a spring attitude. Shaking off the dull grays of winter and embracing a rebirth. He gave himself a mental slap in the head. Where was he coming up with this stuff? “April.” She faced him, and he realized he’d said her name out loud. “First dancing, now cooking. What are you trying to do? Mark off items on your bucket list?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I am.” She got out her wallet and handed Nonna a few twenties. “I look forward to our first class.” She ignored him as she passed by him.
Nonna slid the money in an envelope and wrote the names on the front of it before securing it in one of the desk drawers. “You sure you don’t want to come to one of my classes?”
“I don’t have time to cook, Nonna.”
“I figured you might want to join so it would give you an excuse to be around that woman.”
He pointed in the direction April had left. “Dr. Sprader? I don’t think so.”
Nonna eyed him, but he didn’t fidget or look away. “Something wrong with her?”
“Where do you want me to start?” He chuckled. “First off, she doesn’t like me. Not that I’m all that fond of her.”
“She seemed perfectly sweet to me.”
He gave a shrug and clutched the book firmly. “Maybe, but I’ve got more important things to pursue. Thanks again for your contacts, Nonna.”
“Class is Tuesday night at eight in case you change your mind.”
But he wouldn’t. He had a wedding to plan, a mother to care for, and clients who depended on him for their careers. The last thing he needed was a distraction of the female variety.
CHAPTER THREE
ZACH STARED OUT the window of his office, not paying attention to his cell phone. It buzzed with multiple text messages. He’d spent most of his weekend nailing down details for the Ramos wedding. He’d already downloaded the application for a marriage license and found a priest who would perform the ceremony at the banquet hall where Nonna knew the chef and had given him a discount since the happy couple would be married on a Sunday night. There were other details to take care of, but he’d made a sizable dent.
He pushed his wandering thoughts aside and picked up the phone. The first message was from Johnson, asking if he had heard anything yet about the offer from the Lions. Ramos wanted to know if they could fly out his parents from Puerto Rico in time for the wedding. And Coach Petrullo needed an update on Johnson’s health. He answered them all. He’d make it work. Because that’s what he did: took on the impossible and it happened.
His phone buzzed with a new text message. Bad day. Can you come home early?
He checked the time. Not even noon, and the day nurse wanted him to leave already? He replied that he’d stop by at lunchtime. He could kill two birds with that stone: get something to eat and check up on his mom. Then he’d drive out to the practice fields and talk to both Johnson and the coach. Life was all about multitasking.
He glanced out the window again, the gray February skies muddying his mood, turning it cold and dark. Images of Dr. Sprader crossed his mind, bringing a ray of sunshine to dissipate his gloomy state. Sure, she had appeared as if she were angry at him, but when he watched her with her patients, she had radiated something akin to kindness and compassion. A sort of contentment or...peace.
He straightened his tie and stood up. He didn’t have time to think about what he didn’t have. Better to focus on what he did.
He grabbed his wool trench coat from the hook behind his office door and stopped by his assistant’s desk. “I’ll be taking an early lunch today and stopping by practice to check on Antonio. Any messages before I leave?”
Dalvin huffed. “I keep this place a well-oiled machine. Nothing happens without you knowing.”
Zach clapped Dalvin on the shoulder. “You’ve got my number in case anything does come up.”
Dalvin pointed at his computer screen. “What do you think of these as wedding favors?”
Zach bent forward, scrunched his face. “We have to have favors, too?”
Dalvin shrugged. “I read about them on Pinterest.” His assistant pulled several sheets and fanned through them. “These are all the wedding details that still need planning.”
“That’s why I have you.” He sighed at the papers. “We’ll review them when I return.” He glanced at his watch. “Hopefully before four.”
“You got it, boss.”
Zach took the elevator to the parking garage below the building and walked to his sleek, black luxury SUV. Being an agent meant keeping up appearances, so he spent more than he should to project a successful image. He hit the key fob and unlocked the door before sliding into the leather seat and starting the powerful engine.
The drive from his office to his mother’s house took about a half hour on a good day, but the recent snow had left the roads slushy, slowing drivers. He arrived at the house he’d grown up in and parked behind the day nurse’s car. He took a deep breath before trudging up the snow-covered driveway to the back door. He unlocked it and jogged up a few steps into the kitchen. He turned right and found Dolores sitting at the dining room table, her head in her hands. She looked up at him when he called her name.
“Thank goodness you’re here. She’s been asking for you.”
He raised an eyebrow at this and took his coat off, hanging it on the back of one of the four chairs. “She remembers me today? That’s new.”
“Well, she’s been calling for your father, but she means you.” Dolores stood and pulled the edges of her pink cardigan closer together. “When I tried to explain that you’re at work, she threw her cereal bowl at me.”
He noted the dried milk spots on the cardigan. “You’re a saint for putting up with all of this.”
“And here I was thinking the same thing about you.”
A shriek from the back bedroom caught his attention. He walked down the short hallway to his mother’s room and opened the door. “Mother, I’m here.”
Her blank eyes lacked focus as he stood in the doorway watching her. “I knew you’d come home,” she said.
He stepped over clothes she’d probably thrown in a fit of temper and took a seat in the recliner next to her bed. “I always come home.”
“Because you’re a good man, Robert.” She reached out and touched his cheek.
“I’m Zach. Your son.” The doctor had said it was good to remind her of the reality despite her stubborn hold on the past. “Dad died when I was ten.”
She blinked. “Zach.” Her eyes searched his. “Zach should be home from school soon. Such a well-behaved boy. Smart. Just like his father.”
She put a hand on his, and he patted it before rising from the chair. “I’m just going to grab some lunch and then I have to go back to work, okay? But you be good for Dolores. She takes excellent care of you.”
“I want you to stay.” His mother pouted like a three-year-old who couldn’t get her own way. “You promised you’d take me for a picnic.”
“It’s the end of February, Mom. We have to wait for the warmer weather.” He noted the time and got a bottle of pills from the top of the dresser. Shaking out two pills into his hand, he said, “It’s time for your medicine. This will help you feel better.”
She took the pills like an obedient child, then fixed her gaze on the window. When she faced him again, he could tell he’d lost her once more. Her eyes looked at him, blank and confused. “I’m so tired.”
He helped her lie back on the bed and covered her with the quilt Nonna had made. “I know.” He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you take a nap? You always feel better after.”
She snuggled into the covers and closed her eyes. “Wake me when Robert gets home.”
“I will, Mother.” He watched her for a moment, then left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. He paused before continuing down the hallway. “She’s taken her meds, Dolores, so she’ll sleep for you.” He shrugged into his coat. “Text me if you need anything.”
“You can always calm her down. That’s a gift.”
He gave a nod, wishing he had the gift of restoring his mother’s memory. That would have much more worth. From his car, he stared up at the house. He’d had to move in last year when his mother’s condition had worsened. No longer able to care for her from a distance, he’d given up his apartment and most of his personal life to be the dutiful son.
And most days, he didn’t regret it.
* * *
IN THE LARGE commercial kitchen, Page and April took their places at a stainless steel table where cooking utensils and fresh ingredients waited to be transformed into something edible. April wrinkled her nose as she picked up the recipe card. “Homemade pasta? Maybe we’re not ready for this class.”
“I got the night off to come here, so we’re not chickening out.” Page glanced around the kitchen as more students started to filter in. “Besides, I want to make this pasta so we can eat it. I’m starving.”
“I told you to eat something before we came.”
Page brushed off the suggestion. “I was feeling nauseous at the time, but I’m fine now.”
April frowned at her friend. She’d been complaining more often about feeling sick lately. Considering it was Page, this wasn’t unusual. The fact that she tried to downplay it was a concern, however. “Have you seen your oncologist lately?”
“Stop worrying about me. We’re here to mark another item off your list.”
Mrs. Rossi entered the kitchen, and the din of conversations among the students died down. She smiled at each of them. “I’m glad to see so many new faces mixed among my seasoned students. If you saw the recipe cards, you’ll know we’re making pasta tonight. It’s an ambitious task for the first class, but you’ll find that fresh pasta will make a big difference to your cooking.” She picked up an apron and held it up in front of the students. “You’ll find aprons below the table for your use, unless you’d rather go home sprinkled in flour.”
April squatted down and found a stack of white aprons on the shelf. She grabbed two and handed one to Page. “You might want to get one more.”
When April straightened, she found Mr. Harrison standing next to her. “You’re taking the class?”
“My nonna thinks it will help me.” He leaned down, got an apron and put it on over his head, covering the shirt and tie he wore. He wrapped the apron strings around him once and tied them together in the front. He looked natural with it on, and she found herself staring at him, her own apron still in her hand. He took it from her and slipped it on her, looking into her eyes as he secured the ties in front. “There. Now you look like a cook.”
“Mr. Harrison—”
“It’s Zach. And you’re April.”
Page waved her hand between them. “And I’m Page. You’re the sports agent April has been talking about?”
April instantly glared at her. She hadn’t been talking about him. Okay, so she’d mentioned him once or twice. And maybe she’d thought about him more than she should, but it wasn’t like she was obsessed with him. “I told her how you subdued Harley in the ER.”
“And how she saw you when she went dancing. And again when she signed up for this class.” Page shrugged as April stared at her openmouthed. “What? Like it’s any big secret?”
April gestured to Zach. “She makes it sound worse than it is. You’ll find she’s very good at that.”
Mrs. Rossi came around and dropped a sifter on their table before tapping Zach’s cheek. “I’d hoped you would come.” She glanced at April. “But then I see you found a purpose to be here.”
He glanced at April, then at his grandmother. “Thanks for that, Nonna.”
Conversation stopped as they sifted together the all-purpose flour, semolina flour and salt into a large pile in front of the three of them. Zach used a fork to create a deep well in the center of the combined flours, and Page cracked open and added the eggs. Zach handed April the fork, and she started to mix the eggs together while Page put the olive oil into the mixture. When it came time to knead the dough, Zach rolled up his shirtsleeves and did it like an expert. “My nonna had me knead a lot of dough as a kid. I’ve got this part down pat.”
April watched the muscles of his arms as he pushed the dough away, then pulled it toward him, mixing it and forming it into a ball. She admired how his fingers deftly massaged the dough. Why was she thinking about his hands and arms? She didn’t need Mr. Harrison...Zach to become a distraction for her. She was making her life better, and learning to cook was only the beginning.
Zach wrapped the dough in clear plastic wrap so that it could rest for a half hour. Attention returned to Mrs. Rossi as she explained how to prepare a basic pesto sauce. When she called for volunteers, April glanced around the kitchen rather than making eye contact. There was no way she was going to go up to the front of the class and show how inept she was at this. “Why don’t we have April and Zach demonstrate what I’m talking about?”
Rats. Page sniggered behind one hand, and she gave her friend a look. Page shrugged and nudged her toward the front of the kitchen. April followed Zach to where two mortars and pestles sat on the kitchen counter alongside some ingredients: a leafy herb, bulbs of garlic and some kind of seed or nut. Mrs. Rossi had Zach peel and press the garlic while she roughly chopped the herb that turned out to be basil. “You don’t want to shred it. Just chop it into smaller bunches to fit into the mortar and discard the stems.”
Once they were done with that, Mrs. Rossi added some garlic and basil into each mortar, then had Zach and April pound the ingredients with the pestle. Mrs. Rossi tossed pine nuts into their mixture and had them keep pounding. Mrs. Rossi took the pestle from April and showed her a better technique to mix the ingredients into a paste. She wasn’t surprised the older woman had such developed arms with the workout she was getting.
After the pounding, they spooned the paste into a bowl and included shredded Parmesan and olive oil to make a sauce. April leaned closer to the bowl and took an appreciative sniff. It smelled green and clean. Her tummy growled at the thought.
Mrs. Rossi dismissed April and Zach and demonstrated how to roll out the pasta dough and cut it into shapes. Page nudged April. “You looked good up there.”
“Like I knew what I was doing?”
“Well, no. But you didn’t completely embarrass yourself.”
Page dusted the table with semolina flour and unwrapped the ball of dough. She placed it on the table, and April picked up the rolling pin. She moved the pin back and forth, frowning as the dough stuck to the pin. “What am I doing wrong?”
Zach put a hand on hers to stop her from tearing the dough. She almost dropped the rolling pin from the heat of his touch. “You want to move in several directions, not just back and forth. Let me show you.” He put his hands on hers and directed them forward right, then backward left. Forward. Backward right. Diagonals and straight lines. The dough thinned and became smooth, stretching out in front of them in an oval. He sprinkled some semolina on the rolling pin, and together they stretched the dough out even farther.
Nonna stopped at their table and smiled. “This looks great. What pasta shape do you want to make?”
“Ravioli,” Zach said. She patted his cheek and moved on to the next group. When Page and April looked at him, he shrugged. “I used to make them with her. It’s one of my favorite memories.” He handed April a knife. “You’ll want to cut the pasta in squares of equal size.”
She looked at the beautiful yellow dough in front of them. It was almost too pretty to cut into anything, but she carefully placed the knife on one edge and drew it down to the other. Once they had the dough cut into neat squares, Zach retrieved ricotta and Romano cheeses, eggs and parsley. He gave the parsley to Page to chop while April shredded the Romano cheese. He measured the ingredients into a silver mixing bowl, then showed them how to put a tablespoon of the cheese mixture in the middle of one square then place a second over it, pinching the edges to seal it up tight.