Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) Page 7

  Then he stood to politely ask his brothers to get out, when the door burst open and there stood ChiChi, dressed in a fur-collared, fuchsia rain slicker, matching galoshes, and a strand of pearls. Her hair was stuck to her head, her hand clutching a rolled-up newspaper, and her temper was dialed to seek-and-destroy.

  Trey glared at Marc. “What? Is there a vending machine in the lobby with everyone’s room key in it?”

  “Nope, just yours.”

  ChiChi slammed the door and narrowed her eyes. Right. In. On. Trey. “I just got off the phone with Sara from Tap and Barre School of Dance.”

  Well, at least Trey knew that Sara had the ability to use the phone. Now he had to figure out a way to get her to use it with him.

  “She said that you haven’t signed up for lessons yet,” ChiChi chided, hand over her heaving chest. “Deidra Potter’s got forty years of dance on you, young man, and she is out to take what’s mine.”

  Trey stood, walked over, and kissed ChiChi on the cheek. “Nonna, Mrs. Potter is not—”

  ChiChi smacked the day’s issue of the St. Helena Sentinel right between the two handprints on his chest. “First she sells me tainted soil, killing my best pansies to up her chances of winning, and now she’s out to ruin my Valentine’s Day.” She smacked him again. “Read.”

  Trey took the paper, unfolded it, and looked down at the headline and the six photos that followed, then read aloud, “Finalists for Winter Garden: Best in Show were announced Sunday by the St. Helena Garden Society. First finalist, Peg Stark, owner of Stark Corking, the largest plastic cork company in the valley—”

  ChiChi flapped her regal hand impatiently. “Peggy got the green vote. Her granddaughter stuck her in a retirement home last Christmas. Her patio’s only six-by-eight. She recycled all those malformed corks from that discounted cork-making machine her son bought off eBay, and fashioned them into planter boxes. Keep reading.”

  “Second finalist, Charlene Love—”

  “Pity vote. For God’s sake, get to the important part. Here.” ChiChi pointed her pudgy finger at the bottom of the page with so much force she nearly punched a hole right through it.

  “Holding the county record as an eighteen-time finalist, and nine-time winner, Chiara Amalia Giovanna Ryo, co-owner of DeLuca Wines and Ryo Wines…Congratulations, Nonna.” Trey looked up and went in for the hug but ChiChi fended him off with one arched brow and a pair of very pursed lips.

  Trey sighed. ChiChi was nominated every year and every year she acted surprised, which meant that every year, Trey and his brothers were expected to act surprised. Only this year she looked pissed. Which could only mean one thing.

  Skipping to the photo of Deidra Potter in feathers and some kind of weird flamingo, showgirl costume, Trey read the last line, “…will face off against the nineteen-time finalist, and eight-time winner, Deidra Potter, owner of Petal Pusher: Buds and Vines.”

  “If she wins, she’ll tie me for the county record and her picture will go up next to mine in the Hall of Fame.” Trey refrained from pointing out that the “Hall of Fame” was a stretch of wall between the men’s room and a janitor’s closet in town hall. “She’ll put up that picture of her in those stripper clothes and shame us all. Make a mockery of the most treasured event in St. Helena history.”

  “I thought the unveiling of Randolph the Reindeer was the town’s most treasured event,” Gabe said, referring to St. Helena’s version of lighting a Christmas tree in town square.

  ChiChi ignored him and started fanning herself. “And she’s not against playing dirty, even if she resorts to sabotage. By poison.”

  “You told me that the gophers ate your prized pansies,” Nate reminded her as he stood and pulled her in for a hug. “Which is why I spent six weeks in the rain placing no-kill cages around the property and the next two finding a safe sanctuary for them to roam.”

  “That was before I remembered that Deidra sold me all that fertilizer. Plus, she’s an agricultural professional. Professionals can’t compete in an amateur contest! It’s against the rules!”

  “I’ve never seen that rule,” Gabe said, bending down and kissing ChiChi on the head. ChiChi plucked Baby Sofie from her slingshot and sat down next to Marc, who leaned over and kissed both grannie and baby.

  “Well, we’re going to march right in to that Garden Society meeting and petition that it be added to the bylaws, aren’t we, amore?” ChiChi cooed and Baby Sofie squealed. Babies were like little, drooling mood enhancers—only with legs.

  “Not a smart move, Nonna,” Marc said, taking Baby Sofie and standing her on his thighs. He steadied her while her pudgy little legs pushed up and down, like she was revving up to take off. “Since you’d only end up disqualifying yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “You own a vineyard.” When she feigned innocence, Marc added, “Several in fact. All around the world, which would make you an international agricultural professional.”

  ChiChi harrumphed. Then she reached for the newspaper and spread it open on her lap. Silently, she traced a shaky finger over the photo which accompanied her nomination and bio. Trey sat down next to her and—holy hell—his lungs stopped working.

  The photo was of Nonno Geno gracefully dipping ChiChi under the twinkling arbor at the last Winter Garden Gala they attended together. ChiChi wore a sash declaring her Best in Show, and Geno was smiling down at her like she was his entire world. And in the background—Trey had to squint because the page went a little blurry—were his parents.

  Happy.

  In love.

  And so alive.

  ChiChi took his hand and when she spoke, her voice was so fragile it nearly broke his heart. “With your brothers getting married and giving me all these beautiful grandbabies, this is my last year to be the woman of the house, the only woman in all of your lives. Next year, Regan or Lexi or,” she looked at Nate and grimaced. “Well, Regan and Lexi will have gardens of their own to enter in the contest, prized pansies that their husbands gave them. And I can’t square off against my granddaughters and steal their chances of winning. It wouldn’t be right.”

  ChiChi took out a cloth napkin and dabbed her eyes. Trey was already mentally picking out dance shoes. “Thanks to Deidra, I can’t get those flowers back. I don’t even know if I can win. But I’d like to dance, like in this picture, just once more. And you look and move so much like your grandfather, it melts my heart. Please give this old lady one last spin around the dance floor.”

  Trey pulled her close and breathed her in. She felt so small in his arms and smelled like his childhood. Even though coming home was painful, there was nothing in the world more important to him than his family.

  He’d missed this same dance with his mother. If he stood up ChiChi, he didn’t think he could forgive himself a second time, not that he’d ever forgiven himself the first time. And if this was to be her last Winter Garden Gala as a nominee, then he was going to give her the best damn waltz of her life.

  CHAPTER 5

  Wednesday night, Sara was still trying to wring the rain out of her hair when the bell on the studio’s front door jingled. She looked into the dance mirrors and watched three of her favorite senior dancers enter. Decked out in their best USO costumes for the Tuesday night Swinging Singles Social, the self-titled Foxy Ladies—ChiChi, Lucinda, and Pricilla—made their way across the dance floor.

  “Thanks for introducing me to Brooke,” Sara said, kicking off her rain boots and grabbing her dance shoes before coming out from behind the counter. “When Heather called to say she’d miss class tonight, I didn’t know what to do with Cooper.”

  Heather’s audition had gone so well that the choreographer and director wanted her to meet the male lead, which meant one more night in San Francisco.

  “My pleasure,” Pricilla Moreau said as all three ladies sat down on the bench to swap out their shoes. “Brooke’s a sweet
girl. Reliable too. Works Saturdays at the bakery helping run the cash register and doing odd jobs.”

  “She’s babysat Holly a time or two,” ChiChi added.

  “Stan said your car was still out of commission, so if you need anything,” Lucinda Baudouin said, placing a pudgy white ball of fluff with whiskers and a black necktie on the bench next to her. The woman was all bony limbs and sharp edges. Mr. Puffins, the cat, was all fur and attitude. “A ride to work, groceries, dinner, doesn’t matter the time, just call.”

  Her offer reminded Sara of a similar visit, last summer, when the same three ladies showed up on her doorstep, burnt almond cake and a bottle of homemade angelica in hand, for a welcome-to-the-neighborhood visit. Three hours later, a blubbering Sara was inducted into St. Helena’s Widowed Warriors, Cooper had gained three surrogate grannies, and she’d somehow been swindled into adding Swinging Singles Socials to her schedule.

  Part dance class, part speed dating, and open to everyone who was old enough to buy a glass of wine, it was the studio’s most popular class, besides Pole Dancing.

  “And I will have Trey stop by for a neighborly visit of his own to fix you right up,” ChiChi added with a wink.

  “He’s quite handy,” Pricilla said.

  Sara could just imagine how handy Trey could be, especially with the female sector of town. One shake of that underwear-model posterior and anyone with a set of boobs would be lining up to test the equipment. The new adventurous side of her wanted to make that call. Then the intelligent, more realistic side piped up, reminding her that sexy stud muffins and widowed single mothers played in vastly different leagues.

  “That’s nice of you, but I don’t need any fixing up.” Three sets of silvered brows rose above the rims of their glasses. “Tonight, I am the instructor and you are the single ladies. Now, would someone like to explain why you’re here,” she glanced at her watch, “twenty minutes before class starts?”

  “We’re here on official business,” Pricilla said, her round face flush with excitement. “And to solve your problem.”

  “Could you narrow down which problem you are referring to?”

  “You need more students,” Pricilla said. “Students who don’t require a doctor’s clearance before they can join your classes.”

  Did she ever.

  Sara had walked away from a prestigious yet demanding position as a professor of dance and creative movement at the University of San Diego with dreams of opening a children’s dance academy here, in a town that embodied the close-knit community she craved for her son. Teaching at a less-competitive level would give her more time with Cooper, and her son the kind of life he needed. One that didn’t include day care and nannies. In theory, it had seemed like the smart choice.

  Too bad theory didn’t always translate well into reality. As it was now, Sara spent more evenings at the studio teaching senior classes and doing paperwork than at home reading bedtime stories.

  “You have any ideas?” She had exhausted all of hers.

  She knew growing her school would be a slow process, so she gave herself a year to make it happen. But when summer had turned to fall and fall to winter, and Tap and Barre School of Dance was still in serious lack of tot-size students, Sara had become nervous. If she didn’t get some students who didn’t require girdles and evening classes soon, she was looking at financial trouble on top of everything else.

  “The Winter Garden Gala is in desperate need of spicing up,” Pricilla said, leaning closer. Sara got a heavenly whiff of vanilla and tannins. The woman always smelled like cookies—and wine. “We want you to provide the opening entertainment.”

  “Are you serious?” Sara said. Butt firmly on the bench.

  Providing the opening entertainment for the biggest social dance of the year was exactly the kind of exposure her studio needed. It would give her visibility, community approval, and something tangible for her to point to when mothers came in asking if she was qualified to prepare their toddlers for Julliard.

  That it was hosted by the Garden Society, which was constructed of the PTA mafia and other ladder-climbing mommies of wine country, only made the opportunity that much more amazing. Once they learned that there was to be a performance at the most exclusive ball of the year, every aspiring ballerina and tot-size tapper within a three town radius would be twirling through her door, their mothers begging for classes.

  “Before you go dreaming of sugar plum fairies, you need to sign here. Make it official.” ChiChi handed over a thick contract and Sara felt her heart drop.

  “What’s this?”

  “Finalizing your appointment as the official Gala Entertainment Chair,” Pricilla said with a smile. “You should be proud. You beat out three other applicants.”

  Sara flipped through the very long, very binding contract. “I don’t remember applying.”

  “Oh, we did that for you,” Lucinda explained. “When Peggy threw out her hip and the committee found themselves short one coordinator, we immediately thought of you.”

  Peggy was the owner of the Paws and Claws Day Spa and therefore knew every old biddy and business owner in town. She was outgoing, a gossip, and perfect to plan such an event. Sara, on the other hand, was fairly new to St. Helena, kept to herself, and had never mastered the art of gossip.

  “You run the event and your studio gets hired to provide the opening entertainment.” Pricilla patted Sara’s knee. “Just think about all of the exposure your studio will get.”

  All Sara could think about, as she read through the list of itemized responsibilities of things still left to be done, was all of the time it would take to coordinate an event like this. Opening ceremonies, hiring a band, finding an MC, mandatory Garden Society meetings—the list went on. Even with Heather helping out at home and in the studio, between her classes and Cooper’s schedule, it would be exhausting—if not impossible.

  “Is anything on this list checked off?” she asked.

  All three ladies shook their heads.

  “Peggy’s a procrastinator, but she always comes through,” ChiChi defended. “Always.”

  Apparently not this year, Sara thought.

  “I can help with the opening entertainment, but run the whole night?” Sara shook her head. “I have no idea where to find an MC or a band and even if I did, there is no way I can do this without giving up more time with Cooper.”

  “I’ve been spending time with Archie,” Lucinda explained. “He plays Old Blue Eyes for Rat Pack Redux, a cover band from the local Masonic Lodge. Let me tell you, that man sure knows how to fly me to the moon.” The older woman sighed and when Sara choked, she added, “Don’t give me that look. Just because you aren’t getting any doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t.”

  Now wasn’t that wonderful? Even the senior section of town had a better love life than Sara.

  “We’ll act as your liaisons at the Garden Society meetings,” Pricilla offered diplomatically. “Representing your ideas and helping execute the Gala’s agenda in any way that you see fit.”

  “Uh-huh.” Right now, they were being diplomatic, but the first time Sara’s ideas clashed with theirs, she knew that there would be a battle. In the end, the only agenda that they would push would be the one that benefited their own ideas.

  “Now hurry up and sign before Deidra shows up for class,” ChiChi snapped.

  “Mrs. Potter from Petal Pusher: Buds and Vines?” Sara asked. Deidra’s flower shop was right next door to the studio, and even though it was obvious that ChiChi wasn’t Deidra’s favorite person, Sara couldn’t imagine why they wouldn’t want her to head up the entertainment. She’d be perfect.

  “One in the same,” Lucinda said. “Deidra didn’t even wait for the plaster to dry on Peggy’s cast before she was propositioning the Garden Society with a new idea for the entertainment.”

  “Entertainment?” ChiChi spat, as though
anyone who believed that was dimwitted. “She’s flying in her old stripper friends from Vegas.”

  “Deidra was a showgirl,” Sara corrected, in a neutral tone. The last place she wanted to be was between a feud involving two of her students.

  “They danced in unmentionables and feathers for money, sounds like a stripper to me,” ChiChi argued, her hands shaking. “And if she gets elected, she won’t just stop at the entertainment. She’ll make the whole night about her.”

  “This event means a lot to a lot of people,” Pricilla explained. “Especially ChiChi here. We want to make sure it stays true to the season. The Gala is a sweethearts’ ball, designed to celebrate family and forever, and the amazing power of love and eternal commitment.”

  “That’s why it’s held on Valentine’s Day,” Lucinda added. “The sweetheart pinning is our town’s oldest Valentine’s Day tradition.”

  Just like that, Sara’s heart started to ache.

  For Sara, Valentine’s Day wasn’t only her anniversary, it was a painful reminder of how much she had lost when Garrett passed. Though she had worked hard over the past two years dealing with her grief—learning how to forgive Garrett for leaving her behind and trying to move on like he would have wanted her to—she wasn’t exactly up for being forced to spend her wedding anniversary with half the town’s sweethearts.

  Then again, maybe being around people who were in love would remind her how wonderful it feels.

  “If you decline the position, the Garden Society will have no choice but to appoint Deidra, and she’ll make it so that she’s the only one who gets to shine,” Pricilla finished.

  “There is someone special who is going to be there and I’ve been waiting a long time to catch his interest. I think he’s finally pulled his head out of his backside, so I’m ready to make my move. This year I want to wear his flower,” ChiChi whispered, and that’s when Sara saw it. The older woman wasn’t looking to snag herself a man, she was hoping to find love.

  “Plus, there is a five thousand dollar stipend that comes with it.” Lucinda always cut right to the important parts.