The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2 (10 page)

Her pursed lips softened into a smile that became a small laugh. “No danger of that. I never sing where someone might hear me. But thank you for thinking my dog is smart and that Chips and Lilac are unusual. I’m sure they’d take that as a high compliment.”

“You’re lucky to live here.”

“I think so.” She stood looking out at the landscape and buildings silhouetted against the sky. “That barn over there—when I was about eight years old, I made a pair of wings out of cardboard and duct tape and jumped from the hayloft, convinced I could fly.”

“Bet that didn’t end well.”

“I landed in a pile of loose straw. Once they figured out I wasn’t hurt, there was hell to pay. That barn is now called the Ballroom. It’s our event space for weddings, gatherings, farm-to-table dinners, reunions.... Tess’s wedding is the first event.”

“You think big,” he said. “I like that.”

Her smile widened, and she approached the table. “When the project is finished, I think this part of the garden might be a favorite gathering place for the guests. At the bottom of the stone stairway, we’re building an outdoor shower.”

“Everybody loves an outdoor shower. But you’re missing a key item.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she scanned the area again, and then scowled at him. “Missing what?”

“The swimming pool.”

“But there’s not—”

“I noticed. A glaring omission. You need one.”

Her frown turned to worry. “A pool? That wasn’t in the plan...”

“Kidding,” he said. “Sort of. Who doesn’t like a swimming pool?”

“Darn it,” she said.

“What?”

“Now I totally want one.”

“Then you should have one.”

“I like the way you think. A swimming pool. Sure, what’s another hundred grand?”

“Wouldn’t know. I never saw the first hundred grand.” What would he do with a sudden fortune? Probably what she was doing, building a dream. Except his dream looked a lot different from hers. She was dug in here for good. He couldn’t imagine staying in one place for more than five minutes, let alone his whole life.

“I feel very fortunate, being able to create the cooking school. I imagine Grandfather told you Bella Vista was on the brink of foreclosure, until Tess came along and worked her magic. Except it wasn’t magic. It was just knowing what to look for, and where to look.”

“Yeah, your granddad says it’s his favorite part of the story.”

“It was amazing to suddenly find myself without any financial worries,” she said. “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s true.”

“It must have changed your life.”

“Well, yes and no. I’ve never wanted more than I have—friends and family, Bella Vista, my cooking.”

“You didn’t run out and buy a fancy car or boat?”

“Is that what you’d do?”

He grinned. “Yeah, probably.”

“You would not.”

“Hard to say. I’ve never found myself in your position. Come on, tell me how you spoiled yourself.”

“I had a brief flirtation with a pair of Hey Lady shoes, but I’m much too practical for four-inch heels. Besides, I’ve always been focused on practical matters. Something...respectful, to honor my grandparents’ heritage.”

“That’s cool. I still think you should get the shoes, though. Not to mention the pool.”

She took out her smartphone and tapped the screen. “A swimming pool. I can’t believe no one suggested it.”

“The landscape designer didn’t propose it?”

“No, and it’s a wonderful idea. I’m adding one to my wish list.”

“You have a wish list?”

She glanced up, and the soft smile on her face did funny things to his insides. “Sure. Doesn’t everybody? Don’t you?”

“No. Not on my phone, anyway.”

“But you
wish
for things, right? You hope and plan?”

“Things? You mean like a Leica camera, or my favorite nail clippers the TSA confiscated at the airport?”

“Very funny. Anything.”

“Lady, the things I wish for can’t be provided by a contractor with hairy armpits.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

Bingo.
“What else is on your list?” He took the phone from her hand.

“Hey, give that back.” She grabbed for it, but he held it out of the way, teasing.

“You really do have a list,” he said, glancing at the screen. “That’s cool.”

“It’s none of your business. Give it back.”

“Let’s see—swimming pool, wood-fire pizza oven, solar panels for charging the electric Tesla, endowment for the nonprofit foundation? For what?”

“That’s also none of your business, but it’s no secret. I’m setting up a scholarship program so aspiring culinary students can study here at no cost.”

“Nice. I like that.” He scrolled down the screen, all the way to the bottom. “Everything on here is for the cooking school. Don’t you want, like, Botox or designer earrings?”

“Thank you for trivializing me. Are you saying I need Botox?”

“I heard it works on frowns.”

“Hey—”

“Ravello,” he read from the screen. “As in Ravello, Italy?”

She put her hands on her hips and looked into the distance. “It’s where my mother was born.”

“How come it’s the last thing on your list?”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy getting the cooking school ready and planning my sister’s wedding. I barely have time to get a haircut, let alone travel to Italy.”

“Why would you need a haircut? Your hair is gorgeous.” She was rooted firmly in the soil of Bella Vista. The wedding, the cooking school, creating a vibrant community at the estate—this was her future, and it was all happening right here.

She blushed
—blushed—
and touched her long, thick braid. “Bees tend to get tangled in long hair.”

“You just hired a beekeeper. So you don’t need to worry about the bees anymore.”

“I
like
dealing with bees.”

His welts still itched, days later. “Then what is
she
here for?” He gestured at the distant slope where the hives were set amid the grass and milkweed. It was twilight, the sky a rainbow arch of deep pink and purple, the beekeeper a slender black silhouette as she moved among the hives. “She didn’t have much to say to me this morning. In fact, she seems to have that raging-tattooed-chick thing going on.”

“Do raging tattooed chicks scare you?”

“No more than angry bees.”

The girl was using a smoker to calm the bees, and against the sky, the puffs of smoke from the funnel turned to pink wisps. “She’s splitting the hives. Mine are overpopulated, and that causes swarming. I’d take you over and show you, but I suspect you want to keep your distance from the bees.”

“Good guess.”

“Even though I just met Jamie, I have a good feeling about her. She needed a place to stay, and I offered her room and board at Bella Vista for as long as she needs it. I’m hoping she’s the perfect person to work the hives and take over the honey production.”

“You’ve taken in two strays in the same week,” he commented. “Not to mention those cats of yours. Is this a regular habit with you?”

She made a lingering study of him, and he liked the touch of her gaze. “Depends on the stray,” she said.

“Got it. So, back to this list.” He consulted her phone again. “If Italy was on
my
list, you can bet it wouldn’t be at the bottom.”

“You said you didn’t have a list.”

“I don’t write stuff down. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a list,” he said, then deflected the topic back to her. “What’s Ravello like? I’ve been to the Amalfi coast, but haven’t made it up the cliffs to Ravello. I’ve heard good things.” All of a sudden, it was incredibly easy to picture the famous hill town with its cobblestone plazas, old men smoking in front of the
farmacia,
the pottery shops hanging out their wares, the smell of lemons everywhere. It was even easier to picture himself on a Vespa like the one Magnus had shown him in the machine shop, with Isabel behind him, that long hair streaming in the breeze. Yeah, he had a list. He carried it around in his head everywhere he went. Maybe he’d tell her about it one day.

She set her hands on her hips and looked out at the distance. “I couldn’t tell you what it’s like. I’ve never been to Italy.”

He was sure he hadn’t heard right. “Wait, what? You’ve never been...?” Impossible. Italy was one of those places in the world everyone should visit. “Well, that’s just wrong. I have no idea how you can keep yourself from going, especially since there’s a family connection.”

“Not much of one. It’s just a place my mother left, a long time ago. My grandmother told me she came to Archangel with my father after knowing him only six weeks. Her family rejected her because Erik wasn’t Catholic. No one from the Italian side of the family came to the wedding.” She sighed, and he had a crazy urge to kiss the sadness from her eyes.

Her story was consistent with what Magnus had told him. “No accounting for the way people can be,” he said.

She nodded. “Bubbie liked to think they would have reconciled after I was born, but with Francesca gone, I suppose it must have been too painful for them. When I was a girl, I used to wonder if my Italian relatives ever thought about me, if they might want to meet me one day. Maybe if my mother had lived, she might have reached out to them and reconnected.” She absently twirled a finger in a lock of her hair. “The answer to that is just...lost.”

“You could reach out,” he suggested. “Nothing should stop you from going there whether you go in search of your family or not. Italy’s awesome. My God, the food, the people, the wine, the landscape... Damn. It’s magic. You have to go.”

She led the way back to the house, walking quickly and purposefully. “I’m not much of a traveler. I don’t even have a passport.”

“Seriously? Okay, now
that
needs to be on your list.” He quickly typed it into her phone.

Pausing on the patio, she looked up at him with a scowl. “Since when are you in charge of
my
wish list?”

“Since you said you wanted to go to Italy and you don’t have a freaking passport.”

“Let’s let that be my problem, shall we?”

“It doesn’t have to be a problem at all. Just get a damned passport.”

She tossed her head, showing off that long, pretty braid. “You’re very exasperating.”

“And
you—
”

“What are you two bickering about?” Magnus walked over to them with a tray of small glasses. “Bickering is not a good pairing with port wine. This is an old vintage. Appropriate for our project, no?” He set down the tray and lifted one of the small, stemmed glasses. “Cheers. To a beautiful evening in springtime. To a remembrance of the past, and to a dream of the future.”

Magnus took a seat at the table. The evening light spread over the surrounding orchards and gardens, turning the stucco walls of the villa the color of fire.

Mac felt slightly sheepish as he lifted a glass and touched its rim first to Magnus’s and then to Isabel’s. With her, bickering felt pleasantly like flirting. Then he reminded himself that flirting was fine, but with a girl like Isabel, it was a dangerous game. There was something about her that made him wish they were a better match.

Chapter Nine

“When I woke up this morning, I realized I’d been dreaming about chair tiebacks,” Tess said, coming into Isabel’s teaching kitchen with Dominic, her fiancé.

“What are chair tiebacks?” asked Dominic. “And why do I sense they’re important?”

Isabel, who was on a ladder inspecting the position of an overhead mirror, shared a look with her sister. “Chair tiebacks are one of the ten thousand style choices Tess has to make for the wedding.”

“Is it something I can help with?” he asked.

Isabel came down the ladder. “Doubtful, unless Tess is going to be happy with plaid or camouflage.”

Tess showed him a set of photos in the wedding planner’s massive binder. “Behold—chair tiebacks.”

“Without which, the wedding will be a disaster,” he said with a grave expression.

Tess shot him a glare and he backed away, palms facing out. “I just remembered, I’ve got work to do at the winery. See you around, Isabel.”

As he strode away, Tess called after him, “Chicken.”

“That’s me. Later, babe.” He waved, and then hurried off.

“Am I being a bridezilla?” Tess asked Isabel. “Tell me I’m not being a bridezilla.”

“Of course you aren’t. You’re being stylish. Bella Vista is going to look incredible, and I totally support your obsession with having everything exactly as you want it.” She set down a colander full of freshly picked plums—the first of the season—and started polishing them, one by one, checking the overhead mirror, which was a key part of the teaching kitchen. The mirror would offer guests a bird’s eye view of the cooktop island, with its commercial gas burners and large prep area. “So, have you had a chance to visit with Jamie?”

“Ah, our resident beekeeper. I had tea with her this morning, and we walked down to the shop. She’s a bit bashful.”

“Was I too impulsive, inviting her to stay without asking for references?”

“Probably. But something tells me it’s going to be fine.”

“She’s pregnant,” Isabel said. “And homeless. Did you talk about that?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’ll be discussing that with her.”

Isabel nodded. “She seems kind of lost. I’m guessing she isn’t getting prenatal care. I know we just met, but I already feel responsible for her.”

“Ah, Isabel. You’re totally cool, you know that?”

“I’m not cool. Just...responsible.”

“Well, let me know if I can do something to help.” She showed Isabel a picture. “I like the organza tiebacks. They’re pretty and ethereal.”

“Lovely. I think those are the ones.”

“Me, too. And hey, can we invent a signature cocktail for the wedding, using honey?”

“I’m working on one made with honey syrup, apple juice and calvados. Garnished with an apple slice, of course.”

“Really? Isabel, that sounds fantastic. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. But seriously, you
have
to tell me when I’ve overstepped and strayed into wedding hell.”

“Just enjoy being the bride. You deserve it.”

Tess beamed. “I’ll tell you what I
don’t
deserve. You. And Dominic. And this life we’re about to start together. How did I get so lucky?”

“Was it luck?” Isabel asked.

“You’re feeling lucky today?” asked Mac, coming into the room. In age-worn shorts and a slightly rumpled T-shirt from a surf school in Bali, he looked relaxed and casual, as if he already belonged here. He stole a plum from the bowl and started eating it—very slowly.

Isabel’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’m lucky every day,” said Tess. “Don’t get me going on how excited I am about my wedding. I’ll start being so sweet, you’ll slip into a diabetic coma.”

“You? Sweet?” He finished the plum and used his T-shirt sleeve as a napkin. “Since when? I don’t remember you ever being sweet.”

Tess sniffed. “People can change. All it took was finding my soulmate. Simple. And don’t roll your eyes. I used to be a skeptic, too. When the right person comes along, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Tess.” Isabel shot her a warning look. Tess knew the guy was a widower. Why would she make such an insensitive comment? Suppose he’d already found his soulmate, and then lost her?

“I’m just saying.” Tess lifted her shoulder in a defensive shrug. “Look, when I first came here, there was no one—and I mean no one—more cynical than I was. Now I’m so crazy in love, it’s ridiculous.”

“A walking, talking greeting card,” said Mac.

“And proud of it.”

“I’m happy for you,” he said. “It’d be great if what you’ve got is contagious. But it doesn’t work that way.”

You’re right,
thought Isabel. She had read the rest of the “What To Do When He Doesn’t Notice You” article and had come to the conclusion that she was not the target audience for that sort of advice. She didn’t actually want to be noticed, not in that way, not by Mac or anyone else. She had other things to do. At least a hundred other things.

She went to the walk-in pantry to fetch some dried cardamom for tonight’s dessert. There was one shelf that was too high to reach. At some point, someone—probably Bubbie—had created a display of family photos—shots of Bubbie, pictures of Erik as a boy, red-haired and smiling, having no clue about his fate, even a rare photo of Francesca in a pretty dress that looked as if it had been designed by a real couturier.

When Isabel was little, she used to make up conversations with the people in the photos, asking young Erik which trees were his favorites to climb, or seeking advice from Francesca about how to braid hair. She remembered gazing into that flat, frozen face, looking for the person inside. Her mother had very small, round mole at the crest of one cheekbone, and Isabel used to wish she had one, too. Bubbie recalled that Francesca was left-handed, and Isabel had always taken pride in being left-handed, as well.

Her gaze lingered on the photos a moment longer; then she returned to the kitchen and said to Tess, “So, I told Mac about Erik’s birth mother.”

“Well, he’d need to know that, wouldn’t he?” Tess said briskly. Having never known Bubbie, she was more philosophical about the drama of their father’s parentage, and probably saw things from a different perspective.

“Grandfather has never had much to say about the situation,” Isabel told Mac.

“Perhaps because you never asked,” said Magnus, joining them from the main house.

Isabel whipped around to face him, her hair flying. She knew she should probably bow out at this point, but then she found herself saying, “I’ve never been good with awkward conversations.”

Mac took another plum from the bowl and bit into it. “I am,” he volunteered. “I’m good with them. I’ll ask any awkward question you want.”

Charming,
Isabel thought.

“What shall we discuss today?” Magnus asked. “Eva, perhaps?”

“Sure,” said Mac.

“Very well. We can talk in the lounge room,” Magnus suggested. He glanced at Isabel and Tess. “You’re welcome to join us, my girls. Perhaps you’ll get some answers to the questions you’re so reluctant to ask.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to hear about your complicated romances,” Tess said.

“Romance is simple,” Magnus said, a twinkle in his eye. “
Life
is complicated. But I suppose that is something we all find out on our own, yes?”

Isabel had a busy day lined up for herself. In addition to working with the contractor, she hoped to spend more time with Jamie, who was constantly busy with the apiary, dividing the hives and creating new ones. The teaching kitchen was still a work-in-progress, and her web designer was coming for a meeting. They were going to search for a photographer to shoot photos and video for the cooking school website.

Yet she found herself following them to the lounge. She had vivid memories of her grandmother here in this high-ceilinged room. Bubbie had been a great reader, and she would sit for hours, lost in a book, the light from the tall arched windows falling over her.

Isabel was burningly curious about what her grandfather might have to say about his long marriage, filled with love and tragedy and secrets he’d only recently begun to disclose.

Mac set his phone in record mode and took a seat on the sofa, stretching out his long, lean legs as he flipped through his notes. He massaged his knee with both hands.

“Feeling better?” asked Grandfather.

“Yeah, thanks. I don’t need the brace anymore.”

“Wonderful. You’ll be good as new in time for the wedding.”

Mac lowered his gaze, but not before Isabel saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. He intended to be gone well before the wedding; he’d made no secret of that. She hoped Grandfather didn’t become too fond of Mac’s company.

“So, then,” said Mac. “You were married for fifty years. Lucky man.”

Grandfather nodded. “My Eva. It is hard to remember a time in my life when I didn’t know her.” He picked up their framed wedding portrait from the mantel. They were impossibly young, posing stiffly for the camera. Magnus looked strong and proud, Eva delicate, shrouded in an old-fashioned veil that framed her deep-set eyes and controlled smile. Knowing what her grandmother had survived during the war, Isabel imagined a haunted quality in the young bride’s expression.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her,” said Magnus. “I loved her deeply.”

Then why did you betray her?
Isabel wondered.
Why did you father a child with another woman?

“However,” Magnus continued, setting down the portrait, “it didn’t start with love. It started with a promise I made.”