Before Gio could comment further, the front door opened, and Emma walked in.
“Cara . . . look who’s here.” He moved quickly to take the lunch bags from her hands and kissed her before turning back to Beth.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Emma said.
“I was starting to worry. You’ve been home for days and hadn’t moved in yet.”
Emma looked between him and her mother.
“She was waiting for me to have time to help,” Gio offered, a white lie to keep the truth out of the conversation.
Emma let the explanation stand and moved over to hug her mother.
“You look tired,” her mother said.
Gio could tell that Emma took the comment as an insult.
“That’s my fault, Mrs. Rutledge,” he offered with a wink.
Emma gasped and Beth laughed. “My God, where did you find this man?”
“Am I wrong?” he asked.
“Gio. This is my mother!” Emma looked a little dazed.
“Who had a thing for sailors before your dad came around.”
“W-what?” Emma’s jaw dropped.
Beth waved a hand in the air. “Nothing.” She pointed at Gio. “You need a warning label.”
He nodded. “My mother would agree.”
Beth was close enough to pat Gio’s cheek. “You have the dinner invitation.”
Gio moved in, kissed Beth’s cheek, and called her adorable in Italian.
Beth grasped the handle of her purse and crossed her free arm over it, almost like the queen of England.
“Call me when you’re settled. I’ve talked with Benson’s about a few of their pieces I think you’ll like.”
“I told you I wanted to pick out my own furniture.”
“I know, but for some reason there are backlogs on almost everything these days. The sooner you get on that, the better, or you’ll be sitting on fold-up chairs come Christmas.”
Emma relented. “I should have time midweek.”
“Good.” Beth glanced over her shoulder and tilted her head Gio’s way. “And without this one. We need to talk about him,” she said, smiling.
Emma shook her head as her mother left the house. “What in the heck was that all about?”
Gio placed a hand on his heart. “Your mother loves me.”
Saying goodbye was harder than Emma expected.
The morning sun had tipped over the horizon and Gio was drying his hair with a towel after a shower.
Emma walked up behind him, in front of the mirror, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Have I thanked you for all your help?”
“Oh, so many times.”
She kissed his bare shoulder.
Gio smiled at her through their reflections.
He made a point of lifting the toothbrush he’d brought with him and setting it in a cup next to hers. “I’m leaving this here.”
“Bold move, D’Angelo.” She was joking.
“I’m not brushing my teeth in any other woman’s bathroom,” he said.
“I’m not brushing mine in any other woman’s bathroom either.”
Gio growled, twisted in her arms, and spun her around. Once she was pinned between him and the sink, he lifted her up to sit on the edge. “I’m going to miss you.”
“You’ll be back on Friday.”
He kissed her nose. “I know. But that’s four very long and lonely nights without you.”
“It will give me a chance to stock up on condoms.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “That reminds me. I made an appointment with my doctor for next week.”
“Your doctor? What’s wrong?”
“Clean bill of health, cara. In case the condom fails.”
She’d completely forgotten about that. “Right. I’ll call my doctor today.”
“Good.” His hands traveled down her back. “Now, if you don’t walk away, I’m going to be forced to make love to you again and sit in traffic for hours.”
She draped her arms on his shoulders. “You’re the one who tossed me up here.”
He smiled, looked in the mirror, and started to frown. “Is that from Italy?”
Emma twisted and looked in the mirror.
Gio pointed to the scratch that had happened almost two weeks prior on their journey to find Kimmy and Weston. “Yeah. Crazy that I still have a bruise.”
“Are you anemic?”
“Not that I know of. I do bruise easily.”
“Maybe you should have that checked.”
She shrugged, thinking nothing about it. “Look at you, Mr. Concerned.”
His smile faltered. “Have the doctor look, tesoro, please.”
“Okay.” She kissed him briefly and he helped her off the counter.
She slipped her arms into a light bathrobe and followed Gio out of the house a short time later.
He kissed her again, whispered something in Italian she didn’t understand, and turned away.
“Text me when you get home,” she told him.
He blew her a kiss from his car before getting behind the wheel.
Alone for the first time in her new house, Emma wrapped her arms around herself and smiled. “I’m home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emma insisted on picking her mother up for their midweek lunch and shopping trip. Emma knew that if she didn’t placate her mother with a trip to the furniture store, mysterious gifts would start to appear on her doorstep.
Driving her mother also gave Emma an excuse to drive to the working side of the Temecula winery and have a discussion with Noland, the operational manager, or foreman, as Emma referred to him.
Dressed to shop and not traipse around wine cellars and factories, Emma walked carefully through the buildings, greeting the workers she knew by name. Most had been there for years.
She found Noland next to a barrel of cabernet that had been aging for three years.
“Good morning,” she said, announcing herself.
His smile was instant. “Emma, what a surprise.”
“It’s been a minute.”
“The days are long past that you were running around here getting into trouble.”
She pictured those times he was referring to. “What self-respecting teenager being raised at a winery doesn’t bring her friends in to test the stock?”
Noland’s laugh was as warm as his personality. “Do I need to find you a glass, or is there another reason for your visit today?”
“I’m on my way to pick up my mother. We have a full day planned. But I was hoping to run into you and ask for a favor.”
“Anything for you.”
She knew that’s how he would respond.
“Do you know about the property on Edgewood Street?”
“I do. I visited the site a couple of times.”
Emma smiled. “I’m taking it over.”
“Is that right?” he asked, smiling.
“It’s a long and drawn-out explanation, but at the end of the day, my plan is to be able to harvest the grapes this season and process them on-site.”
Noland narrowed his eyes. “If I remember right, there isn’t a processing plant there.”
“There isn’t. The owners before my father hadn’t produced wine on the land for some time. The equipment, what’s left of it, doesn’t seem up to par. I can’t truly tell. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the factories during harvest. I’m likely going to have to scrap everything that’s old and start with new equipment.”