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.Eli parked the giant truck in the wide turnaround off to the side.“What a great house.” Rather than wait for him to come and help her, Chloë opened the door and slid down and out onto the ground.As an evasive maneuver, it sucked, because as she mounted the stairs, he was there with his hand under her arm.“This is the Di Luca family home,” he said.“We leave, but this place calls us back.”She turned and looked.At the flower beds that were planted with brilliant reds and yellows and cool whites.At the dark-leaved trees hanging heavy with oranges.And beyond, at the long, sweet sweep of the valley, where, in the afternoon sun, the colors faded from sharp green to a misty blue.“I can see why.This valley is beautiful, warm, welcoming, a community.Yet there’s room to stretch and grow.”He looked at her sharply.“Yes.That’s it.Exactly.” Capturing her chin, he lifted her face to his and examined it, murmuring, “How is it possible that you understand so well?”Flustered, she backed away.“It’s obvious that.”He followed, put his arm around her waist.“I mean, every person who comes here must feel the magic of the place.”He leaned close.His gaze captured her, commanded her, examined her, learned her.and at the same time, she felt the distance between them.He wanted to kiss her.He wanted to hold her at bay.He was too private.He was too deep.She’d been in his company less than eight full hours, but beneath the face he presented to the world she sensed a soul that was bleak and pain-swept.Retreat! But fascination held her in place.She felt his breath on her lips.Her eyes fluttered closed.And the front door flew open and an elderly woman called, “Come in, children!”Chloë stumbled backward, face flaming.Calmly Eli turned to face his grandmother.“Nonna.You got your cast off!”“This morning.” Stepping out onto the porch, she flexed her elbow.“Good as new.”She was like a small bird, thin and lively.Her big brown eyes observed and approved.She darted forward to kiss Eli and accept his hug, then held out her hands to Chloë.“Welcome, dear girl! I’m Sarah Di Luca, Eli’s grandmother.”“How do you do?” Chloë could barely slip the words in.“I’ve been nagging Eli to bring you over.I hope you don’t mind, but you are my newest favorite author, and I’m so excited to have you in my home.” Sarah smiled, open and kind, gracious and warm, everything that her grandson was not.Taking Chloë’s arm, she led her into the house.“I have a delicious lunch prepared, but I warn you, you’ll have to sing for your supper.I want to know everything about how you plot your marvelous books!”Chapter 18“My mother hated Massimo.” Sarah led the way through the afternoon warmth toward the arbor on the side lawn.“She said he was a gangster.But he was famous around Bella Valley.I heard he was not handsome, but it was the Depression—tough times—and he had money and spent it lavishly.He made wine, good wine.He gave gifts.”Chloë walked with Sarah’s hand on her arm.Eli paced behind them.Lunch had been, as promised, delicious, eaten at the kitchen table with two of Sarah’s employees, Olivia and Bao.All three were fans of Chloë’s book, and they peppered her with questions and made her feel proud that her writing had connected so well with her readers.Eli had eaten, but said little.Chloë thought he was not antisocial.Probably he was sitting there smoldering with sexuality.You’d think it would give him indigestion.When they were finished eating, Eli had suggested that he and Chloë take Sarah for a walk.They left Bao and Olivia cleaning the kitchen and, with Eli carrying a small basket, they headed out across the yard.As they walked, Sarah told Massimo’s story.“Massimo had no family,” Sarah said, “not in the Old Country, not here.He used to disappear for months at a time.He’d slip out of town, then quietly return.I remember my father saying Massimo had the luck of the devil.Then my mother would say it was because he had made a deal with the devil, and everyone knows the devil is not to be trusted.” Sarah turned to Chloë and said apologetically, “Massimo had disappeared by the time I was born, so for me this is all simply memories of conversations.”They reached the arbor, white painted and covered with twisting and graceful wisteria vines.There Sarah and Chloë took seats on the Adirondack chairs overlooking the garden.Eli placed the basket on the table between them.He pulled out a small bottle of his own Miele cabernet port and opened it, then poured it into three tiny crystal wineglasses.He put a plate of chocolate-chip cookies between them, then watched with a faint smile as Chloë helped herself to one and took a bite.“Oh, my God.These are the best chocolate-chip cookies I’ve ever had.” She took another bite.“Oh, my God.”“It gets better,” Sarah said.“Try it with the port.”Chloë glanced at them; they were scrutinizing her as if the anticipation of her pleasure heightened their own.Chloë took a sip of the port, and another bite of cookie
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