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Dante rolled around everything they’d talked about in his mind as he led Lizzie to the barrel cellar. When his father wasn’t out in the fields checking the grapes or the soil, he was in the cellar—avoiding his family. As a young child, Dante resented anything and everything that had to do with the vineyard. He blamed the grapes for his father’s notable absence.
But as Dante grew up, he realized it wasn’t the vineyard he should blame—it was his father. It was his choice to avoid his children. And though his father wasn’t as remote as he used to be, some habits were hard to change.
Dante glanced over at Lizzie. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She threaded her fingers with his. With a squeeze, she smiled up at him. “I’m positive. Lead the way.”
He wanted to lean over and press his mouth to hers—to feel the rightness of holding her in his arms. But with his father close by, Dante would settle for the comfort of her touch. He tightened his grip on her much smaller hand and led her down the steps.
As they walked, Lizzie asked about the wooden barrels containing the vineyard’s bounty. The fact that she was truly interested in his family’s heritage impressed him. He and his father may not hit it off, but he still had pride in his family’s hard work. It was why he showcased DeFiore vino exclusively at the ristorante.
“This is so impressive.” Lizzie looked all around at the walls of barrels. “And they’re all full of wine?”
He nodded. “This place has grown a lot since I was a kid.”
“Dante, is that you?”
They both turned to find his father holding a sample of vino. “Hey, Papa. I thought we’d find you down here.”
“I was doing some testing.” His father glanced at Lizzie. “We do a periodic analysis of the contents and top off the barrels to keep down the exposure to oxygen due to evaporation.”
“With all of these barrels, I’d say you have a lot of work to stay on top of things.”
“It keeps me busy.” His father smiled, something he didn’t do often. “Is there something you needed?”
Lizzie glanced at Dante, but if she thought he was going anywhere, she was mistaken. He wasn’t budging. He crossed his arms and leaned against a post. His father could be gruff and tactless at times. Dante wasn’t about to let him hurt Lizzie’s feelings any more than had already been done.
Lizzie turned to his father. “Mr. DeFiore, I owe you an apology for tonight. I’m so sorry I ruined your dinner and...and brought up painful memories. I had absolutely no idea that the recipe held such special meaning for you. If I had, I never would have cooked that meal.”
There was an awkward pause. Dante’s body tensed. Please don’t let his father brush her off as though her apology meant nothing. Lizzie didn’t say it, but she wanted his father’s approval. And Dante wanted it for her. He didn’t want her to feel the pain of once again being rejected.
Dante turned his gaze on his father, planning to send him a warning look, but his father was staring down at the vino in his hand.
The breath caught in Dante’s chest as tension filled the room. When his father spoke, his voice was softer than normal and Dante strained to hear every word.
“I am the one who owes you an apology. I reacted badly. And I’m sorry. The meal, it...it caught me off guard. It tasted exactly like my wife’s.”
The pent-up breath released from Dante’s lungs like a punctured balloon. He didn’t know what was up with his father, but Dante was thankful he’d paid Lizzie such a high compliment. As far as Dante knew, there was no higher compliment than for his father to compare Lizzie’s cooking to that of his mother. Was it possible his father truly was changing for the better?
“I’ll try not to cook any of your wife’s favorites in the future—”
“No. I mean I’d like you to. I know this meal caught me off guard, but it brought back some of the best memories.” His father set aside the vino and reached for Lizzie’s hand. “I hope I haven’t scared you off. I’d really like you to come back and cook for us. That is, if you’d still like to.”
“I would...like to cook for you, that is.”
“Maybe next weekend?”
Dante at last found his voice. “Papa, we can’t be here next weekend. There’s been a change in the filming schedule and they’re pushing to wrap up the series, so we’ll be working all next weekend.”
“Oh, I see.” His father turned to Lizzie. “So what do you think of my son? Is he good in the kitchen?”
Lizzie’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t know?”
His father shook his head. “He never cooks for us. Always says it’s too much like work.”
Lizzie turned an astonished look to Dante. Guilt consumed him. He shrugged his shoulders innocently.
The truth was that cooking was an area where he’d excelled and he didn’t want his father’s ill-timed, stinging comments to rob him of that special feeling. But witnessing this different side of his father had him rethinking his stance.
