Last of the Summer Vines: Escape to Italy with this heartwarming, feel good summer read!. Romy Sommer
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can come in,’ I called. ‘I’m in the pantry, but I’m unarmed.’
He was dressed for work, in jeans and a plain grey T-shirt, with heavy work boots on his feet. He loomed so large in the low entryway that he blocked out most of the light. ‘If you’re going to be baking for the trattoria, we should get that chimney cleaned.’
‘I was kind of hoping I could carry on using your oven.’
His mouth ticked up at the corner. ‘Coward! You used to be more kickass than that. But seriously, bread baked in a wood oven tastes better than that baked in an electric one.’
He was right, much as it galled me to admit it. I followed him back into the kitchen and eyed the old stove with trepidation. My initial wariness of it had morphed into full-on distrust since what I referred to as The Smoke Incident. ‘What do you suggest I do?’
‘I don’t suggest you do anything. I suggest we check the chimney first.’
How chivalrous that he was offering to help, but it still didn’t answer my question.
Tommaso held out his mobile phone. ‘Old-fashioned trick passed down through the generations.’ He unhooked a wooden pizza paddle from the wall beside the stove and laid his mobile face-up on it. Then he slid open the hatch in the side of the stove. I bent forward, curious, as he switched on the phone’s camera, set it on video mode, and slid the board into the hatch. When he slid the phone back out, I leaned even closer, my head almost touching his, to watch in fascination as he replayed the shaky video. On the screen, a full moon shaped ball of light was visible at the end of the flue.
‘No nests or any other obstructions blocking the flue, so it’s probably just old residue lining the chimney walls that needs to be cleaned out.’ He shut the hatch, then looked up, and my breath stuck in my throat. Our eyes were nearly level, our faces so close that if either one of us moved an inch, our mouths would meet … I jumped back.
‘Old family trick, huh? Where did you really learn to do that?’
‘From television.’
When my eyebrows arched in incredulity, he laughed. ‘Yes, I still have a dark side.’
I clearly watched the wrong kinds of TV shows. The Great British Bake-off hadn’t taught me how to light a fire or check a chimney for obstructions.
‘I suppose that means I’ll need to get a chimney sweep in.’ Was there even such a thing these days? Probably just an expensive contractor who’d charge me the equivalent of a limb for ten minutes’ work.
‘Or we can do it ourselves,’ Tommaso offered. ‘If you don’t mind getting a little dirty?’
He’d already seen me in my pyjamas, choking on smoke. How much worse could a bit of dirt be? ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Lay a few dust cloths around the stove. I’m going up on the roof.’
Dust cloths were the one thing there was no shortage of in the house, with the exception of spider webs, so I hurried off to collect an armful. When I returned to the kitchen, the reverberation of Tommaso’s footsteps sounded extra-loud on the tiled roof above. I laid the cloths over the floor, table and counters, then hurried outside, anxious to check on his safety. Standing far back in the yard so I could see up on the roof, I shielded my eyes against the morning light to watch as Tommaso bent over the square, redbrick chimney. He had already removed the chimney cap and was now screwing a square-shaped chimney brush onto the end of what looked like a very long, stiff hose. Had he learned to clean chimneys from television too?
He twisted the brush down the chimney, pumping hard to extend the brush all the way down the chimney. As he brought the brush back up, he coughed on the cloud of sooty black dust that billowed up.
Just as well it was him up on that roof and not me. I’d already swallowed enough smoke and ash for one week.
Partially silhouetted against the rising sun, his body was clearly outlined. Tommaso might be built bigger than Luca, but there was no spare fat on him. He was all lean muscle and sinewy strength. As he worked the long brush up and down the chimney, his arm muscles bulged beneath the taut fabric of his shirt. I’d always liked a man with strong arms. I swallowed a very inappropriate sigh and looked away.
When he’d removed the brush and its hose attachments, and replaced the chimney cap, I moved to the base of the ladder leaning up against the wall to hold it steady. Tommaso came down the ladder rung by rung, his boots coming first into my line of view, then his denim-clad calves and thighs. The soft denim was worn into the shape of his body, hugging the lean thighs and firm backside that drew level with my gaze.
I coughed and averted my gaze. This was Tommy, the boy I’d played with as a kid. I didn’t want to think of him in any other way. Especially in any way that would make me go weak-kneed or lose my head.
Until the castello sold, or he bought me out, we were rivals for this property. Luca’s contract might call us partners, but we still had to negotiate the terms for divvying up my father’s inheritance between us. I couldn’t afford to forget that or go soft on him – which was most likely the only reason he was being so helpful, anyway. Either that or to make sure I wasn’t in his space any more than necessary. I wasn’t sure which of those reasons was most offensive.
‘Thank you,’ I said gruffly when he’d jumped from the bottom rung to stand back on solid ground.
‘Shall we get a fire going, and see if it’s working now? I brought some well-seasoned wood.’
As much as I wanted to say ‘thanks, I can take it from here’, and as much as I didn’t want to owe him any more than I already did, I couldn’t refuse the offer. Reluctantly, I led him back into the kitchen.
The dust cloths had done their job, though there wasn’t as much soot in the kitchen as I’d expected. The oven was thankfully well-insulated and would need little more than a wipe down, but the firebox inside needed a good brush out. I used the brushes from the big copper pot beside the oven to clean out the soot, while Tommaso carried in armfuls of piney-smelling wood from his car.
He showed me how to build and start the fire, using kindling and air for an effective blaze, rather than simply piling in the wood. Then, once he was satisfied, he stood back, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans. ‘No smoke! That should sort you out now.’
The scent of the burning wood smoke definitely added a homelier feel to the kitchen. A way homelier scent than clouds of acrid smoke.
‘Thank you,’ I said again, meaning it, but clearly my tone didn’t carry as much gratitude as I intended, because Tommaso frowned.
‘Are you always this grumpy about accepting help?’
Pots and kettles. I turned away to collect the armful of dust cloths. ‘Just out of practice. I don’t usually need anyone’s help.’ And two times in as many days was about as much as I could handle.
Tommaso shrugged, his expression back to its usual surly look. ‘Well, that’s okay then, because I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Beatrice. True Tuscan breads and desserts should be baked in a wood oven for authentic flavour.’
For Beatrice. Of course. The sudden spike of jealousy was completely irrational. I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from feeling it. I dumped the dust cloths beside the big sink and washed my hands. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you from your work for too long.’
And why on earth was he still hanging around, when his expression so clearly showed he didn’t want to be here? Instead, he hovered just a few feet away, his presence so dominating he might just as well have been standing right beside me. I dried my hands on a tea towel and turned back to him, eyebrow arched enquiringly.
He didn’t look at me as he ran a hand through his thick hair. ‘You should come up to the cellar. Take a look at the improvements we’ve made. Your father cared very deeply about the winery.’
If my back hadn’t already been