Catherine Lanigan - Fear Of Falling

Olivia went to the island and opened the containers. “I got the ice cream from Louise.” She took out a silver dish, scooped a perfect ball of ice cream into it, stuck a ginger star cookie in the middle and then sprinkled spun sugar “glitter” on top. “It was my idea to add the stars,” Olivia said hesitantly. “I like to think of Mr. Barzonni being in heaven, walking among the stars.”

Gina flung her arms around Olivia. “My sweet girl. That is the loveliest thing anyone has said to me all week. I’ll remember it forever. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Olivia fought back tears as she glanced at her mother and saw pride and love shining in her eyes.

Gina took a deep breath and swept her fingers under her eyes. “I’ll announce dessert. Oh, Olivia, don’t forget the cream and sugar. I put it over there on that silver tray.”

Olivia smiled. “I got it.”

She watched from the kitchen as Rafe and Mica stacked their plates with her pastries. She wished she could take their photos; their smiles were the first she’d seen all day, and it warmed her to know that her creations brought them this little joy on such a sorrowful day. Once everyone had visited the dessert table, Gina began serving the ice cream, and Olivia followed her out with a china pot of hot coffee.

As she rounded Rafe’s table, pouring coffee, Rafe reached out and clutched her hand.

“Is it true you made these macaroons?” he asked, holding up the colorful cookie with chocolate mousse filling between the layers.

“I did. Do you like them?”

“They’re great,” he said sourly. “But these aren’t macaroons. There’s no coconut in these.”

“I didn’t want to correct you, but yes, these are French macarons. Macaroons do have coconut.” She leaned down to pick up his cup and saucer. Her arm passed very close to his shoulder, but he didn’t move to give her more space. “Would you like cream or sugar?”

“Black. There’s enough sugar in the cookies. I could eat a dozen of these. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a rush of warmth through her body. As she poured the coffee, she could smell his spicy cologne over the fresh scents of soap and shampoo.

He put his hand on her sleeve and she felt the strength of his fingers as they curled around her wrist. She turned her head slightly to meet his blazing eyes. “Thanks for helping my mom. You’ve been very kind to her. She told me what you said about my father walking among the stars. Thank you.”

Olivia was tongue-tied. “I...I believe what I said.”

Rafe nodded. “Well, it was what she needed to hear. I know Mom’s still planning a baby shower for Gabe and Liz. We’ve all decided that from now on, we want you and your mother to cater her parties so she doesn’t have to work so hard.”

It was sweet that Rafe and his brothers were looking out for Gina, and Olivia tried to ignore the jab of disappointment: Rafe saw her as an employee. A hired hand.

But why should she care, and why should he think of her any other way? She was the hired professional for their dinner party. Period. Olivia tried to move on from the moment, but she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot. His intense eyes, his fresh, clean smell, the pressure of his hand on her arm were all causing sensual overload.

“I’m more than happy to help anytime,” Olivia struggled to say.

He dropped his hand and looked at the coffee Olivia was still holding. “Thanks.” She still didn’t move. “I’ve got it,” he said, taking the cup and saucer from her when she didn’t put it down. His fingers bumped hers, and Olivia retracted her hand as if she’d been burned. Rafe was immersed in the world of horse racing. The one sphere in the universe she’d vowed never to enter again. Too many shadows and whispers of her father’s addiction to overwhelm her. She didn’t trust this man or his magnetism, and she knew that if she wavered at all, she would be lost.

“Cream? Sugar?” She heard herself ask perfunctorily. He glanced up at her with eyes that cut right to her core. She read honesty, friendliness, gratitude, sadness...and loneliness. Was that right? His eyes searched her face in expectation, but of what? She got the distinct impression that he wanted to ask her something, though she was unsure of his reasons or needs. What she did know was that he was making himself unforgettable.

“No. Like I said, I take it straight.”

“Right. Gotcha,” she said and backed away from his table. Gina asked Rafe a question and he turned to her. “I’m sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”

Olivia could hear the shutter snapping in her mind, taking dozens of mental images of Rafe as she walked from table to table. Normally, she liked the way she saw the world in photographs. But right now she wanted to focus on anything but Rafe. Besides, he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to her.

As she took a load of dishes to the kitchen, she reminded herself that Rafe Barzonni was a gambler. Like her father.

Actually, he was worse than her father, because Rafe was the horse owner. The kind of man whose pastime fueled the flames of spiritual and financial demise for others.

This night had unleashed a battalion of emotions for Olivia, and if she was smart, she would lock them up for good. Nights like this were dangerous because they tapped into what her mother called the “dark side of the soul.” Too much introspection could be a bad thing.

Olivia should have expected this kind of inner turmoil at a funeral, yet it had caught her off guard. The only way she could put an end to her consternation was to forget Rafe. She relaxed a little. That would be easy; after tonight, she probably wouldn’t see Rafe again for months. If ever.

CHAPTER FOUR

RAFE SLIPPED OUT of the house as soon as he could, knowing that most of the guests would hang around after dinner, devouring the remains of the desserts or sipping brandy with Nate, Gabe and Mica. The air in the house was claustrophobic. The walls pressed in on him as if he were the one in the coffin. It was all he could do to make it through dinner. He’d barely registered what had been served, except for those cookies the caterer had explained to him.

Macarons. He had to remember that. She had been nice. Pretty, too. Soft brown eyes. A guy could lose himself in eyes like that. He’d liked how genuine she seemed. He didn’t actually recall much else about her—she’d been dressed in her chef’s coat and black leggings. She looked official, he supposed, for a caterer.

His mother seemed to know her fairly well, he thought, trying to rattle his thoughts into place.

Rafe rotated his neck from left to right. Everything seemed surreal. He knew people had been talking to him, but their voices seemed so far away. Words floated around him like kelp in the ocean. He felt as if he was half-conscious. Or going crazy.

Pulling the collar of his jacket up to ward off the early-spring chill, he made his way toward the stable. The sun was down and the warmth he’d felt earlier was gone. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and held his arms close to his sides to keep warm. The cold was more than physical. It bored into his psyche and sat upon his soul. Suddenly, he felt alone. Abandoned. Adrift.

He supposed these feelings were to be expected when death came around. Rafe hadn’t experienced death personally before, except when his chocolate Lab, Moosie, had died ten years ago. His father had been orphaned as a child, and his maternal grandparents had never come to America. He remembered talking to them on the telephone a few times, but all he’d ever said was buongiorno, since they didn’t speak English. When they passed on, he and his brothers all stayed home. He didn’t have any aunts, uncles or cousins in America—even Aunt Bianca had been a stranger to him before this visit.