Chapter 11

The morning sunshinewarms my skin under the cloudless sky. It's my first day working at Rossi Olive Farms, and the butterflies in my stomach are a good indication of how I'm feeling. I grab the rusty old red bike with the brown basket hooked on the front and wheel it out of the garden shed, checking the tires. They are in surprisingly good shape. Nonna Rossi said she'd make sure the bike was in working condition for me to get to the farm. I'm not exactly thrilled to be back on a bike so soon, but it will be much quicker than walking. Careful not to injure my thumb, I swing a leg over and push forward, the bike groaning in protest as I coax the pedal around. A little elbow grease, and I could have this baby looking good as new.

I stuff the paper with directions inside the basket, along with my bag that holds my lunch, wallet, phone, and passport. I pedal across the gravel drive and out onto the dirt road, taking my time and soaking in my surroundings. I begrudgingly admit to myself I kind of miss Romeo from the tour and his ‘It's a beautiful day' comments when I roll past the serene green hills dotted with olive trees. I turn my face up to the bright blue sky laced with white wisps of clouds floating leisurely by.

I woke up this morning feeling excited and renewed, like I had a purpose. On my way home from the farmers' market yesterday, I stopped at the local supermercato for groceries. Everyone was helpful, even though I could only speak a few phrases in Italian. It felt like another accomplishment, being able to successfully buy groceries in a foreign country. They called me la donna che vive nella Casa Rossi, ‘the woman living in the Rossi house'. I kept trying to tell them my name was Summer, but they just smiled and nodded their heads and said, ‘Sí, sí, estate'. Yes, you idiot, it is summer here. Why does this woman keep mentioning it?

I glance down at the map Nonna Rossi drew with a shaky hand and turn onto a road marked with a large boulder. I pump my legs as the dirt road inclines. Despite my darndest to block it out, I swear I can hear the dreaded song, "Eye of the Tiger" echoing in my head. Leaning down, I surge forward. Take that, A-team. The dirt turns to pea gravel when I reach a plateau and I take a quick sip of water. The road evens out and I sail past lush gardens filled with purples, blues, and pinks. Butterflies dance from one frothy flower to the next while the bees hum happily, collecting their pollen.

I turn the bend, and my breath catches at the magnificent house ahead of me. The cream limestone estate makes my little villa seem like the rear garden shed. Wooden shutters hug large windows encased by wrought-iron balconies. Bright red geraniums and lavender spill over the sides. Terracotta tiles bake in the morning sun, beckoning travelers to come out of the heat. I lean my bike against the low stone wall of the gravel parking area. There are several buildings off in the distance behind the main house, next to the olive groves. It's like I just arrived at my dream home in Italy. I take in the view of the hills below and the town off in the distance.

I head toward the detached building a little ways from the main house, with fuchsia bougainvillea climbing up the right side. An ‘Aperto/Open' sign hangs on the door and a little bell jingles when I walk inside, announcing my presence. The room is dark and cool, smelling of polished wood and olive oil.

"Hello? Uh, ciao?" I finger the golden horn necklace Nonna Rossi gave me while I peruse the walls of olive oil bottles. "Is anyone here?"

"I be right with you!" an accented female calls out from another room. I exhale, my nerves sizzling in the pit of my stomach. I walk around the room, taking in the terracotta floors and mahogany bar with glass dishes spaced a foot apart from each other. A fresh loaf of crispy white bread sits wrapped in a white hand towel on a wooden cutting board. I wonder if this is the tasting room. My mouth waters just thinking about fresh bread dipped in pure olive oil.

I wander to the shelves stacked with beautiful green bottles of Rossi Organic Olive Oil, Rossi Extra Virgin Olive Oil, bottles of oil infused with herbs, and bottles of olives and olive tapenade. Rossi cookbooks and other knickknacks for sale fill up the additional shelves. I pick up a cookbook and scan the beautiful cover.

"Buongiorno! You must be Summer!"

My heart lurches out of my chest as I whirl around, nearly dropping the book. "Oh, you scared me! Hi, yes, buongiorno," I fumble. "I'm Summer Andrews. Do you happen to speak English?"

"Sí…yes!"

"Oh, thank God," I murmur. "I'm here for the job? Signora Rossi said she'd meet me here at ten."

"Ah, welcome, my name is Fiore Rossi. I'm the chef here at the farm." Her wide smile is warm and inviting, like we're sharing a fun secret. Her light brown hair is tied back in a French braid, and her hazel eyes remind me of another Rossi I know. She's petite, but commanding, dressed in a white chef's coat and black pants. "Nonna wasn't able to get here in time, so I told her I'd show you around."

I snap my fingers at the mention of her name, and smile. "Oh Fiore, you made me spaghetti the other night. It was incredible! Thank you so much."

"It was no trouble. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Is your hand hurt?"

"It's fine. I was in a bike accident last week and dislocated my thumb. The splint is just cautionary."

"Ouch. Bikers are everywhere in these parts. Be careful because Italian drivers will unintentionally run you off the road."

"So I've seen. Are you related to Lorenzo?"

She smiles easily. "Sí, Renzo is my older brother. Have you met him?"

"I'm surprised the whole town hasn't heard the story of the American who stole the Rossi house right out from under him," I grumble to myself, but she snickers.

"Oh, I've heard. He came storming up here that day madder than the devil with a bee sting. Renzo is a sweetheart, but Nonna pushes his buttons. And when he doesn't get his way, he acts like un bambino. He's all about l' azienda. The Business."

"The business?"

"Sí, Lorenzo runs Rossi Olive Oil. My father semi-retired a couple years ago and now Lorenzo runs the empire."

"Oh wow…empire. Naturally, when you own something this beautiful, you would be protective of it." I take a minute rolling the word ‘empire' around in my brain. This is not a mom-and-pop shop, that's for sure. And the King of the Rossi empire helped me with my plumbing…oh God. "Is this your cookbook?"

She beams and steps up next to me. "I released it last year. I have it in Italian and English." She slips a cookbook off the shelf and lovingly runs a hand over the cover. "My greatest accomplishment."

"Congratulations, that's amazing. I'm not much of a cook, but I'd love to learn." I flip through the glossy pages of colorful, mouthwatering dishes. "What's your favorite?"

"The Osso Bucco, but my brother's favorite is ragù Bolognese." She winks at me. "Here, take one. On me." She hands me a book in English and takes the Italian version I'm holding.

"Wow, thank you. Maybe you can teach me how to make the Osso Bucco sometime?"

"Of course. You can always come back in the kitchen with me if there aren't any guests."

"Is there a restaurant here?"

"I own a small café right behind this little building. I serve lunch and dinner for guests out on the patio. I can make you some lunch today unless you brought something."

I think of the apple and packet of crushed chips I quickly packed. "Lunch would be amazing, thank you." I place the cookbook with my things on the front bar. "So, do you know what my job will entail? Will I be helping you? Out in the fields picking olives?"

"No, no, I have Fredo helping me. You'll meet him soon. You will work here with Nina. Greeting guests, setting up the tours, olive oil tastings—"

"Tours? What do you mean by tours?"

"Oh, you don't have to give the tour. That's Nina's job. We have three tours a day—ten thirty, noon, and two p.m. She should be here in a bit."

I blow out the breath I was holding. "Oh, okay. Do you think it will be a problem that I don't speak Italian very well?" As in, at all.

"You'll be fine. Most of our tourists are from other countries and speak English."

"Do you live near here?" I lean against the counter.

"Sí, I live with my parents and Nonna in the main house. Renzo has an apartment in town."

"The main house is beautiful."

"Oh, yes, I'll give you a tour at some point, and if you like to swim, you are more than welcome to come up and use the pool."

"You have a pool? I will take you up on that generous offer." I smile. I'm really enjoying talking to Fiore. She's so easygoing and sweet, I feel like I've known her forever.

Her eyes zero in on my necklace. "Your necklace is just like mine! Did someone special give it to you?" She holds up her necklace for me to see.

"Oh…" I slap my hand over it.

"Nonna Rossi gave it to her, along with the house." That deep baritone rumbles through me, causing goosebumps to break out along my skin. Turning, I bite down on my tongue to keep it from lolling out across the floor. Lorenzo's leaning against the door jamb leading into a hallway, presumably where the café is located. His muscular arms are crossed over his chest, causing his white dress shirt to stretch tight. He's wearing gray dress slacks, a black belt, and black dress shoes. His dress shirt is casually unbuttoned at the collar, showing av of tanned skin, and his sable-brown hair is artfully tousled. I quietly groan, trying like hell to return my attention to Fiore, who is speaking rapidly in Italian.

"My sister says I'm being rude," he says, looking like he's not in the least bit sorry for it.

"Seems to be a trend with you," I mutter. The door jingles, saving me from his intense stare. A pretty raven-haired girl in her twenties swings in.

"Buongiorno! Che bella giornata."

"Sí, it is beautiful today," Lorenzo translates for me, his hazel eyes pinning me to the spot. Nina eyes me curiously.

"Chi è? è un turista? Sembra Americana."

Fiore frowns and steps forward. "Nina, this is Summer Andrews. She is American and will be working here for the summer until Cristina comes back. Her Italian isn't great, so we will help her out, sí?"

Nina gives me a dismissive once-over before she pours a little olive oil into a dish and rubs it along her lips. She turns her attention to Lorenzo. "Lorenzo sei proprio da mangiare stamattina. Vieni con me a fare il tour insieme?" she purrs, her voice low and smoky.

Fiore rolls her eyes while Lorenzo straightens from the wall and clears his throat. "No, I will not be joining you on tour today. I have business meetings all day, but Carlo will be available if you need help."

Nina's lips twist into a frown. "Carlo puzza come un maiale."

Lorenzo scowls in return. "Carlo does not stink like a pig, Nina. Please speak English around Summer and help her with Italian when she needs it. Fiore, I'll be back at lunchtime with Mamma and Nonna." His liquid gaze settles on me, and I immediately feel heat pooling in my nether regions. Jesus, just a glance from this man has me simpering like a wet noodle. "Summer, let Fiore or Nina know if you have questions. Try not to break any pipes at the farm this morning." A hint of a smile ghosts across his lips.

"Hilarious. I'll try not to," I say. Nina's eyes dart between us, a sour expression marring her pretty face.

"Okay, Summer, let me show you the computer and where we keep the appointments for tours and tastings. You can keep your things back here." Fiore ushers me to an office.

"I don't think Nina is happy I'm here," I admit, setting my things down on a chair.

"Don't worry about her. She can be a bit…drammatica. She'll warm up to you. She doesn't like surprises, and you are most definitely a surprise."

"Does it upset you that your nonna gave me this necklace?"

Fiore peers over at me, her eyes twinkling. "Not at all. Nonna is an excellent judge of character. She seems to sense things about people others can't see. She probably knew you would need protection while here…especially from Renzo. He can be intense." Fiore laughs and waves her hand. "But don't worry about him either. He's a tender ravioli under all that sauce."

I swallow past the knot in my throat. "I think he resents me being in the house down the hill."

"Probably, but oh well. It was Nonna's decision to make. Renzo can be like a child sometimes, but he'll get over it. Besides, you're here just for the summer, sí?"

"I—"

"I think Nonna just needed an excuse not to give the house to Renzo, and you showed up like un segno…a sign. She's not ready to say goodbye to her memories with Nonno quite yet. Renzo has all these grand plans to turn the house into a bed-and-breakfast—thinks it will bring more tourists in, but between you and me, the house is a dump. It's so old, it's falling apart. We need to bulldoze it to rubble." She cringes slightly. "Sorry, I mean, it's a lovely place to live. It's just old. Renzo did a couple of updates for Nonna before she moved up here. Anyway, let's get you logged in, and I'll show you the reservations and how to do the tastings."

She logs into the computer while my brain tries to catch up with her bubbly disposition. She goes over the reservations for the week. Luckily, there's an option to view them in English, and she shows me how to make the bookings and enter them into the computer. Next, she shows me where her reservation list is for the restaurant and how to print it out. Sometimes I will have to take calls for the café if the call gets bumped. She also gives me her and Lorenzo's cell numbers in case I need to reach either of them.

"Try some of the oil with the bread for the tastings today."

We walk back into the tasting room and find Nina checking her makeup in a mirror.

"Nina, I have to get started on today's lunch menu," Fiore tells her. "Can you show Summer how we do tastings? Ciao!"

Nina shrugs and puts her makeup away. I walk over to the sink and wash my hands.

"First, we set out the dishes. All the olive oil bottles are kept under here," Nina explains. She leans down and pulls the bottles from the cabinet under the bar. "They are all marked with which one you're pouring. We start with our refined olive oil. è un po' insipido, uh, it tastes bland, but it allows the customer to taste the difference. We only pour a little in the dish because people don't enjoy it as much."

I nod as she pulls another bottle out.

"This is virgin olive oil. It's what we use for cooking. It has a stronger flavor. Then we have our line of extra virgin oils. This is what customers love. We have a rosemary and garlic-infused one they can try. If customers press their own olives, then we have them taste it if they choose to."

"Oh wow, you can press your own olives here?"

"Sí, we're one of the few farms that have their own olive press. That's pretty much it. Serve each tasting with a piece of bread for them to dip into the oil. You can also have them try some olive tapenade, which we keep in the fridge, but that's just another dish to clean, so I don't offer it. You'll have to talk to Fiore about trying them." She shrugs and picks up her phone. "That's it."

"Seems simple enough. Were you doing the tastings before?"

"No, we had Cristina here, but she had a baby and is taking the summer off." She gives me another once-over before returning to her phone. "I told them I could handle it, but I guess they hired you."

"How long have you worked here?" I pour the oils in the dishes and slice off a piece of bread. I dip it in the first golden-green oil. It's good, but like she said, not much flavor.

"Two years," she says, typing on her phone. "But I've known the Rossi family forever."

The second oil is a bit more robust. I dip my bread in the green oil of the extra virgin oil. The bread melts on my tongue, flavor bursting in my mouth. I close my eyes and hum in appreciation. It is fruity and earthy and so incredibly fresh compared to anything I've tasted back home. "This is divine."

Nina looks over at me and frowns. "I don't think Fiore would appreciate you eating the customers' bread."

I take another bite of the bread, sopping in oil, and shrug. "Fiore said it was okay. She wants me to try the product before I have my first tasting, so I know what I'm talking about. And according to the calendar, there's a group coming in this morning."

Nina wrinkles her nose and turns from me. I collect the cups and bring them to the sink to wash. She may be upset I've taken Cristina's place, but it was Nonna's decision. I look over my shoulder at her and chew my bottom lip. Having to befriend a hostile coworker was definitely not on my bingo card for this trip.

"Nina?"

"Sí?" She doesn't look up as she picks at one of her nails.

"Thanks for helping me learn the ropes. I think you and I are going to work great together." I smile and try not to laugh at the confused look on her face. As my Grams used to say, kill them with kindness.