stopped to admire the pair of monumental patinatedbronze reindeer perched on rockwork bases standing sentry at the entrance.
When Molly pushed open one of the doors, she was engulfed in mouthwatering aromas of garlic and basil. Daria had told her that Dando Osa, Mr. Mattucci’s private cook, frequently had offers from local restaurateurs after they’d attended Bello Lago’s annual dinners for the trade. Apparently, besides his extraordinary self-taught culinary skills, Osa seemed to be an interesting character. It was rumored he was a Spanish Basque and related to a big Nevada sheep-ranching family. And then others swore up and down he was a Portuguese from Macao who’d come into the country illegally. Osa, naturally, never said. In fact, Osa rarely spoke. More interesting, Daria had added, it was rumored that while some just thought he’d probably never mastered the English language, others said a small part of his tongue had been cut out when he’d been jailed in Spain as a youngster. Because rarely had anyone ever heard him say more than a few garbled words, the rumors had quickly become fact in everyone’s mind.
Molly was surprised to see so many people gathering around the large refectory table in the center of the tasting room just off the foyer. At one end, a double-tiered wrought-iron stand held large white platters filled with a staggering array of appetizers. Bottles of Bello Lago wines were prominently displayed. Carla apparently had a different view of a family dinner than Molly did. It took her a moment to scan the faces. When she finally spotted Emma with Michelle, she smiled her way past a group of men clustered around the small bar, towards the two young girls. Carla arrived just as Molly reached them.
Molly leaned down and kissed Emma on the forehead, then smiled at Michelle. “Did you two get all your homework done?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “No problemo. Michelle and I did it first thing at her house before we came over here.”
“I’m so glad you made it,” Carla said.
Scanning the room again, Molly said, “I had no idea you were having so many guests. I would have changed before leaving.”
Carla smiled. “These aren’t guests, they’re family. Well, employees really. But as close as family. My dad decided to throw one of his monthly dinners a little early.” Carla gestured to two men standing nearby and waved them over. “I’d like you to meet a couple of them.”
Dino Horne was the first to offer Molly his hand. Short, stocky, and bald, he had dark chocolate eyes. His pale blue button-down shirt sported a designer logo, and his khaki slacks looked like they’d just been pressed. “Nice to meet you, Molly. My wife loves your shop. I try to keep her out of there, but it doesn’t work.”
“Oh, Polly Horne! Of course. Don’t worry about her. She’s got a great eye and knows how to bargain.”
Horne grinned. “That’s encouraging news.”
“Dino is our master winemaker,” Carla said. “Without this man, there wouldn’t be a Bello Lago.”
“Don’t listen to her, Molly,” the taller man next to Horne said. “I’m Reggie Sullivan, and I’m the best marketing director in the wine business. I’m the guy that keeps Bello Lago in awards, not this old guy with a worn-out nose and palate.”
Molly took Reggie Sullivan’s hand. “How about if I believe you both?”
Sullivan, dressed in jeans and a silk aloha shirt, nodded to Carla. “Hey, with such diplomatic talent, I might just hire this gal.”
“No thanks.” Molly smiled. “I know zilch about wine. Besides, there are those who might argue with you about my sense of diplomacy.”
Emma giggled, then covered her mouth. Both men laughed.
Sullivan turned to Carla. “Speaking of diplomacy, where’s Todd?”
Molly saw Carla’s eyelids flutter just slightly. “He’s going to be late. We’ll start dinner without him.” Turning to Molly, she said, “I want you to meet my father.”
Domenico Mattucci
When Molly pushed open one of the doors, she was engulfed in mouthwatering aromas of garlic and basil. Daria had told her that Dando Osa, Mr. Mattucci’s private cook, frequently had offers from local restaurateurs after they’d attended Bello Lago’s annual dinners for the trade. Apparently, besides his extraordinary self-taught culinary skills, Osa seemed to be an interesting character. It was rumored he was a Spanish Basque and related to a big Nevada sheep-ranching family. And then others swore up and down he was a Portuguese from Macao who’d come into the country illegally. Osa, naturally, never said. In fact, Osa rarely spoke. More interesting, Daria had added, it was rumored that while some just thought he’d probably never mastered the English language, others said a small part of his tongue had been cut out when he’d been jailed in Spain as a youngster. Because rarely had anyone ever heard him say more than a few garbled words, the rumors had quickly become fact in everyone’s mind.
Molly was surprised to see so many people gathering around the large refectory table in the center of the tasting room just off the foyer. At one end, a double-tiered wrought-iron stand held large white platters filled with a staggering array of appetizers. Bottles of Bello Lago wines were prominently displayed. Carla apparently had a different view of a family dinner than Molly did. It took her a moment to scan the faces. When she finally spotted Emma with Michelle, she smiled her way past a group of men clustered around the small bar, towards the two young girls. Carla arrived just as Molly reached them.
Molly leaned down and kissed Emma on the forehead, then smiled at Michelle. “Did you two get all your homework done?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “No problemo. Michelle and I did it first thing at her house before we came over here.”
“I’m so glad you made it,” Carla said.
Scanning the room again, Molly said, “I had no idea you were having so many guests. I would have changed before leaving.”
Carla smiled. “These aren’t guests, they’re family. Well, employees really. But as close as family. My dad decided to throw one of his monthly dinners a little early.” Carla gestured to two men standing nearby and waved them over. “I’d like you to meet a couple of them.”
Dino Horne was the first to offer Molly his hand. Short, stocky, and bald, he had dark chocolate eyes. His pale blue button-down shirt sported a designer logo, and his khaki slacks looked like they’d just been pressed. “Nice to meet you, Molly. My wife loves your shop. I try to keep her out of there, but it doesn’t work.”
“Oh, Polly Horne! Of course. Don’t worry about her. She’s got a great eye and knows how to bargain.”
Horne grinned. “That’s encouraging news.”
“Dino is our master winemaker,” Carla said. “Without this man, there wouldn’t be a Bello Lago.”
“Don’t listen to her, Molly,” the taller man next to Horne said. “I’m Reggie Sullivan, and I’m the best marketing director in the wine business. I’m the guy that keeps Bello Lago in awards, not this old guy with a worn-out nose and palate.”
Molly took Reggie Sullivan’s hand. “How about if I believe you both?”
Sullivan, dressed in jeans and a silk aloha shirt, nodded to Carla. “Hey, with such diplomatic talent, I might just hire this gal.”
“No thanks.” Molly smiled. “I know zilch about wine. Besides, there are those who might argue with you about my sense of diplomacy.”
Emma giggled, then covered her mouth. Both men laughed.
Sullivan turned to Carla. “Speaking of diplomacy, where’s Todd?”
Molly saw Carla’s eyelids flutter just slightly. “He’s going to be late. We’ll start dinner without him.” Turning to Molly, she said, “I want you to meet my father.”
Domenico Mattucci
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