sauce. “I’ve been looking at a couple of maps of the area and thought we might do a little exploring tomorrow by car. I’ve always wanted to see the Big Sur area and thought the middle of the week might work out better than fighting the rest of the tourists on a weekend.”
“How about the day after? I just made plans for tomorrow.”
She tried, but couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I thought you were going to take a couple of days off before you started making the rounds of the stables.”
Christopher felt heat rise from his neck to his cheeks. He was like some friggin’ flashing light whenever he was embarrassed about something. Just like his dad. Or his grandfather. Or both. He never could remember how it went.
“I met someone who’s going to teach me to surf, and I’m going to teach her to ride.”
Alison took another sip. “That should be fun.”
Christopher laughed out loud. “You really need some lessons on subtlety, Grams.” He broke off a second piece of bread. “But just because I’m a nice guy, I’ll let you off the hook this time. She’s not some hot surfing chick I picked up at the beach. She lives next door.”
“Grace?” Alison smiled in relief. “I like her.”
“Oh, so now it’s okay that I’m bailing on you?”
“Give me a break,” she said, refusing to respond to his baiting. “I could have asked to meet her parents.”
“Which probably means you already have.”
She gave him a sheepish look. “Just her father and sister. Her mother and younger brother are in Los Angeles for the month.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“Not that I’m going to tell you. You’ll have to find out for yourself.” She picked up the spoon again. “Speaking of parents, you need to call your mother.”
He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “It’s five-thirty in the morning there. Besides, I thought we already had this conversation at the airport.”
“That was before she called again when you were out. She’s having a lot of trouble with jet lag, and there’s not much to do there in the middle of the night. She said she was going to try to reach you on your cell. I take it she didn’t.”
Christopher took his phone out of his pocket. He checked the switch on the side of the phone. “I forgot to turn it on.” There were two missed calls and seven missed texts. Both calls were from his mother. The texts were from friends.
“When you call, tell her that I’ve changed my mind about the pottery and that I’ll text her tomorrow with a list of the pieces I want her to buy for me.”
“And she’s going to know what I’m talking about?”
“She found my pattern in a little shop in Deruta. It’s a travel brochure kind of town almost exactly in the center of Italy. I’ve wanted to go there since your grandfather bought me my first ceramic bowl.”
His grandmother had a tendency to give too much information, using a paragraph when a sentence would do.
“According to your mom, there are a couple of new pieces that are stunning. She’s going to go back tomorrow to see if they’ll let her take some pictures of the new releases to send me.”
“Wow,” he said with heavily feigned enthusiasm, “I can see why you’re so excited. You’ll get to shuffle everything around in the cabinets when you get home.” Not until the words were out did he realize he sounded mean rather than teasing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
The apology did nothing to stop a shimmer of tears from forming along her lower eyelashes. She worked to blink them away. “I know you didn’t.” She forced a smile. “You’re just worried about me turning into one of those little old ladies whose life revolves around her ‘things.’ ”
“Actually, I like your pottery. It’s those freakish ceramic dogs that drive me nuts.”
“Your grandfather gave—”
“Yeah, I know. But that was a long time ago. Did it ever occur to you that he
“How about the day after? I just made plans for tomorrow.”
She tried, but couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I thought you were going to take a couple of days off before you started making the rounds of the stables.”
Christopher felt heat rise from his neck to his cheeks. He was like some friggin’ flashing light whenever he was embarrassed about something. Just like his dad. Or his grandfather. Or both. He never could remember how it went.
“I met someone who’s going to teach me to surf, and I’m going to teach her to ride.”
Alison took another sip. “That should be fun.”
Christopher laughed out loud. “You really need some lessons on subtlety, Grams.” He broke off a second piece of bread. “But just because I’m a nice guy, I’ll let you off the hook this time. She’s not some hot surfing chick I picked up at the beach. She lives next door.”
“Grace?” Alison smiled in relief. “I like her.”
“Oh, so now it’s okay that I’m bailing on you?”
“Give me a break,” she said, refusing to respond to his baiting. “I could have asked to meet her parents.”
“Which probably means you already have.”
She gave him a sheepish look. “Just her father and sister. Her mother and younger brother are in Los Angeles for the month.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“Not that I’m going to tell you. You’ll have to find out for yourself.” She picked up the spoon again. “Speaking of parents, you need to call your mother.”
He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “It’s five-thirty in the morning there. Besides, I thought we already had this conversation at the airport.”
“That was before she called again when you were out. She’s having a lot of trouble with jet lag, and there’s not much to do there in the middle of the night. She said she was going to try to reach you on your cell. I take it she didn’t.”
Christopher took his phone out of his pocket. He checked the switch on the side of the phone. “I forgot to turn it on.” There were two missed calls and seven missed texts. Both calls were from his mother. The texts were from friends.
“When you call, tell her that I’ve changed my mind about the pottery and that I’ll text her tomorrow with a list of the pieces I want her to buy for me.”
“And she’s going to know what I’m talking about?”
“She found my pattern in a little shop in Deruta. It’s a travel brochure kind of town almost exactly in the center of Italy. I’ve wanted to go there since your grandfather bought me my first ceramic bowl.”
His grandmother had a tendency to give too much information, using a paragraph when a sentence would do.
“According to your mom, there are a couple of new pieces that are stunning. She’s going to go back tomorrow to see if they’ll let her take some pictures of the new releases to send me.”
“Wow,” he said with heavily feigned enthusiasm, “I can see why you’re so excited. You’ll get to shuffle everything around in the cabinets when you get home.” Not until the words were out did he realize he sounded mean rather than teasing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
The apology did nothing to stop a shimmer of tears from forming along her lower eyelashes. She worked to blink them away. “I know you didn’t.” She forced a smile. “You’re just worried about me turning into one of those little old ladies whose life revolves around her ‘things.’ ”
“Actually, I like your pottery. It’s those freakish ceramic dogs that drive me nuts.”
“Your grandfather gave—”
“Yeah, I know. But that was a long time ago. Did it ever occur to you that he
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