Ring of Truth by Ciji Ware Page B

to the little village of Montisi—not far from Montepulciano—about forty miles south of Siena,” he said, flashing a dazzling grin as he confirmed her conjecture about his family’s origins. “The oil from the original Montisi groves rivals this... almost,” he added, continuing to look at her with unnerving interest, which prompted her to glance down at the Claddagh ring, rather than drown in his steady gaze. Its stone was pure white and pulsing.
    Ask for an interview. Go see the ranch where the oil is produced!
    Kerry was about to open her mouth to repeat these thoughts aloud when Ren said, “Why don’t you come see where we make this? We’re hosting a bunch of food writers like yourself at the ranch tomorrow, which means you’ll probably feel right at home. I’m sure Chef Jeremy can make room for one more place setting.”
    She glanced over her shoulder at Tony. “Tony Perez and I work for the same company now. He’s in charge of salads at the LifestyleXer dot com cafeteria and is a big fan of your oil.”
    Ren’s smile faded and he said, “Oh... well... perhaps since it’s two of you—”
    Tony shook his head sorrowfully. “I gotta work tomorrow, but Kerry can tell me all about it. It’s her very first day in California, Mr. Montisi, and she can’t miss out on something like this.”
    Kerry observed another of Ren Montisi’s faintly devastating grins spread across his handsome features as he turned to the owner of Amphora Nueva.
    Â â€œWell, now, why don’t we decant thirteen bottles of Montisi’s finest for these nice folks?”
    ***
    Ten minutes later, Ren fished into his back jean’s pocket and brought out a business card imprinted with his ranch’s logo that he handed to the young woman with the shoulder-length, jet black hair and totally arresting sapphire eyes. He couldn’t believe his luck running into one of the major food bloggers in the country. And what a stunner! What was she doing in this store on this day, he marveled?
    â€œHere’s where you come tomorrow,” he explained. “Do you think you can find your way to us? On a Saturday, it should take you about forty-fifty minutes up Highway 101 from the city. We’ll be serving wine and iced tea and a few things to nibble on at twelve and we’ll sit down to lunch at about quarter to one.”
    He’d never wanted anyone to accept an invitation to see the ranch as much in his life as he did Kerry Hannigan. Jeremy had been the first to talk about her blog and her philosophy about how America should eat food grown close to its source. “The Hundred-Mile Diet” had become a cliché in Northern California, at least, but the woman standing only a few feet from him had a way of telling stories within her blog posts that won his rapt attention and admiration from the first time he’d read her work.
    He would never admit to anyone that he’d studied her picture on her website late one evening, but it was nothing compared to seeing first hand that lovely pale skin with cheeks that blushed when she was excited, as he’d observed earlier when she’d tasted the oil-infused cube of bread. And despite all the food she must consume for her job, she had a slender figure, but one with curves right where they should be. She couldn’t be more than five-feet-four, which was so different from—
    He didn’t want to make comparisons. Studying Kerry Hannigan’s every gesture, he had the strangest inclination to take her in his arms to see if she’d fit snugly under his chin...
    Â She was talking to him now, he realized with a start.
    Â â€œWould it be possible to show up at your ranch... say, at ten-thirty,” she inquired politely, “so I could do a quick interview and you could show me the olive groves and your production facility before the hordes arrive? And may I take some photos