Lavished with Lavender - Valerie Comer Page 0,1
It will be a push for us, but they need the rehab bed for someone else.”
“Does that work for you?” asked Winnie. “The agency said they could provide a wheelchair-accessible van to bring her home.”
Today was Friday. Kenna nodded. “Wednesday is fine. I can pick her up from the unit and bring her here. I’d prefer to move in the day before if at all possible. At least, if I’ve met with your approval, and you’d like to hire me?” She held her breath a moment, watching the women glance at each other. Please, please, please.
“May I show you around the house?” asked Betta. She’d been rather quiet through the whole interview.
“Sure.” That would give the others time to consult behind her back. Whatever. Kenna rose and followed Betta into a large kitchen lined with granite countertops. “This is nice.” More than nice. It was a dream kitchen for a serious cook, probably four or five times the size of the one in Kenna’s apartment. But then, she normally made do with quick, basic meals.
“Mamma loves to cook.” Betta pointed out the doors to a patio where grapes dangled from the roof supports. Beyond it lay a yard lined with raised beds filled with tomato plants and others Kenna didn’t recognize. “And she loves her fresh ingredients. Don’t worry, her grandchildren will take care of most of this garden.”
Whew. The sound of a gate clicking caught her attention, and a man in denim shorts and a gray T-shirt rounded the corner of the house.
“There’s Tony now. Have you met him before?”
Kenna shook her head, but she wasn’t sure. All the Santoro guys looked a lot alike with their wiry builds, dark curly hair, and striking blue eyes.
“Tony lives in the basement right now. He’s very busy with his new restaurant. You may have noticed Antonio’s just a few blocks away?”
Kenna blinked. She’d driven by at times over the winter and watched the transformation of a nondescript building to an inviting Mediterranean-style villa. She should have guessed it was a Santoro enterprise. “Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“Don’t worry. My nephew isn’t here much. He won’t be in your way.”
Just the thought of someone else coming and going at odd hours was enough to be in Kenna’s way.
Betta opened the patio door and leaned out. “Tony! I’d like you to meet one of the applicants for nursing Nonna.”
His head came up, and he met her gaze with assessing eyes. “Hi, there.” He came inside the back door. “I’m Tony. And you are...?”
“Makenna Johnson,” supplied Betta.
His eyebrows rose. “Johnson? That’s not what I heard.”
Kenna straightened her shoulders and stared back. “I go by Kenna Johnson again.” There was no keeping Maurice a secret, not when she’d lived less than a mile from here for six years as his wife. Besides, Grace Santoro, at least, knew who she was. “It’s the name on my nursing diploma.”
Betta’s gaze zipped between them. “Is there a problem, Tony?”
“I don’t know. Is there a problem... Ms. Johnson?”
What had come over him? His words sounded challenging. Mean, even. So not like him.
Tony Santoro had known his aunts were hiring a nurse for Nonna. His cousin Jasmine had told him her late father-in-law’s fourth and final wife was on the short list of prospects. She’d even mentioned that Makenna was quite a lot younger than Maurice had been. He’d still somehow envisioned a plump, middle-aged woman with a ready smile — someone comfortable — not a blond bombshell with sharp edges on her attitude.
Back when he and his sister had been kids, Gina had been obsessed with her fashion doll collection. This nurse jogged his memory with her long wavy hair, tanned skin, and hourglass figure. Probably just as airheaded.
Her chin came up and steely gray eyes bored into his. “There is no problem, Mr. Santoro.”
“Tony?” Aunt Betta was all but wringing her hands. “What’s going on?”
He hadn’t reacted this strongly to anyone in years, negatively or positively. And this was definitely negative. How could someone who looked so... perfect... take good care of his beloved grandmother? How many hours did she spend on those fingernails, anyway?
Tony turned away. “I need to pick the tomatoes before I head down to the restaurant. We’re featuring Caprese tonight.”
“Tony?” asked Aunt Betta again.
“He may have known me as Makenna Hamelin.” The nurse’s words clipped out. “My resume mentions my time as Maurice Hamelin’s nurse through his final days.” She took a deep breath. “Your sister-in-law Grace knew I was married to him.”
Tony couldn’t resist