Jim retreated with a playful smile. “Jewish? That might not work.”
“Said the black kettle to the Jewish pot.”
Jim pulled her against him again. “We can piss off all kinds of people with the union.” The man was joking, but damn if it wasn’t fun to be a part of a joke with Jim freaking Lewis.
“My mother is Catholic.”
That had Jim pulling away only to laugh. “Our children would be so messed up.”
“You’re too old to give her children,” Val said with a frown.
“I’m told that a healthy man can have sperm produce children until death.” Meg found Val’s eyes and held them.
Gabi made her way back to the party and asked, “What’s this about children and death?”
“Nothing, tesoro. Jim is just a shameless flirt and found an audience with poor Miss Rosenthal,” Mrs. Masini said.
“Call me Meg.”
Mrs. Masini patted her hand and Meg noticed Val frown.
“Did he call you his future wife?” Gabi asked.
“He did.”
Gabi rolled her eyes. “You need a new line.”
Val pulled away and encouraged all his guests to eat.
Meg found herself sitting beside Gabi and Mrs. Masini.
Jim and Val spoke with several guests, their laughter carrying over the courtyard.
“You really don’t cook?” Mrs. Masini asked halfway through their meal.
“Is a microwave considered cooking?”
Gabi winced. “You didn’t just say that.”
Mrs. Masini dropped her fork. “How will you find a husband if you don’t cook?”
Meg thought of her database full of prospective husbands. “Well . . .”
“You must know how to cook something.”
“Spaghetti.”
Mrs. Masini’s face lit up.
“As in jar sauce and boiled bag pasta.”
Mrs. Masini’s face fell.
Gabi groaned. “Let me say this now . . . run, Meg.”
“Pasta isn’t something that comes from a bag.” Mrs. Masini’s voice took on the quality of a Mom-Demon. Her low voice wasn’t something a mere mortal could ignore.
“In my house—”
“Jewish father, Catholic mother . . . I heard.” Mrs. Masini waved a hand in the air. “To find the right man, you must know how to cook at least one meal properly.”
“I’m really not looking for the right—”
“Enough!”
Some people might say they felt the weight of the world coming down, but never had Meg felt it before. The determination in Mrs. Masini’s voice, her words, and the sheer distress hovering over Gabi’s face made Meg squirm.
“Tomorrow you will meet me here, in Val’s kitchen.”
Meg started to shake her head.
Mrs. Masini narrowed her eyes and waved a hand in the air. “Jimmy!”
Meg glanced at Gabi, who looked across the lawn. Jim Lewis nodded and moved toward them, Val at his side. Once the men were at Mrs. Masini’s side, she relaxed in her chair and offered a casual smile.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You’re singing tonight, yes?”
“Val asked if I would.”
Mrs. Masini waved a hand in the air. Her eyes never left Meg’s. “You will sing something with Miss Rosenthal.”
Meg’s mouth dropped.
“You said you sing,” Mrs. Masini reminded Meg.
There were no words. “But . . .”
“You sing with Mr. Lewis, and tomorrow you will return here so I can teach you how to cook one meal properly.”
Having grown up with a combination of Jewish guilt and a hefty dose of Hail Marys, Meg knew when a parent was going to win.
“Mama, if Margaret doesn’t want to—” Val started.
Meg lifted her hand. “Zip it, Masini.” The opportunity to sing with Jim Lewis was simply too great to pass up. Only Meg wanted one tiny change in the contract. “On one condition.”
All eyes were on her.
“Someone records it.”
Jim lifted a brow.
“Just us,” Meg said. “If we suck, you take the video. If not, I keep it for my grandchildren.”
“Don’t you mean our grandchildren?” Jim asked, laughing.
Val rolled his eyes, Gabi laughed, and Mrs. Masini waited.
“Deal?” Meg asked.
Chapter Seven
Who was the woman who’d taken over Margaret’s body? The fun-loving, laughing, flirting woman was nothing like the person Val painted when he’d read her first letter of request to come to the island. She had his mother and sister rapt before the lunch plates were taken away.
Then there was Jim. If the man weren’t thirty years older than Margaret, Val might be worried.
The sun was pushing past noon and most of his guests had left when Val felt his phone vibrate.
Carol knew not to disturb him during his afternoon off. Not that Val ever felt as if he were truly off. Owning the island resort had always been a full-time job. Even when he left the Keys, he never truly left his job.
Val checked caller ID and excused himself to answer Carol’s call.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Masini.”
“My guess is you would have avoided it if you could. What can I do for you?”
“We have a little situation.”
Val instantly thought of the pictures in his e-mail the last two days and held his breath.
“Which is?”