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it. Gadgets, dishes and knives crammed the shelves and hung from the ceiling.
    Sarah had followed her into the store. “Wow! This is amazing!” She began to pick up things and examine them, Elizabeth following suit.
    “Wonder what this is?” Elizabeth said to her daughter. She had a rectangle of wood broken into one-inch squares in her hand.
    “
Ravioli sampa
,” a short woman in a black dress and white apron said.
    “I don’t understand — ” Elizabeth began.
    “Ah, American. Ravioli press. You make ravioli with it. Very old way. Is good.” The woman bustled off to another corner of the crowded store.
    Elizabeth studied the press. The old wood appealed to her. “I think I’ll get it.”
    “I thought you were making lotions, not ravioli,” Sarah said.
    I thought I was, too.
“It’s just a souvenir. It’ll look nice hanging in the kitchen.”
    As she paid for her purchase, Elizabeth wondered at her attraction to the old press. She liked to cook, but still she couldn’t see herself spending days and days with pasta the way her grandmother had.
    They were leaving the store when Elizabeth’s cell phone rang. “Hello?” Who could be calling her in Italy?
    “Ah, I have dialed correctly.” Marcos responded. “It is Marcos.”
    “Oh, I hadn’t expected to hear from you.” She glanced over at Sarah who was mouthing, “Who is it?”
    “Marcos,” Elizabeth mouthed back.
    Marcos continued. “Now that we have had dinner together and you have seen I am not a serial killer, I was hoping I could persuade you and your lovely daughter to see my vineyard tomorrow. I would pick up a picnic lunch. It would make me happy to have you see my work.”
    Should she accept another date Marcos? Well, it wasn’t really a date. How could it be a date with her daughter along. There would be no chance for him to steal a kiss.
    Damn.
    “Let me check.” Elizabeth covered the receiver and spoke to Sarah. “Marcos would like to know if you want to see his vineyard tomorrow.” She shook her head at Sarah, indicating her daughter should say, “No.” Elizabeth’s stomach was queasy, indicating seeing Marcos again wasn’t a great idea.
    Sarah didn’t get the message. “An Italian vineyard? That would be fantastic! A great way to spend our last day in Italy!”
    Elizabeth took a deep breath. “We would love to go,” she said to Marcos.

Chapter 4
    The pungent odor of cured meat and ripened cheese greeted Marcos as he walked into the small grocer’s shop the next morning.
    “
Ciao
, Sofia,” he called to another cousin, this one more distantly related that the others. She greeted him in rapid-fire Italian. “So Marcos, what do you need today? I’m busy.”
    He looked around the store. There was no one but him in the narrow confines of the store. Meat was hanging everywhere and cheese rounds were stacked in corners. Pyramids of polished vegetables threatened to fall with the touch of a finger.
    But no other customers.
    “I don’t need customers in my shop to be busy, Marcos. Now come, come, what do you need? I’m making ravioli and don’t have time to fiddle with you.”
    “I have met the most beguiling American,” he began, his thoughts on the charming woman he’d taken to dinner.
    “Ah … you need a woman-lunch.”
    “Actually, two women. She has a daughter in college.”
    Sofia’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you after the woman or the daughter? The daughter would be a little young for you, Marcos. You’ll never see the other side of forty again, you know. Besides you have a daughter of your own. When’s the last time you saw Gina?”
    Sofia had never been one of his biggest fans. No matter how hard he tried or how many bottles of fine wine he gave her, she’d never forgiven him for divorcing AnnaMaria.
    And he’d never told her why the divorce had been necessary.
    He sighed and waved his hand in the air. “No, Sofia, it’s not the daughter. It’s the mother.” The memory of Elizabeth made him