Goddess of Spring Read Online Free PDF

and men who were not gentlemen. On the other hand, she totally endorsed a well-accented, well-chosen Italian curse as simply showing one’s creativity. Standing in front of her bakery Lina let loose with a string of Italian that began with telling the IRS they could va al diavolo, or go to hell, and ending with saying they were nothing more than a chronic, flaming rompicoglioni, or pain in the ass. Just to cover all bases in between she strung together several “shits” and “damns,” in Italian, of course. She felt sure Grandma would have been proud.
    When people began staring she shut her mouth and told herself to breathe slowly and deeply. She was an intelligent, successful businesswoman. Hell, she could even curse eloquently in Italian and English, but she tried to keep the English to a minimum—Grandma had been right, it just didn’t sound as well-bred (and yes, Grandma would also have appreciated the pun). How difficult could it be for her to come up with a few new menu choices? Even if they were meals and not breads.
    She started to twirl a strand of her hair, but caught herself and forced her hand to stay at her side. The problem wasn’t that she couldn’t come up with some new recipes. The problem, she realized, was that through Pani Del Goddess she had established a solid reputation for preparing breads that were unique and delicious. She couldn’t just slap some pesto over pasta and toss a salad on the side of the plate. She wouldn’t do it at all if she couldn’t do it well. The name Pani Del Goddess meant excellence, and Lina was determined that it would never stand for anything less.
    She should call her grandmother; she’d have a stack of ideas that she’d be thrilled to share with her beloved bambina . Again.
    â€œBut as Anton would say, I’m sooo not a baby,” Lina muttered to herself. “Good God, I’m forty-three. It’s about time I quit running to Grandma.”
    Lina’s dialogue with herself was interrupted by the sound of care-free laughter coming from two women who had just emerged from the used bookstore across the street. She scowled and wished that all she had to worry about was shopping with a friend for the perfect book.
    The scowl shifted as her expression turned thoughtful. The Book Place was a wonderful used bookstore with a vast selection of fiction and nonfiction. Lina had spent many satisfied hours lost in their maze of shelves. Surely she could find a fabulous old cookbook in the stacks, something that had been hidden in out-of-print obscurity for years, and within its pages there would be a recipe that was the perfect blend of Italy and magic and ingredients.
    Yes, she thought as she dodged cars and crossed the street, The Book Place was the perfect place to begin brainstorming.

CHAPTER THREE
    THE pile of used books was daunting. She’d found ten of them. Ten old, interesting looking, out-of-print Italian cookbooks. While she was choosing them they hadn’t seemed so thick—and ten certainly hadn’t seemed to be so many. But now that they were home with her, piled in a neat stack on the glass top of the wrought iron sculpture she used as a coffee table, they appeared to have multiplied.
    Couldn’t she have narrowed her choices down by a few less books before she’d left the bookstore?
    â€œIn baking we must always rise to the occasion,” she reminded the enormous, longhaired black-and-white tomcat that perched in the middle of the black-and-white toile chaise. The perfect match made Lina grin. She enjoyed purchasing furniture that properly accessorized her pets, even if the cat didn’t deign to notice. Lina did receive a brief look of boredom from his side of the room and a quick swish of his tail in response to the proclamation of her bakery motto.
    â€œPatchy Poo the Pud Santoro,” she addressed him formally by his full name. “You are a handsome beast, but you know