The Gift, page 32
“Ay!” he calls out, joining in on the fun.
I giggle and continue, “Seriously, everyone, I’m the luckiest lady in the world to have your support for beginning a new movement in my life, in more ways than one. And it’s only up from here. Just wait and see what plans I have in store for Vintage Vines.” My eyes meet David’s, and we exchange a gleam of excitement for what’s to come. You know I told him my ideas!
“Yes, I keep saying it, but thank you…and I love all of you. Now let’s raise our glasses.” As I hold my stem higher, the moonlight beams on the glass, brightening the hue of the red wine and matching my red sneakers. I can’t be more myself or more at home.
“To my old and new friends, family, and of course, Nala…amici e vini sono meglio vecchi. Friends, like wine, are best when aged. Let’s grow together and taste the treasures ahead. Salute.”
After my speech, Gio pulls me aside. “I brought you a present.” He hands me a box wrapped in brown packing paper and tied with rope string.
“You’ve done so much already just being here for me this last year. You didn’t have to do more.” The two violins’ and cello’s soothing sounds grace the atmosphere with a mix of classical and modern string trio music as I accept Gio’s box.
Upon opening it, Pietro’s and Santi’s faces stare back at me with the same level of pride as I feel on this night. “Gio, you made me a copy?!”
“That I did. You need this picture in your tasting room too.” He extends his elbow toward me. “Come on. Let’s put it up.”
We lock arms and enter my tasting room through the large entrance from the patio. A few people wander around, enjoying the merchandise wall of bottle openers, carrying cases—yup, including suitcases to bring home many bottles at a time, which are popular, according to Barb—and even my own winery T-shirts with my new forest-green double-V logo. The sight sends tingles throughout my body.
“Here’s a perfect spot.” I place the glossy silver frame on the sandy wooden shelf behind the counter so each time I pour glasses of love for customers, Pietro can witness it. Patting the P paper I made sure to carry in my jeans pocket tonight, I know he’s one satisfied angel. The family business lives again.
Once I get back to pouring myself more of my first night’s bliss in liquid form, I also give myself time to absorb my surroundings and all I’ve accomplished this year. Viewing my sacred land, I finally know my true gift—fully living and breathing with the realization that each day matters and refusing to waste a single second. Nothing tastes better than freedom.
Thank you for reading The Gift, Book 1 in the Vintage Vines series. I would be extremely grateful for a short review on your favorite website (even one sentence works!). Your kind words mean the world to me and help bring other readers to my books.
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Also by C. D'Angelo
Award-winning Novels
The Difference
Rachel, a woman seeking fulfillment and clarity of identity, goes on an ancestry mission to reveal her Italian immigrant grandpa’s secretive past, meanwhile trying to repair her damaged romantic relationship and her own mental health.
Purchase The Difference:
https://books2read.com/TheDifferenceCDAngelo
The Visitor
Fiercely independent Mary, a New Age store owner in New Orleans, will lose her business and home to her high school ex-boyfriend and nemesis, now a developer, unless she forces herself to accept help from others and learns to trust—including an Italian mystical new customer and her fellow renters.
Purchase The Visitor:
https://books2read.com/TheVisitorCDAngelo
Guess what...
Mary and Ben in The Gift are from The Visitor!
You can read the first chapter of Mary’s story by
flipping the page.
Chapter 1
How can this be? My heart sinks in my chest, and my mouth drops open as I turn over this letter to find the correction for its message but only see a blank white abyss. Where’s the punchline to this must-be joke? The “Ha, ha, I got you”?
But no. My sweaty, shaky hands grip horrible words from some stranger stating that the building where I live and work is going up for sale. I fall back onto the stool behind me and look around my flourishing New Age store I created from a whim of a teenage idea twelve years ago.
Who will be my new landlord? When I left my parents’ home at eighteen, I was determined not to go to college, like most of my classmates, so I could start my life as soon as possible. The Bumbys offered me the lowest rent I could find—and in the French Quarter of New Orleans, no less. I’m forever grateful to them for paying their past fortune forward to me, since someone gave them a break when they were young and hungry for their own business. Now I have everything that surrounds me to treasure each day.
They’ve never even talked about selling their properties…have they? I mentally scan our conversations. No, never. All of those times over the years when I came to Betty with my boyfriend issues to gain her wisdom or how she told me all about her grandkids’ adventures plus her and Dale’s hopes and dreams never once led to, “Hey, Mary. We’re going to leave you in the dust someday. Okay? Great. See ya.”
Alright, I know my imagination is running wild, and they don’t deserve that, but come on. I just thought we had a closer relationship than maybe what they feel. They’re in my small circle of trust. If I had needed to leave this location, I would have given them warning, and not through some cold, impersonal letter. How could they have not told me—or any of their other renters—that they’re selling their properties? I consider them family, and family doesn’t blindside family.
Now that I think about it, they have seemed distant in the last few months. We’ve called each other less, but I just thought we were all busy. And when I tried to meet Betty last week for lunch so I could get her opinion on my newest relationship disaster, I was given a list of reasons for why she couldn’t join me, even when I offered alternative dates. She always wants to hear the gossip, so the realization should have hit me over the head. Wow, my intuition must be on the fritz.
Tears begin to well up in my eyes as more thoughts flood my now throbbing head, but I try to hold them back. “Mary doesn’t cry.” I drop the letter on the counter in front of me like I’m ridding myself of a bomb.
The Bumbys have kept my rent ridiculously affordable, but who knows what a new owner will charge. I’m sure they’ll want to raise the cost as high as possible for this desirable area. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? I don’t scrape by, but I also don’t have much disposable income, even at this monthly price.
So, wait. If I can’t swing the new fee, I’ll have to move. No! I can’t imagine living and working anywhere else, especially with the returning customer base I’ve gained. Not only do the tourists sustain A Healing Hand, but my locals are the heart of my dependable profits. Plus, the customers who attend my classes have come for years. I don’t know if they’ll continue their yoga, tea leaf readings, or any of my other offerings at a new site in God knows what part of the city. It would be like starting over again. And I’d miss them.
A tear escapes down my face. Damn it. Stay strong. Don’t think about the worst circumstance. I’ll be alright. Maybe if I tell myself that phrase enough it’ll be true. I squeeze my eyes shut, press my fingers to my temples, and mentally repeat the statement a few times.
Shaking my head to get myself together, I breathe in and breathe out as deep as my body allows. You know, recharging all my chakras. Yes, keep that vibe going, Mary.
Okay, I’ll just have to talk to the Bumbys tomorrow. It’s too late to contact them at this hour, and I need to close the store for the night. Plus, it’s dinner time for Mr. Grayson, who I definitely can’t tell about this letter tonight. Oh, he’s my cat. He’ll be displeased enough to be hungry, but to learn this news, too? Forget it. I expect a turned-up nose and a veering head as a full-on cat protest if I tell him these words. See, he loves to roam between my—I mean, our studio apartment and my store. If I have to move and the store doesn’t have living space above it, there goes his freedom. I may as well prepare for attitude for months. No thanks.
I snatch the letter and stuff it into my satchel under the counter. Maybe I’ll leave that energy down here tonight. No need to let it enter my safe space upstairs.
Locking the front door and turning off the last set of lights before I go upstairs, my awareness is altered by the vigorous aroma lingering from the candles I blew out pre-letter. Closing my eyes and breathing in sweet air from what seems like days ago, my body relaxes another notch. Ahh, nothing like lavender to greet the night and loosen my shoulders. The scent sparks images of fields bursting with the bright-purple plant and—
“Ow!” I stub my toe on the stairstep that protrudes from its edge and grab my foot to ease the pain. My flip-flops give unwanted access to my piggies way too much. “It’s not cool to kick me while I’m down, Universe.”
Asking the Bumbys to replace that board always slips my mind since, nine times out of ten, I hit my toe as I climb to my apartment for the night, then forget about it until the next night. I must remember about the defect, because it’s worse than ever, but how can I remember when there are a million other tasks on my plate? Plus, one more concern now. I tap my forehead a few times and say, “Remember.” So much for the relaxing lavender.
My favorite little buddy is waiting for me at our apartment door when I push it open, just as I expect. His yellow eyes shine as they look up at me past his short gray fur, but I’m not fooled. That shine isn’t a total happy-to-see-me look. He has a hint of annoyance in those squinting eyes since I closed the apartment door today. I know my guy.
“I was protecting your tiny pink ears, not punishing you, Gray.” I pat him on his soft fuzzy head. “There was a drum circle, and that’s too loud for you.”
He fully closes his eyes for a moment, forgiving me as far as I can tell.
As soon as I walk over to the cabinet and reach for his dry food, he dashes over and rubs against my leg.
“Here you go.” I pour the mix into his bowtie-shaped food bowl and fill his top-hat-formed water bowl.
He yawns and lies down in front of his bowls to feast as soon as I put them on the floor. No need to waste all that energy standing when he can relax while he eats.
Taking his lead, I plop down on the floor next to him and stroke his back. “Oh, Mr. Grayson, what are we gonna do?”
I turn my head and notice a gleaming silver fork laying under a barstool. Looking back at Mr. G., I ask, “What did you do when I was gone?”
He doesn’t stop eating, leaving me to guess what cat antics he was up to during the day.
I giggle. “You’re always knocking things off the counter.”
But I guess company’s coming my way. It’s an Italian superstition that always comes true. I wonder who will visit me.
About the Author
Photo by Kavita Sawh
C. D’Angelo is the award-winning Women’s Fiction author of The Difference and The Visitor whose novels consist of relatable stories of the Italian American culture, bursting with food, tradition, history, travel, and quirky characters. She’s a licensed mental health counselor who owns her own therapy practice and resides in Florida with her husband. When not writing, she can be found relaxing in her pool, traveling, and partaking in a variety of artistic endeavors.
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Acknowledgements
I’m so thankful for the kind people in my life who help me along in my journey. Each time I add a novel in the world, they’ve helped me get there. Let me tell you about them.
As always, I first thank my husband, Jason, or the BB. You hear every single detail from the new novel’s birth, pits to peaks…sometimes even when you don’t want to! Thanks for your brawn at books signings, your brain when I need to solve a concern, and the beauty of your soul for cheering me on every step of the way.
Jade Garneau-Fornier, thank you for providing me inspiration for this book series’ cat, your cat, Nala. Oh, friends, Nala had such a grand personality and the most unique, dramatic face—the cutest, prettiest, and grumpiest I’ve ever seen. She’ll always be one of my favorite cats and she deserved to be honored in these books for all time. Just wait for her adventures to come. Also, thank you to Jade and Christine Murray, two fellow seasoned mental health professionals, who helped me to make sure my author’s note had the best possible information for those who need it.
Heather Carter, your thoughtfulness to connect me with a professional cellist before I started writing my first draft changed pivotal plot lines I’d planned. Even though I’ve played instruments my whole life and come from an extremely musical family, I never knew the philharmonic world and would have gotten a lot wrong, though some parts of The Gift are still creatively licensed! But speaking to someone who plays in the exact philharmonic I wanted to write about with the instrument I wanted to choose for Toni was gold. Also, your LA and music knowledge were much appreciated and necessary.
This leads me to the generous professional cellist for LA Phil, Gloria Lum. I’m forever grateful to you for allll of the tiny details that helped me bring Toni’s story alive—there’s only so much I could find in my research online. Not only did you let me interview you during your busy season, but you were there to email when I needed more facts down the road. I’m humbled for your time, your openness to my many questions, and your kindness to share your personal experiences for the sake of this novel.
My first readers, AKA beta readers, were another huge piece of this puzzle.
Katie D’Angelo is my cousin, my soul sister, and oh yeah, a professional cellist and teacher. You were part of the inspiration for the instrument I chose for Toni because of how beautifully you play. Plus, it’s a little quirky and unique, like us and Toni! Thank you endlessly for reading The Gift in its young state to make sure I got the music details right. I’ll finally stop texting you random music questions! You’re always there for me, with laughs to boot, and this was no different.
Christina Ramos, my Big Buddy and third time beta reader, thank you so much for your insights, catches, and motivation for continuing my writing from day one. You’ve been one of the largest parts of my author life, constantly supporting me in everything I do, and there aren’t words to say how much it means to me. I always know I have someone in my corner because of you. Now this book finally could get in your eyes!
Angela Terry, my Chick Lit and Women’s Fiction author friend turned true friend. Thank you for going wayyy above and beyond in your beta reading. I just wanted your wine knowledge for accuracy and instead received thorough edits that changed the book in a developmental edit way. I can’t ever thank you enough and I’ll always be in awe of your ability to help in this manner. You’re a gem of a person, a true talent in many ways (people, read her books!), and someone I’m grateful to have met when we debuted. Thank you!
Now for my best friend, of thirty-two years, Jennifer Maggiore. You were a game-changer with your business loans and property information. These facts mattered greatly to the story’s plots, so I’m extremely appreciative of you. As you do in your business to support women entrepreneurs, Always This Good Business Consulting (shameless plug), you support me day in and day out with my book escapades and it never fails to warm my heart.
Jessica Neaves from Heritage Discovered Genealogy Services, I’m so glad we connected years ago on social media. Thank you for being an enthusiast of The Difference and for helping me with necessary details in The Gift. I knew you’d know about early 1900s LA deeds and how to talk about map locations (it’s complicated, people, I swear!). I want every detail correct in my novels so even though it was minor, it mattered tremendously for me to have confidence in those details. You’re just wonderful.
Mario Dell’Olio, I love that we’ve been author friends and Italian American paisans for years. Thank you for your Italian language help in The Difference and now in The Gift. Without you, who knows what I’d be writing? I’m extremely thankful for you taking time out of your own busy life for me (people, he’s yet another author that has must-read books). Grazie mille.
Rob Samborn, another fantastic author (obviously, go read his books!), you helped me with realistic menswear for a scene. Again, though it may seem small, it wasn’t at all. I know you understand how details matter, being another author. Thanks for always being open to helping and for being someone dependable in this wild world of books.
Alright, now for my outstanding proofreaders, Kim Geszvain and Noelle Presby. You blow me away every time.
Kim, you’re always there to listen to my daily book news, root me on, and help me beyond words with your sharp proofreading skills. How you catch the mistakes you do is a sign of a real gift. Thank you for your hard work once again and for bringing me laughter and understanding every step of the way in my writing and publishing process.
