So Lucia took a great leap, and moved out of the city and into the grand house of Phillip Grant and his son, Aaron.
The man was handsome as a prince, and she saw he loved his son. But there was a sorrow in his eyes that touched her heart. The child had had so many changes in his short four years, she understood his shyness with her. She cooked their meals and tended the house, and looked after Aaron while the man wrote his book.
She fell in love with the boy, and he with her. He was not always good, but Lucia would have been sad if he had been. In the evenings, she and Phillip would often talk about Aaron, or books, or ordinary things. She would miss the talks-she would miss him-when he went away for business.
There were times when she looked out the window to watch Phillip play with Aaron, and her heart yearned.
She didn't know he often did the same. For he'd fallen in love with her, as she had with him. He was afraid to tell her, lest she leave them. And she feared to tell him in case he sent her away.
But one day, in the spring, under the arching blooms of a cherry tree while the little boy they both loved played on the swing, Phillip took Lucia's hand in his. And kissed her.
When the leaves of the trees turned vivid with autumn, they were married. And lived happily ever after.
Was it any wonder, Emma thought as she pulled her van into the crowded double drive of her parents' home on Sunday evening, that she was a born romantic? How could anyone grow up with that story, with those people, and not want some of the same for herself?
Her parents had loved each other for thirty-five years, had raised four children in the sprawling old Victorian. They'd built a good life there, a solid and enduring one.
She had no intention of settling for less for herself.
She got the arrangement she'd made out of the van, and hurried across the walk for the family dinner. She was late, she thought, but she'd warned them she would be. Cradling the vase in the crook of her arm, she pushed open the door and walked into a house saturated with the color her mother couldn't live without.
And as she hurried back toward the dining room, she moved into the noise as colorful as the paints and fabrics.
The big table held her parents, her two brothers, her sister, her sisters-in-law, her brother-in-law, her nieces and nephews-and enough food to feed the small army they made.
"Mama." She went to Lucia first, kissed her cheek before setting the flowers on the buffet and rounding the table to kiss Phillip. "Papa."
"Now it's family dinner." Lucia's voice still held the heat and music of Mexico. "Sit before all the little piggies eat all the food."
Emma's oldest nephew made oinking noises and grinned as she took her seat beside him. She took the platter Aaron passed her. "I'm starving." She nodded, gestured a go-ahead as her brother Matthew lifted a bottle of wine. "Everybody talk so I can catch up."
"Big news first." Across the table her sister, Celia, took her husband's hand. Before she could speak, Lucia let out a happy cry.
"You're pregnant!"
Celia laughed. "So much for surprises. Rob and I are expecting number three-and the absolute final addition-in November."
Congratulations erupted, and the youngest member of the family banged her spoon enthusiastically on her high chair as Lucia leaped up to embrace her daughter and her son-in-law. "Oh, there's no happier news than a baby. Phillip, we're having another baby."
"Careful. The last time you told me that, Emmaline came along nine months later."
With a laugh, Lucia went over to wrap her arms around his neck from behind, press her cheek to his. "Now the children do all the hard work, and we just get to play."
"Em hasn't done her part yet," Matthew pointed out and wiggled his eyebrows at her.
"She's waiting for a man as handsome as her father, and not so annoying as her brother." Lucia sent Matthew an arch look. "They don't grow on trees."
Emma smirked at her brother and cut her first sliver of roast pork. "And I'm still touring the orchards," she said sweetly.
She lingered after the others to take a walk around the gardens with her father. She'd learned about flowers and plants, had come to love them under his guidance.
"How's the book going?" she asked him.
"Crap."
She laughed. "So you always say."
"Because it's always true at this stage." He wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked. "But family dinners and digging in the dirt help me put the crap aside awhile. Then it's never quite as bad as I thought when I get back to it. And how are you, pretty girl?"