Goddess of Spring Read Free Page A

contact with you. I’ll make sure that she has several options drawn up for you to consider. Maybe one of them will keep you out of court. Now, good day, Mr. Rayburn, and as my dear, sainted grandmother would say, ‘ Tu sei un pezzo di merda. Fongule e tuo capra!’ ” Lina stood, smoothed her skirt and snapped shut her leather briefcase. “Oh, how rude of me. You don’t speak Italian. Allow me to translate my grandmother’s sage words: ‘You are a piece of shit. Fuck you and your goat!’ Arrivederci.”
    Lina turned and strode through the professionally decorated office grinning wickedly at the well-rouged receptionist.

CHAPTER TWO
    GUT instinct, she reminded herself as she gunned her BMW and almost flew over the Highway 51 overpass, heading away from Tulsa’s downtown business area to the trendy Cherry Street location of her bakery. Next time she was going to listen to her gut, and when it told her to run screaming in the opposite direction she wouldn’t be stupid enough to hire another jerk. What in the hell had she been thinking?
    Lina sighed. She knew what she’d been thinking. She’d needed help. The money management end of her business had never been one of her strengths. Her father had always taken care of that for her, but three years ago he and her mother had joined her grandmother in a Florida retirement community. Dad had been so sure she could handle her business finances herself that she hadn’t wanted to admit it to him last year when she had finally given up and hired an accountant. So instead of asking for his advice in who she should hire, she’d bumbled ahead and, in a stressed-out rush, chosen Frank Rayburn, Mr. Sleazy Non-Personality.
    â€œIt’s what you deserve for allowing your pride to get the best of you,” Lina muttered to herself as she turned east onto 15th Street—the street that would, within a couple of blocks, morph into the area known as Cherry Street, and lead her to the door of her wonderful, incredible, beautiful, and now completely broke, bakery.
    The pit of her stomach ached. There must be a way to pay her debt and keep her two long-time employees as well as her name and location. She gripped the steering wheel with one hand and twirled a short strand of hair around and around her finger. She would not sell her name. She couldn’t.
    Pani Del Goddess, or Breads of the Goddess—the name sang like magic. It was indelibly tied to all the most wonderful memories of her childhood. Pani del goddess is what she and her beloved grandmother used to create on long winter afternoons as they watched old black-and-white movies and drank fragrant, honey-sweetened tea.
    â€œCarolina Francesca, you bake like a little goddess!”
    Lina could still hear the echo of her grandmother’s voice from her childhood, encouraging her to experiment with classic recipes from the Old Country, her beloved Italia.
    â€œSi, bambina, first learn the recipe as it was written, test it and try it, then begin to add un poco —a little here, and a little there. That is how to make the breads your own.”
    And Lina had made them her own, with a talent and a flare that had even impressed her grandmother, who was renowned as an exceptional cook. It had been her grandmother who had bragged so much to her friends that they began asking Lina to bake “something special” for them on the occasion of birthdays or anniversaries. By the time Lina graduated from high school, she had a steady stream of customers, mostly retired widows and widowers who appreciated the taste of quality homemade breads.
    When her grandmother had offered to send her to Florence to study at the famous school of baking, Apicius, she had begun shaping the design of her dream—the dream of owning her own bakery. When she was a child, her grandmother had whispered to her that Italy and baking were in her blood. After she graduated from Apicius, Lina