It's definitely summer where I am--peach season! So here's a peach-themed Oberon flashback. This is from book five, Touch of a Vanished Hand:
Blurb:
Sinead Quinn has always been something of a drifter. But now, with her ex-husband trying to blackmail her, and her ex-boyfriend's widow trying to put her in jail, she has no choice but to go to ground. What better place to hide than with your family? After all, what are sisters for? Especially when you're a twin.
But the first rule of hiding out, is to keep a low profile. And that does not mean kissing your sister's boyfriend (even if he can't tell the two of you apart); rescuing a troubled teen; or taking a highly visible job as hostess of Oberon's most celebrated new inn.
Adam Sasso has always dreamed big. But big dreams beget big complications. First, his goal to turn the vineyard he inherited from his grandfather into a world-class winery is threatened by a mysterious saboteur. Next, his plan to run the finest bed & breakfast Oberon has ever seen, is broadsided by a hostess who wants to run him. Finally, it seems his fondest wish, of finding love-everlasting with the soul mate of his dreams, is about to go up in smoke when he can't convince her that they're destined to be together.
This summer, it's going to take all the wizardry in Oberon to craft a happy ending for the drifter and the dreamer.
Excerpt:
Closing his eyes and grounding himself, [Adam] called out with his mind. Come to me, tesoro! I need you!
He sent the thought winging its way across the terrace, and was startled when it was met with a muffled exclamation and the crash of breaking glass.
His eyes shot open, and he turned to the house, half expecting to see that the French doors leading in from the terrace had been blown away, and that Sinead--
She was standing just a few steps from the table, staring in vexation at the broken dishes at her feet. The lights in the pergola illuminated her expression, making it all too easy to see her annoyance. She slid the tray she was carrying onto the table, dropped the towels she'd had tucked under her arm on one of the chairs, and bent to retrieve the broken pieces.
Adam struggled to breathe. His heart pounded in his chest. She was okay. Thank the gods. For a moment he'd been afraid of a repeat of last week's disaster. Was this why Marsha wanted to keep them apart? Was he somehow putting Sinead in danger? But, no, that made no sense; that would indicate two enemies, after all. And he still had no real reason to suspect Marsha had any such intentions.
He climbed out of the tub and strode across the terrace, willing her to stay preoccupied with the dishes until he'd snagged his slacks from the chair where he'd left them; the time for games and flirtations had passed.
"What happened?" he asked as he zipped his pants and bent to crouch beside her.
Sinead's glance held a trace of something--reluctance, perhaps, or fear--but then she shrugged and it was gone again. "I don't know. I heard something, I thought, and I...and I guess I jumped, and the dishes-- Damn it, I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. I'm not usually this clumsy."
She'd heard him? “I’m sorry” he murmured, not knowing whether to be pleased, or surprised, or merely worried. If she was aware of the connection between them, why didn’t she say so? Why was she trying to hide from him? Tesoro. Parlare! Speak to me, he called to her again with his mind, even more urgently this time.
But she gave no sign she heard him. Only raised an eyebrow as she asked, “What are you sorry about? You're not the one breaking plates. Sheesh. They're barely even paid for.”
“Don't worry about it,” he sighed, struggling to hide his disappointment as they stood. “I know I'm not. What's for dessert, anyway?”
“Peach gallette, with a vanilla custard sauce and white chocolate ice cream.”
“Peaches?” Of course. That was the fragrance he had scented earlier, and almost recognized, hidden beneath the garlic and roast peppers. It could hardly be a coincidence that she'd chosen, as part of their first meal together, the very thing he'd used in his summoning of her. So, she was aware of him. On some level, at least.
“Yes.” She frowned. “Why? Is that a problem?”
He smiled. “No, not at all. I brought a very nice dessert wine over with me, it should go perfectly with it.”
But she shook her head. “No more wine for me. I'm going to stick to coffee, thanks just the same.”
Maybe she was right. Nothing had really changed, after all. He still needed to take things slow. “All right,” he agreed, toweling the excess moisture from his chest and arms as he re-seated himself at the table. “Can I pour you a cup?”
She didn't answer. He looked up to find her staring at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Sinead?” He repeated his question softly. “Coffee?”
She blinked, and shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, but first I have to get more bowls. For the ice cream.”
As she started to move past him, he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. “No, stay,” he entreated. He couldn't bear to lose sight of her again. Not yet. "We don't need separate bowls, do we? Why don't we put it on top of the pie?"
"Gallette," she corrected automatically. "Not pie." Her eyes searched his face for an instant, as though hoping to find something that hadn't been there before. “I guess we could do that.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp and picked up the knife she'd placed on the tray. She quickly served up two portions, while he poured out two cups of coffee.
He slid one of the cups across the table to her as she took her seat. “Thank you,” she said, and once again the response seemed mechanical, as though her thoughts were a billion miles away.
Adam sighed. He watched as she picked up her coffee with a distracted air. Clearly, if there was to be any more conversation tonight he would have to initiate it. He cast about for a suitable topic. “So, are you planning on attending the balloon fest tomorrow?” he asked at last.
“Tomorrow?” she repeated slowly. “I'm not sure....”
He cut into the pastry on his plate. “Well, I know it runs for the next couple of weekends, but I never miss a chance to attend any of the balloon glows.”
“Really? I've never been,” she said as she sipped at her coffee.
He put his fork down again, the pie untouched, to stare at her in surprise. “Oh, you have to go.” He reached across the table to touch her hand. “If you've never been to one, you have no idea what you're missing. Maybe we can go together?”
“Maybe. I'm not sure,” she repeated, as she slid her hand away from his.
“Well...think about it, okay?” Picking up his fork again, he took a bite of the gallette; and then he didn't say anything else.
The taste of ripe peaches, combined with the scent of the roses blooming unseen in the darkness that surrounded the terrace propelled his mind back through time to the night, almost six months earlier, when he'd performed his summoning spell. His eyes squeezed shut as a feeling that went way beyond deja vu swept over him. Past and present melded, then split apart. For an instant, so did he. He found himself in two places at one and the same time. And then, like an elastic band that had been stretched too far, he was all at once snapped back to the present.
He opened his eyes to find her staring at him again, her expression one of alarm. He pushed the plate away from him, and alarm changed to dismay.
“You don't like it?”
“Like? No.” He shook his head. After one taste he was ready to declare his undying love, either by getting down on one knee and begging her to marry him, or by grabbing her up in his arms and ravishing her with kisses.
Either one would work just fine for him. But, certainly neither would be the kind of response she expected. He wasn't sure if he could come up with an answer that would express how he felt and not sound deranged, but he figured he had to try. “Like is...too insipid a word. I think I could fall in love with it.”
She set down her fork and gaped at him. “In love? With your dessert?”
And with you. But it was probably best not to say that yet. He nodded. “Why not? It's very possibly the best thing I've ever tasted.”
“Oh.” She stared at him a moment longer. “Well, thanks, but...all the same, I think that would be a bad idea.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she added, “It's a pastry, Adam. It will never love you back.”
