Last First Kiss Read online

  Alessia Cavalii is a rising star in the competitive international wine scene, and one of only twenty-six female master sommeliers in the world. Her home is a renovated winery on the windswept coast of Italy, she has a career she loves, and she is finally free of a toxic relationship. But Alessia is hiding a dangerous secret— one that could, in a second, shatter the life she’s built.

  Parker Haven is a captain in the U.S. Army and stationed at the NATO military camp near Salerno. An investigator with the Military Police, she’s pulled in to help solve a string of murders in the city and finds herself inexplicably drawn into Alessia’s world. As the intrigue surrounding the case—and the alluring Alessia—spins more and more out of control, Parker realizes she may have to choose between her military career and the woman she’s falling for.

  Do we ever truly know the people we love?

  SAPPHIRE BOOKS

  SALINAS, CALIFORNIA

  Last First Kiss

  Copyright © 2020 by Patricia Evans Cox. All rights reserved.

  ISBN EPUB - 978-1-948232-90-6

  This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without written permission of the publisher.

  Editor - Heather Flournoy

  Book Design - LJ Reynolds

  Cover Design - Fineline Cover Design

  Sapphire Books Publishing, LLC

  P.O. Box 8142

  Salinas, CA 93912

  www.sapphirebooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition – January 2020

  This and other Sapphire Books titles can be found at

  www.sapphirebooks.com

  This book is dedicated to Jon Parks. I’ll take care of her for you, I promise.

  Heather Flournoy’s skill and passion, for both words and writers, has literally blown me away. I was lucky enough to get her as my editor for Last First Kiss, which taught me that great editors are actually sculptors; I watched her shape words and memory into emotion, handle every rough edge with skill, and make the book you’re holding in your hands so much better than it was before. Thank you, Heather; I’m so grateful.

  I’d like to thank Petronella Burla, N. Heinoin, and Alessia Telesco. Obviously, I borrowed their names, but flashes of their humor and personality are also there, shimmering right below the surface.

  Rebecca Herndon, thank you for lending me your memories and a name I know is so special to you.

  Donna MacArthur, I won’t forget the time you took to help me make this a better book. I owe you one.

  I owe the real LTC Williams, an immensely respected Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Army, a debt of gratitude. He’s a rock-solid example of true military leadership, and this character wouldn’t have existed without him.

  My heart, as always, belongs to my wife, Captain Suzie Cox, on whom the entire character of Parker was based. She patiently explained the intricate details of military life abroad and made it possible to write this book with accuracy and respect, which is the least I can do for the men and women that serve our country every day.

  Lastly, my eternal gratitude to the real Trobaugh and Hooper, Brenda Trobaugh and Lori Hooper, whom Suzie and I are fortunate enough to call friends. Both have dedicated their lives to law enforcement, and, trust me, have far better things to do than explaining the details of weaponry and procedure to a befuddled writer. Yet they did, and the story wouldn’t have come together without them. Thank you.

  And, as always, I’m beyond grateful to be a Sapphire Books author, the only place I’d want to be writing. You’re stuck with me now.

  Parker Haven wound her way through the brick streets, the early autumn rain lifting the wet stone scent of the cobblestones to her nose as she turned to avoid the crush of bodies coming toward her. The backstreets of Salerno were always crowded, but this morning there was a throng of people pressing through the back alleys like a rush of rainwater through a parched valley. She stayed close to the brick wall of the alley around the front corner of the building and then into Pavé, her favorite café and the only place that felt like home.

  The building that housed it was narrow and several stories tall, typical of the Italian architecture from the late seventeenth century. The café was tiny, with a timber-framed doorway, crumbling brick-and-plaster walls, and tables adorned with chipped saucers containing brown sugar cubes for coffee. The warmth of the wood-fired ovens behind the counter enveloped her as she sank down into a chair at her favorite table near the wall and pulled a stack of files from her bag.

  Parker made it to the café most mornings from the US Army base where she was stationed and always placed the same order of rye toast, butter, and black coffee. This time, the spare breakfast was placed dangerously close to her usual stack of paperwork, which more than once had slid off the table and fluttered dramatically to the floor.

  This morning the owner, a plump older woman in a faded linen apron, set Parker’s coffee on the table and waited until she looked up. Her accent made even English sound like Italian.

  “You will eat today?”

  Parker looked up and smiled. “I never eat much in the morning, Giada. You know that.”

  Giada Cavalii shook her head, crumpling and smoothing her apron in one motion as she walked back to the kitchen.

  Parker had been in southern Italy for the better part of a year, stationed at the North Atlantic Treaty Organization camp just outside of Salerno. A military organization, NATO was made up of representatives from twenty-eight North American and European countries, and she’d been brought in as a Gender Perspective Chief to deal specifically with women’s issues arising from conflict or immigration. Military service ran in her family; her grandmother had been an army nurse during World War II, and her father had fought in the Korean War. She’d been the only person in her family to choose a military career, since her brother Wes and his husband had instead started a business in their hometown in Alabama.

  Parker had just finished her toast when Giada set a small dish of scrambled eggs on her table with a raised eyebrow just as the brass bell above the entrance clanged against the glass door. A young woman hurried in as they looked on, the scent of rain following her as she passed Parker’s table on the way to the counter, shrugging off her coat as she walked. She was slender, with full lips and thick hair that moved across her shoulders like dark water as she slipped behind the counter.

  “Ma,” she said with a glance in Giada’s direction as she tied an apron low around her hips. “There’s a thousand people out there already, and they’re all headed in this direction.”

  “And that is why your sister should be here, Alessia,” Giada said. “The music festival is the start of the season and I need to be in the kitchen.”

  “What, she still hasn’t shown up?” Alessia said, pulling her hair up into a bun as she looked out the window. “She has to come in today. I haven’t been here since I bought the winery and I don’t have a clue about this new espresso machine. She knows that.”

  A group of tourists pushed through the door as she spoke and started to line up in front of the counter, studying the menu painted in black onto the plaster wall behind the glass bakery cases. Parker heard Alessia mutter something in Italian under her breath as she walked over to the slick chrome-and-copper espresso machine, approaching as if it were a shadowed cougar in the wild. Giada left the register hurriedly to hand her the first
few espresso orders.

  “Just go back to the front, I’ve got this,” Alessia said, staring at the stainless-steel pitcher of milk spitting back at her as she steamed it into foam. “It can’t be that much different than your last one.”

  Parker went back to her stack of paperwork, but after a few minutes she saw Alessia toss the stack of orders down on the counter and rub her temples.

  “Ma,” she called toward the register, tucking a stray lock of glossy hair back into her bun. “Did you know Lexie was planning to show up today, or were you just hoping?”

  Giada just shook her head as she made change for a German tourist, then hurriedly dropped a sausage roll into a white paper bag and handed it over the counter. The line was quickly expanding into a crush of humanity that filled all the available standing room in the tiny café, with several more people forming a line that extended out the door and wrapped around the outside wall.

  Parker was considering taking her work back to her office on the base when a piercing scream ricocheted against the walls, causing every head to turn in the direction of the espresso machine. Giada rushed over to find Alessia unsuccessfully dodging a flailing hose spurting water in every direction.

  “Holy Mary Mother of God,” she said, making an unsuccessful attempt to capture the hose. “What did you do to it, Alessia?”

  She finally managed to grab the hose, still flailing about like a medieval sea creature, and put it back into place as her daughter wrung the water from her white button-down shirt, now transparent and clinging to her skin.

  “I didn’t do anything, it just attacked me.”

  Giada glanced back at the growing line of customers pressed against the counter, all leaning in for a better look at the drama. Alessia took a handful of white towels from under the counter and disappeared around the corner into the kitchen just as the hose took flight again and water shot up over the bakery case, narrowly missing the next customer in line. Parker reached Giada just as she ducked to avoid the stream of water and managed to grab the hose. She attached it to the intake valve at the back of the espresso machine and looked over her shoulder, still holding the connection with her hand.

  “Giada,” she said. “This hose should have a little metal clamp on the end that tightens on the valve. It keeps the hose from slipping off when the water pressure builds.”

  “When my husband put it together last week he gave me a little box of…” Giada furrowed her brows, apparently struggling to find the correct word in English. “…more parts.”

  “Spare parts?”

  She nodded as she rummaged around in the drawer underneath the machine and handed Parker a rumpled cardboard box full of random screws and clamps. Parker chose the one she needed and tightened it onto the back of the hose as Alessia walked back up to the counter, tying the front of her still damp shirt at her waist. She looked Parker up and down, taking in her military uniform, then turned to her mother.

  “Why is he here?”

  Parker held her eyes until Alessia realized her mistake.

  “Alessia, this is Captain Parker Haven. She eats breakfast here every morning,” Giada said, turning to Parker. “And this is my youngest daughter, Alessia, who was not raised to be so rude.”

  Parker was used to being mistaken for a man, especially in Italy where fashion tended to lean toward classically feminine. She’d always been muscular and fit with broad shoulders, and Army regulations required her to wear her blond, shoulder-length hair pulled back tightly under her uniform cap. Except for the softness in her eyes, she’d always had a butch edge to her look.

  Giada handed Alessia another crumpled stack of orders from her apron pocket.

  “Start from the top with this cappuccino. I’m going back to the counter.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Alessia said, her voice rising in panic as her mother walked away. “I still have no idea how to work this stupid machine.”

  By the time she turned back, Parker had started a shot of espresso and was steaming a pitcher of milk. When it reached the right temperature, she poured the espresso into the white porcelain cup and topped it with foam. Parker tamped down the espresso grounds in the wand to start another shot, then glanced over at her and nodded at the cup still on the counter.

  “You may want to deliver that before it gets cold.”

  “Wait,” Alessia said, staring at the cappuccino. “How did you know how to do that?”

  Parker winked as she wiped the foam from the tip of the steam wand. “That’s classified information, ma’am.”

  She looked up just in time to see Alessia roll her eyes as she handed the cup to the customer across the counter. Her shirt was still damp enough to see through, revealing a slice of caramel skin just above her jeans. Parker made herself look away as she turned back around.

  “I’d love to help you here, but the orders are written in Italian,” Parker said, sifting through the stack of discarded orders. “Either that or I just can’t read your mother’s writing.”

  “It’s probably the latter, but you don’t have to stay.” Alessia held her hand out. “I can take it from here.”

  Parker paused, but then nodded toward the tables and handed them over. “I’ll be right over there if you get snowed under.”

  Alessia tipped her head to the side. “If…what?”

  “If you get snowed under.” Parker washed her hands in the prep sink. “It means if you get too busy and need a hand.”

  “This may come as a surprise,” Alessia said, adding to the stack of cups warming on top of the espresso machine. “But not every woman is waiting to be rescued by random Americans in uniform.”

  “Understood,” Parker said with a smile as she put down the hand towel and edged past the customers on the way back to her table. She had three days of paperwork to finish, and after a while she was able to tune out the crowd enough to make progress. When she finally looked up after about an hour, she found Alessia standing at her table in an apron streaked with chocolate powder and espresso grounds, not quite meeting her eyes. When she spoke, Parker noticed her accent was softer at the edges than her mother’s, although still distinctly Italian.

  “Okay,” she said. “It is…snowing.”

  Parker tried not to smile as she gathered her things and followed her back behind the counter, stowing them out of the way and rolling up her sleeves. Alessia nodded to the massive stack of orders, toppled over in defeat and spread out across the counter.

  “I don’t usually work here. My sister is supposed to be doing this, but she’s done a disappearing act. And I don’t know how to make them…look like you did.”

  An impatient group of customers waited on the other side of the pickup counter, clearly willing someone to get to work on their drinks.

  “Okay,” Parker said, glancing over at the crowd. “How old are these orders?”

  “All within the last ten minutes.”

  “Then let’s get all the espressos out first. They take the least time.” She looked over Alessia’s shoulders at the throng of people waiting. “How many of you ordered a single espresso?”

  Seven hands went up and Parker started the shots. She pushed several buttons on the machine and packed the next espresso wands while they brewed. They were done in under a minute, and she poured them quickly into cups. Parker looked up again at the crowd and held up two fingers.

  “And how many of you ordered a double?”

  Four more hands went up, and within just a few minutes those customers had also left with their drinks, leaving a much smaller and more manageable group still waiting. Parker heard Alessia let out a slow breath beside her.

  “Okay,” Parker said. “Do you think you can keep the espresso shots brewing while I steam milk and pour?”

  Alessia nodded, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt. Her face was flushed, and her dark eyes flashed with unexpected flecks of gold in the light. Her face was bare except for perfect dark brows and a slick of red lipstick. She bit her lower lip as she looked
up at Parker.

  “And you’ll have to tell me what the drinks are.” Parker smiled, catching just a flash of a smile in return. “I just checked again, but it seems I still can’t read Italian.”

  They worked side by side until the crowds coming through the door finally started to slow, a full hour after the café usually closed in the early afternoon. Alessia wiped the counter as Parker lined up the last few drinks.

  “So how did you know how to do all this?” Alessia handed a cappuccino to a sleek American blonde who dumped three packets of sweetener into it before she dropped the empty packets on the counter and walked away. “And if you tell me it’s classified again, I’ll hit you with this towel.”

  Parker smiled over her shoulder as she turned up the steam until the milk she was foaming reached the perfect density.

  “My brother Wes owns the only coffee shop in Red Cove, Alabama, so they’re constantly busy. It’s not the first time I’ve been pulled in to help.” She rinsed the last of the wet grounds off her hands in the old ceramic sink and dried her hands with a towel as she leaned against it. “He pretty much considers me free labor.”

  They watched as Giada finally flipped the sign on the door and hurried to the back, pulling Parker into a hug and kissing both her cheeks.

  “You come to dinner tonight, no?” She looked at her daughter, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “Alessia will let you in the café door at seven and bring you upstairs.”

  “Ma,” she said, untying her apron and shaking her head. “You know I can’t. I’m leaving now to break down those barrels at the winery.”

  Giada waited, arms folded across her chest, until Alessia sighed and muttered to Parker not to be late, then walked out the door and disappeared into the crowded street, still wearing her coffee-stained apron.