by Lia London
“Ever the gentleman, aren’t you?” she whispered, leaning into his back.
The shy smile he gave her knocked her back a step, and she followed his movements as he politely greeted both her grandparents and thanked them for allowing him to come. She’d never seen his gracious manners spent on anyone but her, and it warmed her that he’d treat them with the respect she knew they deserved.
The cousins had set up two long, folding tables end-to-end. Extra mismatched chairs filled the side nearest to them to accommodate the guests.
Amaya suddenly felt self-conscious at how disorderly and plain everything looked, but Frank showed no signs of disapproval. Still, she dared to approach him again, wary of a pulling attraction. “Sorry it’s all such a mess,” she whispered. “Grammy doesn’t have a—”
“Amaya,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “This is charming. My family never got together like this. I’m quite jealous.”
Her shoulder kept tugging her into his side. “Really?”
MarLee directed the seating arrangement, placing herself and Pappy at either end. The three largest men and young Shep took up one side, and Barth, Frank, Amaya, and Chieko lined up opposite them. Amaya cast MarLee a reproving pout when she noticed Frank’s armchair placed him several inches below Barth or Amaya, who flanked him.
Frank sank into the chair with a strained smile. “Well, it’s comfortable down here.”
“That’s my favorite chair,” said MarLee.
“She’s being nice to you.” Barth winked down at Frank as if he were a little child.
Amaya wrinkled her nose at her cousin and rested her hand on Frank’s knee. “Sorry it’s so short. You probably feel like a Hobbit among giants.”
Frank was staring at her hand on his leg. “I’m fine. Really.” His eyebrows wiggled as his thumb traced her arm upward from the wrist, sending a thrill down her spine.
“You sure?” Why was it getting so hard to breathe?
“I’d never noticed how smooth your elbows are, so there’s that to be said about this vantage point.” He leaned back in the armchair and made a show of relishing in its comfort.
Amaya covered her mouth and shook with silent laughter. Leaning in enough for her cheek to touch his hair, she whispered, “You’re a good sport. I promise the food will be worth it.”
He tilted his head to meet her eyes. “It already is.”
His penetrating gaze stirred her heartbeat, and she had to look away before she gaped or giggled like a fool. Reaching over Frank, she jabbed Barth in the ribs with her finger. “You be on your best behavior, Bartholomew Jefferson. Don’t burp in Frank’s face.”
Barth leaned over Frank’s head. “Don’t be sipping on his lips at the table, either. You know Pappy don’t approve.”
She slapped his shoulder and hissed, “We’re not that kind of friends.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” Barth dragged out the word as he returned to his upright position. “Pass the pork ribs, ’Maya?”
Amaya grimaced at her cousin’s relentless teasing and hoped it didn’t upset Frank.
She also wished Barth’s words didn’t give her such errant ideas. Sipping at Frank’s lips. Seriously? She cast a sideways glance at Frank in time to see him licking his lips after tasting taking a sip of Grammy’s lemonade. Bad timing. He did look kind of tasty.
Mustering her willpower, she turned to Chieko and said, “So, tell us all about the life of a roving reporter. Do you prefer doing the features more than the newsroom, or what?”
Small talk about the food and football began at the other end of the table, and Amaya tried to listen out of her left ear to whatever Frank said even as she paid attention to Chieko. Why had she double-booked friends coming over? Her stomach curdled with guilt at leaving Frank defenseless with her cousins peppering him with questions about his time in Eugene. She managed to pull Grammy into the conversation with Chieko, and let her take over, so she could turn her attention to the men.
“I can’t believe you a Duck alum and never heard of Barth and Garold Jefferson,” scolded Uncle Erv. “They the stars of the offensive line.”
Morie elbowed Erv. “C’mon now, man. How’s a skinny little white boy like that gonna know anything about football. He probably plays golf, or tennis, or something.”
Amaya pointed a finger in a sweeping motion at the men. “I told you all to be nice to my friend. He doesn’t have to be a sports guy to be a good guy. At least he’s a Duck.”
Morie gave a wicked grin and mumbled, “I dunno. Them Beavers is looking mighty good this year. Strong on the D.”
“Don’t you start a civil war at my dinner table!” snapped MarLee from the other end of the long spread.
Amaya chuckled. MarLee’s magic ears heard and understood everything her family said, no matter how much chaos swirled around her.
“I still say we should combine the two teams and make one unstoppable one,” muttered Shep.
“Yeah, right,” scoffed Barth. “Ducks and Beavers coming together?”
Shep lifted his chin. “Why not? It’s all Oregon anyways.”
Frank nodded with an exaggerated serious expression. “Indeed. The mascot could be a platypus. Duck plus a beaver, right?”
The room zipped to silence like in a cheesy sitcom, and all eyes locked on Frank. Amaya licked her lips and swallowed. Suddenly MarLee burst out in sharp, musical laughter.
Shep gave a triumphant grunt and stuffed a slab of cornbread into his mouth.
Frank leaned into Amaya’s ear, sending a surprising shiver down her neck. “That was frightening.”
“Yes, it was.” She realized her hand rested on his thigh and wondered when it had wandered there. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He hid some solid quads under those jeans. Flushing, she let go of him and reached for her napkin, wiping imaginary barbecue sauce from her chin. “You doing okay?” she whispered.
“The food’s delicious. I think I’m failing miserably at the banter, though. Sports talk really isn’t my specialty.”
She brushed him with an encouraging nudge. “Well, I respect you for even trying this stupid idea.”
His eyes flickered with obvious pleasure, then doubt. “Stupid?”
Amaya shrugged. “This isn’t what you’re used to. I’ve put you way out of your comfort zone. I should’ve known better.”
“It’s all right.” He shifted his chair and tilted his place setting towards her. “I’ll listen in on what the ladies are saying and enjoy the sumptuous food.” He lifted a pork rib with his fingers and took a bite.
Amaya’s lips parted as she watched his mouth.
Frank held a fist to cover his chewing. “Am I making a mess?”
“No, no. I’ve just never seen you eat with your fingers before.” Right. That was it. The lack of silverware. Her staring had nothing to do with how adorably his lips curled as he gnawed the soft meat from the bone.
“I’ll thank you to erase this image from your mind,” he said, licking the sauce from his finger. “Frank Grumbleygut would never do such a thing.”
Amaya smiled, her eyes lingering for a moment longer before turning back to Grammy. Yes, Frank Judd was a thousand times more attractive than Frank Grumbleygut. How sad that he was forced to be the latter for his work, but maybe … Maybe after the reviews were over, she’d get to see him in his natural habitat.
Frank was an uncomfortable, blissful mess. Amaya kept touching him in discreet little ways, and even if she meant nothing by it, it sent waves of electricity through him, drawing him to her like a magnet even as he tried to keep his distance lest the mountainous menfolk decided they needed to protect her honor from the pasty white interloper.
He remained mostly quiet, savoring MarLee’s home cooking as slowly as he might if judging its various ingredients. The flavor that piqued him, though, was the added love—that mythical difference in a grandmother’s cuisine he could now taste for himself. This feast had been an extension of herself, and physical manifestation of her
affection for family and any they called friend.
When they broke from the table to “settle a bit” before dessert, he allowed himself to sink into the end seat of the sectional, so he could doze with his eyes open and digest the lingering aromas. In the back of his mind, he tried to sort out where Amaya’s parents and siblings might be, but let the idea go after a few minutes. His eyes glazed over as he stared, unseeing, through the motion in the room and out the window to the dogwood tree blooming pink against a tall hedge of arborvitae.
“Hey Frankfurter, you gonna get up and dance, or you gonna sit there like a statue all night?”
Frank snapped out of his daze to see Barth shaking his massive shoulders and staring down at him, the zig-zags shaved into the sides of his short-cropped hair pulsing with an energy of their own. Was he shimmying, or getting ready to come in for a tackle? “Uh … what?”
“Ain’t you one of ’Maya’s dancing friends?”
“Oh, he’s not from the studio,” explained Amaya, sauntering in with a can of Cherry Coke.
“But you dance, right?” insisted Barth. “C’mon, man. Get up. It’s time for Dance Duel.”
Frank blinked. “Dance Duel?”
Amaya kicked gracefully but harmlessly at her cousin. “Leave him be, Barth. I doubt he’s ever played it.”
“Well, c’mon, ’Maya. Show him how it’s done. You up with Garold!”
Amaya leaned over Frank to set her glass in the cup holder in his arm rest, and he tried not to let his face follow her every move. Her constant nearness intoxicated him in a way wine never could, and he needed to get a grip.
To his relief, Chieko came and sat next to him. “This ought to be interesting. I didn’t know we’d be favored to a floor show with dinner,” she quipped.
Frank chuckled and studied her smooth, elegant features. She was as tiny and reserved as MarLee was big and bold. “Have you been at one of these gatherings before?”
“Just once,” she said, her eyes watching Barth as he set up the sensors for the game. “The day after Jill got voted off the show.”
“Jill?” A large screen on the wall came to life, distracting his gaze.
“From Who Wants to Be a Soap Star.”
“Oh. You were on that, too?” He squirmed. “Sorry, I never watched it.” He brightened. “But I’ll be watching you on the news whenever I’m in broadcast range. That’s an exciting job opportunity.”
As an R&B song began thumping through the sound system mounted on the walls, Chieko shrugged. “We’ll see where it goes. It’s a great starting point, but I wouldn’t want to stay weekend anchor forever.”
“I hear you,” he said over the music. “That’s how I feel about restaurant reviews.” His voice faded, and his mouth hung open as he watched Garold and Amaya bust some serious moves in time to the display on the giant television.
“Who knew linebackers could boogie like that?” Chieko snickered.
“We all can!” Barth dove onto the sectional, so his head landed near Chieko’s lap. “How you think we dance our way through all those fallen players on the field? We got to have the moves!”
“You can do that, too?” Chieko gaped at Garold while pointing at Barth.
“Better. He’s just a beginner. You and me up next, okay?”
Chieko let out a yelp of protest.
“Then I get Frank!” cheered MarLee, squeezing past the dancers and settling into the corner of the sectional on the opposite wall.
“Grammy! You knocked me off step!” squeaked Amaya.
Everyone erupted with bellows of laughter. Frank’s eyes locked on Amaya’s swiveling hips, and his mouth went dry. Did they all expect him to gyrate with a bowling-ball-shaped woman three times his age? How would Amaya ever take him seriously after this?
“Ha! I won!” Garold pumped his fists in the air, and Amaya slouched.
Erv, Morie, and Pappy applauded from the other room. “First time for everything, son!” called Erv.
“You only won ’cause Grammy bumped ’Maya!” said Shep from his lounging sprawl next to MarLee.
“Aw, shut up, Shep!” Garold hoisted the boy into the air and carried him back into the dining room with the older men. “I’m gonna teach you some manners!”
Shep kicked and flailed playfully, and Amaya cupped her hands to shout after them. “You stand your ground, Shep. Back of his left thigh is the tickle spot.”
“I know! I know!”
High-pitched giggles pealed from the other room, and Frank smothered a snarky remark behind his palm. The energy here might be overwhelming, but even the smack talk showed love.
Barth rolled off the couch and held out his hand to Chieko. “All right, lil’ lady. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”
“I do not dance.” Chieko dug in her heels.
“You don’t have to,” said Barth. “I do all the work. Let’s do the swing.”
In a flurry of bodies, Barth swept Chieko to her feet and Amaya sank down beside Frank, her arm pressed against his with an invigorating, spine-melting heat.
“I usually beat Garold,” she said breathlessly.
With his eyes glued to Chieko and Barth, he tried to quell his body’s reaction to Amaya’s nearness. “I’m not really going to have to dance with Grammy, am I?”
“You bet you are!” called MarLee with a musical cackle.
Frank blushed and lowered his voice to a hiss. “She can hear me?”
“Through steel walls and underwater.” Amaya giggled and patted his knee before leaning forward and swaying with the music.
Frank wondered if MarLee could hear his heart pounding. Probably. If Amaya touched him again, there might be a sonic boom.
He pretended to watch Barth and Chieko dance a simple swing routine over Amaya’s shoulder, but he never gazed past Amaya’s hair. The urge to reach out and caress it almost overtook him.
When the dance finished, Amaya turned back to Frank, her radiant smile stealing his breath. He lifted his hand to touch her arm. “Thanks for inviting me, Amaya. It was very kind of you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s your turn to dance with Grammy.”
MarLee pulled herself to her feet with significant effort and stood tapping her chin as she sized up Frank. “I’m thinking you’re a tango type of kid. Am I right?”
Frank rose. “Why yes. I can tango.” He hesitated, wondering how this would work with MarLee’s rotund physique. Was he expected to dip her?
“Wanna do the little practice round first, to get the hang of the game?”
Frank bowed. “That would be most helpful. Thank you.”
MarLee took his hands in hers. She briefly explained the scoring system and how the sensors would read their movements. “Just follow me.” She reached her arm almost straight up to drape her hand on his shoulder. The music began, and she called off what to do until he nodded with recognition.
“Okay, yes. The images on the screen make sense now. Thanks.”
“Ready to go?” she asked, perking up.
“Ready as I’ll ever be!” he answered, taking her into position.
“Good. I’m all tuckered out from the practice.” She pulled her hands free of his and poked him in the ribs. “Amaya, get up here and tango with the gentleman.”
Barth and Garold immediately cooed with saucy tones, and Frank blinked at his own naiveté. He’d been set up.
Amaya joined him, making a face at her cousins, and sliding her body right up to his as they clasped themselves in classic tango position. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just a game.”
Frank’s mouth went dry and his pulse quickened. He’d always enjoyed the tango best but had never found the right partner. Now, holding Amaya so close, he knew this was his chance to experience the dance with the passion it should ignite.
Garold let out a low whistle as the music began.
Between the embarrassment of being teased and the thrilling effect of Amaya’s dance moves, Frank felt a fire burning within him. Clutching her, he
ignored the visual prompts on the screen and surrendered to the rhythm of the music. The living room faded from existence, and only he and Amaya stepped, swayed, and turned. Without the slightest cue from his fingers, she knew which way to go and how to snap into place for each accented beat. Was she getting even closer? With the crescendo of the refrain, they spun as one, and he lunged and dropped her into a dip.
The music stopped abruptly, and he remained unmoving, panting, soaking in the feel of her arms around his neck and her chest pressed tightly against his. They seemed to breathe as one, and though he held her at an impossible angle, she felt light.
No. He felt strong.
Blood rushed into his ears, and then the sound of Barth’s voice thundered, “That’d be Game Over, you two. What the heck was that all about?”
Garold guffawed. “Mm-mm. That’s what they mean when they say it takes two to tango.”
As Frank eased Amaya upright, she whispered, “I think I won.”
The spark in her eyes awoke a dormant hope in his heart. “I’m pretty sure I did.”
Frank wasn’t talking about the game.
“So, where’d you dig that guy up?” asked Chieko, watching over Amaya’s shoulder as Frank’s car drove away into the setting sun.
“Long story.” Amaya smiled before shutting the door.
“I’m all about stories,” said Chieko with a mischievous lilt.
Amaya stooped so their foreheads almost touched. “You’re as bad as Barth and Garold.”
Undeterred, Chieko trailed Amaya into the kitchen. “He’s got a little of the Milo Halsey vibe going.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Amaya frowned. She’d answered too quickly, defensively. Yet she stood by her answer. Although Frank Judd shared some physical similarities with Milo, he was nothing like him. Much. “Well, they’re both gentlemen.”
“And tall, dark, and handsome,” added Chieko.
