Secret North

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “Okay,” came a distant reply.

  “This is her leftover food.” I thrust the box at Adam, giving him no choice but to take it. “My advice would be to ditch it. It didn’t look good to begin with.”

  “Right.”

  The longer I stood there, the harder it was to keep a straight face.

  “One word, Ryan,” he warned. “Say one word and –”

  I held both hands up. “I’m not saying a thing ... except that you really need to work on your time management skills.”

  The door closed in my face and I chuckled my way back to the elevator.

  ***

  I’d arranged for the driver to take Bente to Nellie’s. The look on her face as she walked in led me to think she was disappointed by my choice of venue. Her outfit screamed disappointment too. She’d changed out of her jeans and was now wearing a silky red dress that perfectly matched the colour of her lips.

  My heart sank a little. She’d reiterated her need to keep things casual at least ten times. Maybe I got it wrong.

  I met her at the door. “Everything okay?” I asked.

  She forced a smile. “Fine.”

  I knew enough about women to know that fine didn’t mean fine. I also knew that calling her out on it wasn’t smart, so I said nothing. I took her hand instead and led her to a small table near the kitchen door. It wasn’t an ideal spot. In fact, it was probably the worst table in the whole place, but the others were occupied and I wasn’t a big enough jerk to move anyone.

  I pulled out her chair and Bente sat down, scanning the room with her eyes. “Business is obviously booming,” she noted. “It’s a full house tonight.”

  The kitchen doors crashed open, making us jump. A server rushed past, carrying four plates.

  “Business is good,” I awkwardly confirmed.

  “This wasn’t quite what I was expecting when you suggested a change in venue, Ryan.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head and almost smiled.

  I leaned back and busied my hands by fussing with the edge of the tablecloth. I’m not a fidgety person but I was having trouble looking her in the eye. Bente is easily irritated. I usually loved that about her, but in this instance it worried me. She was probably fighting the urge to slap me.

  “You were the one who insisted on keeping it casual. Nellie’s is low key.”

  “Ginger’s was low key too,” she retorted.

  The kitchen doors crashed open again, but neither of us reacted.

  “You’re sending mixed signals, Bente.” I frowned at the tablecloth. “I thought you’d be happier here. We don’t serve salmonella and the floor is clean. So if you’re unhappy enough to take a leaf out of Animal’s book and hurl yourself on the floor, your pretty dress will stay clean.”

  Her glare gave way to a look of disbelief. “You call my niece Animal?”

  My insults were usually intentional but not this one. “I said that out loud?”

  She huffed out a sharp laugh. “Totally out loud.”

  “I don’t mean it in a bad way,” I lied. “She reminds me of Animal, the Muppet.” Even I knew the hole was getting deeper. “The drummer Muppet. He’s quite talented.”

  “Just stop talking, Ryan.”

  I nodded, and dropped my head to hide my smile. When I glanced up for a second, I saw she was doing the same thing.

  Neither of us spoke for a long time. The silence was excruciating but Bente finally put me out of my misery. “She is a bit like Animal,” she conceded, rolling the stem of her glass between her fingers.

  I didn’t agree, because I’m not a total idiot. I changed the subject instead. “We can go to Billet-doux if you want,” I offered. “Or somewhere completely different. Your call.”

  “I’m not sure what I want,” she mumbled. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

  At least I wasn’t the only one out of my depth. I’d never put so much effort into trying to win over a date in my life.

  I’d dated a lot of women – too many to admit to a number. The way I operated hadn’t changed since my teens. I chase, I conquer and I release, usually the next morning. When it came to conquering and keeping, I was clueless. And I’d known from the first minute I’d laid eyes on Bente that she was a keeper. I just hadn’t been ready for her before.

  I thought quickly, trying to come up with some semblance of a plan to stop the evening completely unravelling. “Look,” I began, “the way I see it, we have two options here. We can keep it casual if you want to. We’ll order the special and spend the night discussing politics and the weather.”

  She scrunched up her pretty face, clearly unenthused. “What’s the second option?”

  My heart began thudding, willing my brain to come up with option two. “I will make this the most romantic, memorable evening you’ve ever had,” I declared.

  “Wow.” She smiled at the cutlery she was pretending to straighten. “That’s sounds like an offer almost too good to refuse.”

  “Two minutes,” I blurted. “All I need to make it happen is two minutes. Just say the word.”

  She lifted her head and glanced around. Not only were all the tables full, a queue was forming at the door, which was great for business but not so great for romance. It made my offer sound like a complete crock, but I was still hopeful of pulling it off.

  “I’ll take option two, please.” Her words came out sounding like she was daring me to do something wicked, which was very fitting. The only plan I’d come up with was about as wicked as they come.

  “Excellent choice, Miss Denison,” I told her, trying to sound confident. “Are you ready?”

  “Born ready.”

  With a nod, I stood and walked the short distance to the fuse box hidden behind a pot plant. I opened the door, took a long moment to study the interior, and turned back to face her. “Option two, right?”

  She wasn’t looking smug any more, but I took the stiff nod she gave me as a yes, reached inside and pulled the fire alarm.

  A thrumming bell rang out. It was much louder than I expected it to be, but not loud enough to drown out the bedlam in the room. Confusion among the patrons quickly set in. Some panicked, abandoned their meals and rushed out the door; but some stayed put. I was surprised: the food was good, but not that good.

  Thankfully, my staff were a little more on the ball. The kitchen doors crashed open over and over as they rushed in and out searching for the fire.

  Bente stared at me in wide-eyed disbelief. “What the hell did you just do?”

  I took her face in my hands and crushed my lips against hers. “You look so beautiful tonight. You should know that.”

  It probably wasn’t the most appropriate time to be making such a declaration. We were in the midst of chaos.

  “Thank you,” she choked. “I’ll remember those as your parting words. You’re going to jail, Ryan.”

  “No one’s going to jail.” I released my hold and glanced at the mayhem I’d caused. “Okay, maybe I’m going to jail.”

  “This is your idea of a memorable evening?”

  I grinned at her. “Go big or go home, right?”

  “You’re not going home,” she replied, shaking her head. “For years probably.”

  Someone called my name. I looked up to see the manager waving me over. “Don’t go anywhere,” I ordered. “If I don’t come back, call Adam to bail me out. And when he says no, call Charli.”

  10. ODD NUMBERS

  Bente

  When the fire department stormed the restaurant I was still sitting at the table, pondering whether Ryan Décarie was a romantic man or a stupid one. I felt no urge to flee the building. It wasn’t as if it was on fire or anything.

  “You have to leave, Miss,” ordered an approaching fireman. He pulled my chair back and hooked his arm under mine, making sure I stood.

  I wandered out, sharing none of the panic of those around me. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles lit up the night and onlookers crowded both sides of
the street, watching the mayhem unfold.

  I stood in the crowd for a long time before spotting Ryan further down the street. He was having a conversation with a police officer and two firemen. I didn’t approach. I just stood there, studying him.

  Ryan has a habit of talking with his hands. The more intense the conversation, the more animated he becomes. He must’ve been aware of the quirk because both hands were in his pockets, meaning he was in total control of himself and the conversation. I shuddered to think the lies he was spinning to get himself off the hook. They seemed to be buying it, though. There was a lot of nodding going on, and no sign of any handcuffs.

  Ryan Décarie could charm the pants off anyone. It was his biggest talent and his biggest downfall. Every woman he’d ever wooed had been attracted by the same thing – bright brown bedroom eyes, sexy crooked smile and a body made for touching. If for some strange reason those attributes failed, he had a fat bank account to sweeten the deal.

  The downfall was, no one ever looked past it – or got the chance to. Ryan’s relationships were notoriously short lived: one night, two if he thought she was worth the effort.

  Claiming to be immune to his charms would’ve been a lie, but I was older, wiser and far better equipped to deal with him now. Perhaps that’s why I’d agreed to give the wasp’s nest another kick.

  ***

  Ryan finally spotted me and waved me over. Just as I got to him, another fireman approached and declared the emergency a false alarm. “You might want to get the alarm system checked out,” he suggested, lifting the visor on his helmet. “Something’s obviously defective.”

  Just the owner, I answered silently.

  “Thank you,” replied Ryan. “I’ll do that.” He curved his arm around my back and pulled me close and that’s when I realised his steely criminal resolve was a sham. I could feel his guilty heart pounding.

  “You’re free to re-open if you want to,” said the police officer.

  Ryan looked up at the sign above the front doors. “I think we’ll just call it a night,” he replied, feigning melancholy.

  The emergency responders disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. Once the trucks and flashing lights were gone, the crowd dissipated too. The only people who remained were the shell-shocked staff, waiting for instruction from Ryan.

  “Give me a minute?” he asked.

  I nodded. Ryan leaned in, lightly kissed my lips and ventured over to address his staff. I used the time alone to pull myself together. No amount of good looks and charm could change the fact that Ryan was trouble. Pulling a fire alarm to clear a restaurant was the perfect example of the kind of behaviour he was capable of.

  When he reappeared, I let him know exactly what I thought of his fire alarm stunt. “What if there had been a real fire somewhere? They couldn’t have attended because they were busy dealing with your nonsense.”

  “I’ll send the FDNY a sizeable donation tomorrow,” he promised.

  “And what about your staff?” I demanded. “They rely on the tips they get. They’re getting nothing tonight.”

  His arm swooped around me. I didn’t fight his hold, but I wedged my elbow between us to buy the distance required to keep my brain functioning. “I’ll take care of them too.”

  “If you say so,” I muttered.

  “You worked for me for a long time, Bente,” he reminded. “I’m a good boss, am I not?”

  “Yes.”

  It would’ve been a terrible lie to claim otherwise. Ryan was the fairest of employers, and I had no doubt that he’d make up their lost wages. His current employees obviously thought highly of him too. They were inside clearing the abandoned tables as we spoke.

  “You’ll make sure they’re compensated?”

  “Everyone will be made whole,” he assured. “And once the tables have been cleared, we’ll be free to continue our date. Do you have any other questions, Miss Denison?”

  “A few.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  A frown marred his otherwise perfect face. “I kissed you?”

  “Twice.”

  “You let me kiss you twice?” he asked. “You must be out of your mind.”

  “I’m beginning to think so.” I agreed.

  He leaned a tiny bit closer and whispered, “I think we should make it three times. I like odd numbers.”

  “That may be so but I don’t like odd men,” I teased, pushing him away.

  A woman walked out of Nellie’s and headed toward us. She looked nervous, as if she’d pulled the fire alarm herself. Ryan abandoned his shameless flirting and switched to serious restaurateur mode.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said sheepishly. “We’re ready to close up.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Michelle,” he replied, nodding. “Thank you.”

  As soon as she was gone, he drew me in close again. “We finally have the place to ourselves,” he said in a deliciously low tone. “It took a little longer than the estimated two minutes but I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

  Of all the things I was thinking of holding against him, that wasn’t one of them. Thankfully, I thought better of telling him so.

  Ryan reached for my hand and led me back inside. It was strangely reminiscent of old times. I’d always loved Nellie’s when it was empty. It was kind of creepy and extraordinarily quiet. Setting tables before dinner service used to be my favourite time of day.

  We wove through the tables, straight back to the power box on the back wall.

  Despite the fact that it made no sense, I spent a terrible moment thinking he was going to pull the alarm again. But of course he didn’t. He dimmed the lights instead, casting a golden glow over the entire front of house.

  “Privacy and ambience,” he proudly announced, throwing his arms wide. “What more do we need?”

  “Music,” I replied seriously. “There’s no ambience without music.”

  Ryan’s face fell. “Ah, I don’t think we have any music.”

  “You have music, Ryan.” I walked over to the small alcove under the stairs that led up to the mezzanine level. “You actually have a pretty decent sound system. It just doesn’t get used because it’s always so loud in here.”

  I switched it on and a sultry voice filled the room, asking if we’d still love her tomorrow.

  “I never knew that was there.” He sounded surprised.

  “There are probably a lot of things you don’t know.”

  “What’s next?”

  “You have no ideas?”

  His eyes never left mine as I ambled toward him.

  “Your co-ordination efforts have been first class so far,” he replied. “I’m happy to let you continue.”

  “Hmm….” I turned my head, pretending to check out the room while I thought. “How about a dance floor?”

  “Stay right there,” he demanded, pointing at me as he backed away.

  He’d ordered me to stay put a few times that night, which spoke volumes. Obviously he knew I should’ve been running in the opposite direction too.

  Ryan quickly made a few modifications to the décor by pushing tables and chairs to the far side of the room. “Better?” he asked, turning full circle in the space he’d cleared.

  The romantic part of me thought it was the grandest, sweetest gesture in the world. The more sensible part of me considered the bigger picture.

  “Ryan, this night is going to cost you a fortune,” I said gravely. “All that lost revenue and –”

  “And what?”

  I took a long look around the room before replying. “You’ve trashed the joint.”

  He stalked toward me. “I’m still ahead.”

  “So what happens now?”

  His whole body pressed up against me, stealing the air in my lungs. “We dance.”

  11. TRUST

  Ryan

  Most girls can’t dance – they just think they can.

  Bente Denison was the exception to
the rule. It wasn’t the awkward shuffle I was used to. The girl had skill, never missing a step as we danced around the space I’d cleared.

  She craned her neck, looking up at me. “Where did you learn to waltz?”

  “Private school.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you went to an all-boy school.”

  The mere fact that she remembered such a trivial detail made me smile. “I did.” I lifted her hand above her head and slowly twirled her. “Dance classes were quite awkward at times.”

  She laughed and I drew her back in close. I freaking loved her laugh. Like her voice, it was rich, velvet and sultry. “What about you? Where did your dancing prowess come from?”

  “Dirty Dancing,” she replied, still smiling. “The movie, not the act.”

  “You learned to dance by watching a movie?”

  “No, but that was my inspiration. As soon as I saw it, I made my mom sign me up for dance classes. I think I was about ten.”

  I tightened my hold, stepped forward and dipped her backwards. “That must’ve been some movie, Bente.”

  The low light caught her face, highlighting her gorgeous features perfectly. “You haven’t seen it?” I shook my head. “Well that is a tragedy, Mr Décarie.” She stretched out the words in a sexy drawl. If journalism didn’t work out for her, she’d make a great phone sex operator. Unlike the Animal slip, I managed to hold off saying this out loud.

  “You’ll have to show me Dirty Dancing some time.” I righted her and drew her back in. “The act, not the movie.”

  Her body melted against mine. Our stance was no longer technically correct for waltzing, but perfect in other ways. Bente moved slowly, running both hands up my upper arms before linking her hands around my neck. “I’m not sure you’d handle it, Ryan.”

  “Bente, are you flirting with me?” I asked. “Because if you are, we’re no longer in the realm of casual dating.”

  “No, I’m waltzing.”

  The girl was not waltzing. She was all hips and hooded eyes.

  I broke her hold and positioned her in a way I definitely didn’t want her. “Partners stand six inches apart. Chin up.” I tilted her face. “The connection is through the hands, wrists and fingers, not the hips.” I doubted she was buying this. I liked her hips. There was no denying it. “If all-boy schools taught your version of the waltz, there would be mass confusion among the students.”