Table for Two

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  “Good.”

  “Good.” She didn’t move until he was gone and only then did she suck in a calming breath.

  Not good. She’d intended to keep as far away from Travis as possible until she figured out how best to deal with him. Seeing him at a family gathering wasn’t what she’d had in mind. No, not good at all.

  Also not good? The handprint on the glass top of her desk. And the smear she left when she tried to scrub it off with a tissue.

  She blamed her brother. In fact, she blamed both of them. Donovan for trying to make her talk and Owen for inviting Travis to dinner.

  And she blamed Travis. For coming back to Vancouver. For knocking her off balance. And for refusing to let the little spark of their former relationship burn out.

  At least she still had her charity event. Assuming she could concentrate long enough to focus.

  * * *

  “SWEETHEART.” EVELYN FORD greeted Mal with a hug and a kiss as though it had been months since they’d seen each other last rather than days.

  All the Ford children had made a concerted effort to stop by the house regularly when their dad had first been released from the hospital last year. Now they just stopped by because they liked it.

  For Mal, it was a place to hang out that wasn’t her lonely apartment. Sure, she and Grace got together after Pilates once in a while, but that was usually in the morning and Grace was a newlywed, so much of her free time was spent with her hubby. Plus, Mal didn’t feel like doing much besides having a quiet dinner these days. Which was why she was forcing herself to go on another date next week.

  She followed her mom into the house, listening with half her attention while Evelyn talked about planting for spring and her ideas to switch up the flower beds to let the soil rest.

  The rest of Mal’s attention was focused solely on sight. Was Travis already here? How did he look? How would he look at her?

  She straightened the hem of her simple black blazer, making sure her slouchy cream-colored top didn’t slip below it and that her sleek black jeans were straight, no unfortunate wrinkles or other lumps ruining the clean lines. She’d dressed to prove something, or so she’d told herself when she’d pulled her very strappy, very high black heels out of her closet and slipped them on. They weren’t exactly ass-kicking moto boots, but they were pretty close. They were don’t-mess-with-me-because-I-can-do-damage-with-more-than-just-these-stiletto-heel shoes.

  Just in case.

  It annoyed her that she was concerned at all. She doubted she’d have worried about it before she slept with him—or wouldn’t have worried as much. At least, no more than any person running into an ex thought about such things.

  There was no sign of Travis in her dad’s study where they often tended to congregate as a family. Of course, no one else was in there, either, so that didn’t mean much. Mal exhaled slowly, hoping to still her racing pulse.

  It was a trick she’d seen Grace pull many times, mimicking the steady in and out championed by their Pilates instructor, but Mal always struggled with the simple exercise. She found it far easier to maneuver her body into the necessary shapes and control her muscles through the movements than manage the breathing portion. Too bad she couldn’t drop into an Open Leg Rocker right now to unfurl the tension tightening her back.

  Moving into the living room Mal heard his voice before she saw him. That low, familiar rumble that sent a shiver through her already tense spine. She swallowed. Of course, she’d known he’d be here. Had been given plenty of notice, but that didn’t erase her growing nerves or worry about what she’d say when faced with him.

  “Mal.” Grace saw her first and rose to greet her with a warm hug. Mal hugged back, reminding herself that Grace would understand and man the door in the study if Mal needed a minute to practice her Open Leg Rocker, after all.

  By the time Mal had greeted her brothers, her sisters-in-law, her mother again and been treated to a bone-cracking embrace from her father, she felt almost normal. And then she looked at Travis.

  He looked back and while his mouth seemed perfectly normal, she saw the secret smile in the depths of his gray eyes. “Mal.”

  “Travis.” She was grateful that her voice didn’t shake, though she couldn’t say the same for her knees. She lowered herself into an empty seat before they gave her away as she tried to pretend that it didn’t bother her at all to see her family welcoming Travis back into their warmth. That it was her fault they did so didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

  Mal was the one who had encouraged Owen to maintain his friendship with Travis, convincing herself that Travis was good for Owen and she shouldn’t damage that relationship. She reminded her lesser self—the part of her that wanted to rage and throw things and call him every name in the book—that just because she and Travis were no longer together didn’t mean that her family should have nothing to do with him ever again, either. Of course, back then she hadn’t expected Travis to return to Vancouver and get himself invited to family dinner.

  Why wouldn’t he stop looking at her?

  Mal felt a delicate flush begin to rise, knew that if she looked in the mirror her cheeks would be a rosy pink that she never managed to achieve with blusher. But she refused to look his way, as though if she kept her gaze averted he’d follow suit. She should have known better. Travis wasn’t the type who followed the crowd or did what was easiest. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him. Here was a man who’d broken free of his family’s expectations, someone who set his own goals and went after them no matter what anyone around him said. He treated criticism and praise with the same casual disinterest.

  Her mother suggested appetizers and bustled back to the kitchen to prepare them. Although she was surrounded by her loved ones, Mal suddenly felt exposed. Probably because Travis was still staring at her. “I think I’ll give Mom a hand.” She rose from the sofa, her face set in a polite smile while she hurried after her mother.

  She reminded herself that walking too fast would only give rise to questions she had no interest in answering. So she kept her gait steady, the calm click of her heels across the hardwood floor marking her path, the overly tall heel announcing what she might do to anyone who questioned her intentions. Which didn’t stop Travis from joining her.

  Mal heard his voice as he explained he’d help, too, felt the shake of the floorboards as he caught up with her and endured the rush of nerves that accosted her. She shot him a look as she picked up her pace, hurrying the last few steps to the kitchen.

  “Oh.” Evelyn looked up when the pair of them entered the kitchen and smiled as though it was eighteen months ago and they were still together. “Travis, why don’t you take care of the drinks.” She gestured to the built-in wine fridge. “The pinot noir, please.”

  Travis nodded and went to the fridge. Mal looked at his butt in his suit pants.

  “Sweetheart?”

  Mal dragged her eyes away and pretended she hadn’t been looking.

  Evelyn’s face wore a knowing smile, but much to Mal’s relief she didn’t mention it. “Will you make the glaze for the Camembert?”

  Mal slid behind the stove, taking over from her mother, adding diced pear to the melted butter in the skillet and gently stirring to coat. The double wheels of Camembert topped with a pair of glazes was one of her mother’s go-to appetizer recipes and Mal had made it herself many times.

  She waited until the pears had softened and added a splash of brandy and a bit of fresh, chopped rosemary. The woodsy, almost pine-like scent of the herb tickled her nose.

  “So?”

  Mal looked over her shoulder to see Travis standing there, wine bottle in hand, his front looking as good as his back. Another quick glance told her that her mother had slipped away—very likely on purpose, having sensed Mal’s discomfort. She’d never been able to hide much from her family, w
hich was both great and annoying. Though, at this particular moment, she definitely leaned toward annoying. She turned back to the stove. “So?”

  “How are you?”

  Really? They’d slept together, she’d kicked him out, he’d retaliated by not calling her for days and then getting himself invited to her family’s house for dinner where she had to pretend that it didn’t bother her, and he wanted to know how she was? “Fine.” She was fine. Just fine.

  She pulled the glaze off the stove and poured most of it over the first wheel of cheese, putting a little aside for garnish, then returned the skillet to the stove and added some balsamic vinegar and honey, heating it to a simmer. She could feel his eyes on her back.

  “What do you want, Travis?”

  “Just to talk.”

  “You had plenty of days to call me and talk. You didn’t.” She winced even as the words poured out. She shouldn’t care that he hadn’t called. Scratch that, she didn’t care.

  “I went to visit my family.” Mal felt him move closer. She stirred the mixture and didn’t ask how it had gone, even though she wanted to know. “They’re good. They asked about you.”

  She wanted to shrug that off, act as if it had no bearing on her life. She and Travis weren’t together, and as much as she liked his family, they were no longer in her circle. But it wasn’t that easy. Things with Travis never were. “I hope you told them I was fine.”

  “I did.” This time she heard his footstep as well as felt it. She was sure if she turned to look he’d be right behind her. All gray eyed and dark haired, that luscious body barely contained by his charcoal dress pants and dove-gray button-down shirt. She could probably see the edge of the Celtic cross tattooed on his chest peeking past the shirt edge if she craned her head to the left and looked directly down the open neck. Which she was so not doing.

  “They’re well. Shane has a new truck and my mom is still working too many hours. Dad looked good.”

  Mal nodded but didn’t turn around. “How’s your gram?” She liked Travis’s entire family, but there was a special place in her heart for his grandmother. Kind and open, but quick to tell people exactly what she thought and why she was right, Mildred didn’t let things happen to her, not without her permission. Mal missed her.

  “She’s good, too. Still the same old Gram. Don’t tell her I called her old.” Mal could hear the smile in his voice and the answering one on her face. “You should visit her.”

  Her own grandparents had died when she was still in elementary school so she’d never known them as an adult, but Mildred had shown her what it might have been like. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.” But maybe she could send a letter. Mildred had often bemoaned the loss of letters in the new millennium.

  “Why not?”

  Mal stirred the glaze, decided it was ready and pulled it off the heat. She fussed with the cheese though there was nothing to do until the balsamic and honey mixture had cooled. “Because we’re broken up.”

  “We are.” He paused. “But I’m here, at your parents’ place.”

  As though that was a ringing endorsement, as though his presence wasn’t in the least bit inappropriate or weird. Mal decided to ignore her urge to tell him exactly that. They were at her parents’ home and an argument, even if done out of sight of everyone else and in hushed tones, was more inappropriate than his being here. “I’ll think about it.” She wouldn’t, but it would put a stop to whatever else he might have to say.

  “She’d love to see you.”

  “I’ll think about it.” There was absolutely nothing to do to the cheese until the glaze was no longer simmering, but she did her best to look busy with it anyway. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

  “I want to wait. I’ll always wait for you.”

  Mal had only meant he could take the wine out. Her chest grew tight at his words, which most certainly had to do with something bigger than wine. “Don’t, Travis.”

  His voice was easy. “I’m not leaving, Mal.”

  “You didn’t leave last time.” No, that had been her. Humiliated and deeply hurt. Scared that her father wouldn’t get better, afraid that her life would never get put back together again. “Which isn’t the point.”

  “I think it’s exactly the point.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. Mal felt the strength and the heat of it, knew just how good it would feel to let herself sink into the feeling. “I should have come back sooner. But I want you to know that I’m staying now.”

  She shrugged his hand off and moved back to the stove, checking the glaze again. “Stay, go, whatever makes you happy.”

  “Are you happy, Mal?” Travis moved with her. He didn’t touch her again, but she knew all she had to do was reach a hand out and they would be connected. She could feel that warmth and heat surrounding her from all sides. She needed to stay strong. On her own.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Fine isn’t happy.”

  Mal picked up the second glaze. She didn’t care that she normally would have let it sit another couple of minutes. It was cool enough. She poured it over the first wheel and then placed the second wheel on top. Another drizzle of the honey glaze and the remainder of the pears for garnish and the cheese plate was done. Just like this conversation with Travis.

  “Mallory.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to close her emotions off, too. “That is my name.” Which would have sounded a whole lot cooler had she been able to bring herself to look at him.

  “We need to talk.”

  “We just did.” She wanted to look, wanted to see his expression. She opened her eyes and her gaze made it as far as the cheese plate before stopping.

  “There’s more to discuss. Things I need to tell you.”

  Mal could hear the sincerity in his tone, but she wasn’t up for more talking. Her knees felt weak enough without any talking. “Later, Travis.”

  He moved in front of her when she turned. His gray eyes locked with hers. “When?”

  “Later.”

  He inhaled and it felt as though he sucked all the oxygen from her lungs. Or maybe it was the sight of his tattoo, not quite fully covered, that did it. “You wanted me to call. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  Her fingers curled. “I didn’t want you to call.” Right. Just like she hadn’t wanted him to come over to her apartment or take her to bed.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated and cupped her face. Mal had to work to keep her guard up in the face of his onslaught. The fact that a light touch seemed capable of bringing down the walls she’d worked so hard to build was not a good sign. “I promise I’ll call every day from now on.”

  “Not necessary.” She shook off his hand and the part of her that whispered to trust him. He’d betrayed her once, which meant there was every chance he’d do so again.

  “I want to.” He angled his body so they were facing each other once more.

  Mal didn’t move. She just stared into his face. “Travis.”

  “That is my name.” But when he said it, the words sounded sexy, as if he was whispering them across her bare skin.

  She shivered. It would be so easy. So, so easy to let herself go and fall back into what they’d had. But Mal Ford didn’t follow the easiest path unless there was good reason and Travis had yet to give her one. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed the sex. She’d enjoyed it very much, but it was hardly sufficient to act as a base to rebuild what they’d lost.

  “I’m not letting this go so easily again,” he said before she could say anything.

  Her heart thumped, just once, but it was enough to send a flood of endorphins and emotions running through her.

  “I made that mistake before.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. Just one stroke, but that was enough to have her knees threatening to buckle. “I won’t be making it again.
>
  “Mal, I—”

  She cut him off. “Later, Travis. I need to take the appy in before it gets cold.”

  Mal could feel his frustration, the nearly tangible urge to reach out and stop her. She was glad he didn’t. Her knees were shaking plenty without adding any further touching to the mix.

  When she carried the still-warm cheese appetizer out, she was purposeful in taking a chair, so as to prevent Travis from sitting beside her. But that didn’t stop him from taking a seat across from her, his eyes boring into her every time he wasn’t directly involved in the conversation.

  She managed only a bite and a half of cheese and was grateful when dinner was served and she was able to seat herself diagonally from Travis. Though the seating arrangement didn’t eliminate his watchful gaze, it did mitigate it and that was better than nothing.

  If only she could deep breathe like Grace or find a private place for her Open Leg Rocker.

  * * *

  TRAVIS STARED AT Mal across the table. He’d been staring at her all night. And she’d been avoiding his looks. But he noted the surreptitious peeks she sent his way every so often, and the way she averted her gaze when she saw he was completely non-surreptitiously watching her. He could have been less obvious, but he didn’t want to be. All he wanted was Mal.

  He waited until coffee and dessert were served and boisterous conversation about gardens and cooking began to wind down. “Remember The Blue Mermaid?”

  All faces swiveled toward him. Grace looked oblivious and Julia had a small furrowed line between her eyebrows as though she’d heard the name but couldn’t quite put her finger on why he was bringing it up. But the Fords all watched him with equal parts understanding and interest. Except Mal. Mal looked down at her coffee cup, slowly swirling her spoon through the liquid.

  “I bought it.”

  Travis sensed the reactions around him. Grace turned to Owen for an explanation. Julia asked Donovan if that was the place in Gastown or something else. The Fords all looked at Mal. Mal swirled her spoon a little faster. She still didn’t look up.