Twin Piques

by Tracie Banister

  “Ohmigosh, I have always wanted to do this!” I squeal as soon as I see what’s up for auction at table eight.

  “As much as I’d like to see you in a pink wetsuit, I’m going to have to say ‘no’ to shark cage diving,” Brody teases me, with a smirk. “I’ve never been big on things that have more teeth than I do, plus there’s that pesky water phobia of mine.”

  “I’m not a fan of sharks either. How do you feel about birds?”

  “I have no problem with birds . . . outside of Hitchcock movies.”

  I chuckle. “That movie freaked me out when I was a kid, too, but I don’t think we’ll encounter any birds of the homicidal variety when we go on . . .” I shove the clipboard in his face. “A private hot air balloon ride over Napa Valley!”

  “Huh.” Looking intrigued, Brody takes the clipboard out of my hand and starts to read all the particulars on the bid sheet.

  “We’ll be treated to a champagne brunch after the ride, so that’s basically like getting two prizes in one,” I point out.

  I’m already fantasizing about how perfect and romantic this day will be – the two of us floating through the air in the tight quarters of that small basket. I’ll probably be a little nervous, it being my first time in a hot air balloon, so Brody will have to wrap his strong, manly arms around me, making me feel safe and secure while we’re gazing down at all that magnificent Napa Valley scenery. Crazy-looking, windblown hair and the presence of the person who will be operating this hot air balloon do not factor into my fantasy.

  “This does look really cool,” Brody says. “We probably need to strategize to win this thing, so I’m going to double, no triple, the highest bid so far.” He starts scribbling on the paper.

  Triple? Holy cow, that’s twelve hundred dollars! I’ve never had a man spend that much on a date with me before. Brody is the best boyfriend ever! Okay, technically, he’s not my boyfriend, but it’s starting to feel like he is. He’s so sweet to me, and so generous, and we have such a good time together. I really can’t imagine a better man, or one more perfect for me. SIGH

  “If you have any good luck rituals, now’s the time.” Brody holds the clipboard out to me.

  “I don’t have any rituals per se, but three is my lucky number. So, maybe that’ll work.” Taking the clipboard from him, I spin around three times, then give the bid sheet three quick kisses.

  “That’s a unique approach,” a female voice coming from behind me says in an amused tone.

  “We really want to win this prize,” I confess, after turning to face the woman, who’s an attractive, middle-aged lady wearing a tiered gray cocktail dress beneath a cute, little bolero jacket with beaded trim.

  “I wish I had some pull, but I’m afraid the auction’s outside my purview. My duty as a volunteer tonight is to cajole people into participating in the scavenger hunt for fairy treasures. Project Open Hand has a benefactor who will donate one hundred dollars for every team who collects all the items on this list.” She holds up a stack of what looks like parchment-style card stock, and I can see a list written out in calligraphy on the top one, with little pictures next to each item.

  “No cajoling necessary. We would love to go on a scavenger hunt, wouldn’t we, Brody?” I look up at him. “Wait, you didn’t have anything to do with hiding these items in the garden, did you? Because that would disqualify us if you already know where everything is.”

  “I didn’t even know there was going to be a scavenger hunt tonight, so we’re good.” He extends a hand toward the volunteer, and she gives him a list.

  “And here’s a fairy bag for you to collect all the items in.” The nice woman hands me a small organza bag with a drawstring. The bag is a shimmery purple, so it matches my dress, which delights me. I wonder if I’ll be allowed to take the bag home, because I’m thinking that with a few embellishments, I could turn it into a darling, little purse!

  “Thank you . . .,” I trail off as I don’t know the volunteer’s name.

  “Liz,” she supplies the information I’m looking for.

  “Thanks so much, Liz. We won’t let you down. Right, Brody?”

  “That hundred dollars is in the bag.” He smirks at me.

  “Such a comedian.” I reach up and give his dimpled chin an affectionate squeeze, then we both chuckle.

  “Ah, young love . . . “ Liz smiles indulgently at us. “Enjoy it, my dears.” She pats us both on the arm before moving on to a group of people at the next table.

  Brody and I exchange furtive, embarrassed glances, neither one of us sure what to say or do in response to Liz’s assumption that we’re in love. Not that she’s wrong, although I don’t think I’d classify us as being “in love” just yet. It would be more accurate to say we’re at the “falling in love” stage of our relationship. That’s how it feels to me anyway. I hope it feels that way to him. You never know with guys. Maybe I should ask him. Or would that ruin things? In my experience, men don’t really like talking about their feelings. Alphonse didn’t anyway, but he was a mime, so not talking was kind of his thing. Brody’s a lot more sensitive and articulate than Phonsey ever was, or Dom, or Marcus, or Zane, or Spider (Yes, that was my last boyfriend’s name. He had it legally changed from Eugene.)

  “Ready to tackle this list?” Brody finally asks, trying to make the situation less awkward.

  “Yes!” I reply a bit too enthusiastically, happy to have something else to keep my mind busy. “What are we looking for?”

  We put our heads together to study the list, which is comprised of eight items that fairies might covet. Brody suggests we start down in the amphitheater part of the garden, then work our way back up to the pergola and the area with the rose beds. We have a grand time going from terrace to terrace, searching for treasures. I find sparkly silver ribbons tied to the stems of a bunch of Tickled Pink roses, so I claim one and place it in my fairy bag, which is now hanging from my wrist. Soon after, Brody spies several small wood spools encircling one of the glowing mason jars on the stone steps, and we’re able to cross another item off our list.

  “Ooooo, are those gold coins?” I gesture toward the stage where the quartet is playing. I’m pretty sure I see something glinting under the bassoonist’s chair.

  Squinting in that direction, he says, “Yeah, I think so, but how are we supposed to get them without interrupting the musicians?”

  “Just crawl up behind the chair and do a nice, quiet snatch-and-grab.” I demonstrate the maneuver.

  “You want me to crawl?”

  “Yeah, well, I’d do it, but I’m wearing a dress.”

  “And a very pretty dress it is.” He snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me close. “I think purple is your color.”

  I blush, enjoying his attempt to distract me. “Thank you, but I’m afraid compliments aren’t on that list.” I indicate the card in his other hand. “You know what is?” I lean forward so that our lips are almost touching and whisper, “Gold coins.”

  “All right,” he concedes. “For you, I’ll do it.”

  “For charity,” I remind him.

  With a sigh, Brody releases me and heads for the stage, where he does manage to collect the coins from beneath the bassoonist’s chair without causing a disruption, which earns him a thumbs up from me.

  We decide to return to the pergola, where we find a thimble on a cookie plate and check to make sure we’ve still got the top bid on the hot air balloon ride. (We do – yes! Napa Valley, here we come!) Seeing some small pocket watches nestled amongst the roses in a centerpiece on auction table two, I take one and add it to my bag of goodies. Brody and I roam around the rose beds for a while, passing by the bench where we ate our food earlier. I stop to admire a statue of a bow and arrow-wielding Cupid and realize that the winged cherub is sporting some serious bling.

  “Keys!” I tell Brody excitedly, reaching out my hand so that I can relieve Cupid of one of the vintage-looking keys that’s hanging around his neck on a string. “What’s left on the list now
?”

  Brody consults the card. “Just the cameo and moonstone.”

  “Is there any place we haven’t looked yet?” Seems like we’ve pretty much covered the whole garden in the last twenty minutes.

  “I can think of one.” He folds the list in half and stuffs it in his jacket pocket before saying, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Chapter 27

  (Willa)

  Brody leads me away from all the other partygoers, to the far side of the garden where I can see more of the mason jars casting their blue light on to a narrow footpath that disappears into a woodsy area. We take a few steps down that path and find ourselves transported to another world, cloaked by trees and foliage, serenaded by the chirping of crickets and the croaking of frogs. I hang on tightly to Brody’s arm, both scared and excited, as I’m not sure what secrets this forest holds.

  “This trail loops around the garden,” he explains in a hushed tone, which seems appropriate, because it feels like we’re in nature’s version of a church and making too much noise would be disrespectful. “There’s a little bridge up ahead,” Brody tells me, and a few seconds later the rustic-looking wood structure comes into view.

  “Oh, how charming,” I breathe the words reverently, staring at the moonlit tableau. It really does look like something out of a fairy tale. There are red and white roses climbing up the sides of the bridge, twisting sinuously around the posts and side rails. One could imagine Belle being wooed by the Beast amongst all these beautiful blooms, or Rapunzel throwing her long, golden hair over the side of the bridge so that her prince could climb up for a romantic rendezvous.

  “Look!” Brody calls my attention to the deck of the bridge. “I think those are the moonstones.”

  My eyes follow his finger and sure enough there are smooth, marble-sized stones scattered across the bridge, shimmering like blue fire in the moonlight. Escorting me on to the bridge, Brody bends down to scoop up one of the fairy treasures. He examines it for a moment, then lifts it up to my face and says, “Mmmm hmmm, just as I thought. Your eyes have more sparkle than this moonstone. They’re bluer, too.”

  “You’re comparing my eyes to gems?” I smile, feeling incredibly flattered.

  “There is no comparison,” Brody asserts. Moving closer, he gently cups the side of my face in his hand and says, “No jewel, no cluster of stars, not even all the fairy lights in this garden tonight shine as brightly as you do.”

  And I’m dying.

  Seriously. No man has ever said anything more romantic to me. I’m tempted to pinch myself to make sure this is real and not one of my daydreams. I place my hand on Brody’s chest and feel the warmth of his skin seeping through his dress shirt and the beating of his heart as it thumps against my palm. I don’t have those kinds of details in my fantasies, which reassures me that this is really happening. I am with a wonderful guy, who’s saying wonderful things, and he’s looking at me like he thinks I’m the most amazing woman he’s ever met.

  “I had no idea you were a poet.”

  “I’m not.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I usually express myself with flowers, but you inspired me to use words and . . .”

  Lowering his head, he presses his lips tenderly against mine, and I sigh into the kiss, closing my eyes and swaying forward. I steady myself by grabbing onto Brody’s lapels. I cling to them as the kiss deepens, the sounds of the forest fading away so that all I can hear are our gasps for breath and my heartbeat echoing in my ears, and all I can feel are his lips as they grow more insistent and his hands as they roam up and down my back, one of them finally settling at the nape of my neck where his fingers slide into my hair.

  I’ve engaged in my fair share of liplocks over the years (there might have even been a few that were exceptional), but suddenly I can’t remember any of those smooches, or the men who gave them to me. There’s only Brody and this incredible, so-worth-the-wait kiss. I have no idea how long it lasts – Minutes? Hours? Time loses all meaning while Brody’s lips are on mine. When he does finally release my mouth, I crack open my eyes just enough to see that we’re still shrouded by the blackness of night, so our make out session didn’t last straight through to daybreak, although I wouldn’t have minded if it had. I feel his lips skim across my cheek, his warm breath tickling my skin as his mouth moves to my ear, which he first nuzzles, then begins to nibble on playfully. His lips continue their quest down my neck, depositing a series of feather soft kisses that make my toes curl. He dips me back, ever so slightly, and starts to kiss a heated path across my collarbone, which is the only bit of skin exposed by the neckline of my dress. I shiver with delight at the thought of his lips finding a way beneath that fabric. If only we were somewhere that afforded us a little more pri–

  I hear a loud cough of surprise, followed by a man saying, “Oh my goodness, excuse us. So sorry to intrude,” in an embarrassed rush.

  Brody and I immediately break apart, like a couple of naughty children who’ve been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. We’re both flushed and panting, and Brody has some of my Don’t Blink Pink lipstick smeared across his face. His dark hair, which was smoothed back so nicely before, is now a sexily disheveled mess. Did I run my fingers through it at some point during our kiss? I don’t remember doing that, but I suppose anything’s possible in the heat of the moment.

  “We were told we could find moonstones on the trail,” claims one of the women in the group that stumbled upon us. The other ladies are just staring at us with wide eyes and shocked expressions, clutching their fairy bags to their chests in lieu of pearls. Brody and I weren’t doing anything that scandalous, were we? Okay, so maybe his hand was in the general vicinity of my breast and there might have been some moaning, coming from one or both of us, right about the time we were interrupted . . .

  “Right here.” I gesture down at the bridge and scoot to the side so that I won’t be in their way.

  “You’re about to lose a butterfly,” one of the ladies observes, pointing to my carefully constructed hairdo that feels like it’s more down than up after my passionate clinch with Brody.

  “Thank you,” I murmur as Brody reaches over to rescue the silk creature that’s clinging precariously to one of the loose tendrils falling over my shoulder.

  The coughing gentleman, who looks old enough to be my grandfather, gives me a saucy wink, then nudges Brody in the ribs with his elbow and declares, “You’re a lucky man.”

  “I am well aware,” Brody says, his eyes fixed on mine, then he gives me a little half-smile that makes my stomach do somersaults. “Ready to head back to the party?”

  I nod. “We still need to find the cameo.”

  “And get some of that black raspberry ice cream . . .” He pauses, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Maybe we could take it back to my place,” he suggests, a hopeful lilt in his voice.

  The frozen dessert would never survive the half-hour drive back to Bernal Heights, but I could probably think of some interesting things to do with melted ice cream . . .

  “Maybe,” I reply coyly, because I don’t want to scream, “YES!” and throw myself into his arms while we’ve got an audience.

  Not to say that if I do go back to Brody’s place, that means I’ll be sleeping with him. I don’t just fall into bed with guys on the second date, although there are extenuating circumstances in our case because Brody and I have known each other for a whole month now and we’ve seen each other, what? Ten times during those four weeks? Maybe more. So, that’s the equivalent of ten dates, and all those “dates” involved a lot of quality relationship-building, which gives us a really solid founda– Oh, why am I trying to justify something that hasn’t even happened yet? I’ll just go home with him and see where the night takes us.

  Clasping hands, we take our leave of the treasure hunters and the bridge, hereafter to be known as “The Incredibly Romantic Spot Where We Shared Our Amazing First Kiss.” I wonder if the people who run this place would mind if we posted a plaque sa
ying that. I really do feel like a kiss as epic as mine and Brody’s should be commemorated in some special way. I suppose we could return here every year, on the same date, at the same time, to celebrate the kiss. Even better, the bridge could be the highlight of a tour of Willa and Brody Firsts: First time we saw each other – the green room at Daybreak on the Bay; first time we touched (when I doctored Brody’s injured finger!); first (and second) time Brody asked me out, and first time he gave me a present – all in Lovey’s garden; first time we walked our dogs together and shared a bottle of water – Alta Plaza Park; first date – Brody’s adorable cottage; first–

  “The auction’s going to close in ten minutes,” Brody says, making me realize we’re clear of the forest and moving toward the pergola. “Why don’t we check on our bid for the balloon ride before grabbing the ice cream? We don’t want to get aced out by someone with a higher bid at the last minute.”

  “Good thinking.” I’m glad Brody still has his eye on our awesome prize. Another reason to lo–, be super impressed by him.

  As we enter the pergola, we’re stopped by a volunteer friend of Brody’s named Ron. “Hey, there was a lady looking for you a few minutes ago.”

  “Really?” Brody frowns. “Did she say why?”

  Ron shrugs. “Nope. Maybe she had a question about the services you’re auctioning off. She’s standing over there, by table four.” He points in that direction, and we both turn to see the back of a tall woman with beautiful strawberry blonde hair styled in a French twist ponytail. She’s wearing an empire-waist cocktail dress in navy that has snazzy gold accents on the straps, which match the metallic cuffs on her open toe stilettos.