Love of Steele

by Ivy Raine

  “And this particular skunk?”

  Marta tried not to laugh, but the picture of Stash being chased by the skunk was just too much. “Well,” she said, giggling, “let’s just say Stumpy was a success, and Stash was on the losing end.”

  Brad glanced at her between his vigilant watch for more skunks prancing across the road. “You should smile more often. You’re breathtaking when you’re happy.”

  Looking down at her lap, Marta fiddled with the sash of her trench coat. “Oh, I’m not as dower as you might think. There was a time not too many years ago when I did nothing but grin from ear to ear. I had life by the horns and I was going places.”

  “What happened?”

  Marta raised a brow. Nosey bastard, he was. “Life. I realized in a hurry that everything’s not rainbows and chocolate. Sometimes it hurts, gets messy, and stinks.” Yep. That was Stash. He was a beautiful, glimmering rainbow leading right into a great, big slop jar. “What about you? Are you rainbows and chocolate or the tiresome trio?”

  “Me? Right now?” Brad thought for a moment. “Well, I guess I’d say I’m rainbows, though there’s no time to enjoy whatever it is that waits at the end. It’s work from dawn until dusk six days a week. Not that I mind,” he said quickly. “But sometimes I just want to see what’s there waiting for me before it disappears.”

  Marta nodded. She understood exactly where he was coming from. At times it felt as though she grasped at the things she wanted, but something always managed to swipe them away just before she closed her fist. It was an old trick of fate that she just couldn’t get a handle on, and it fooled her every time.

  “Sometimes what’s waiting isn’t what you expected,” said Marta. The words of her mother ran through her head. She’d not been looking for love, she’d told Marta. As a matter of fact, all she wanted was directions to the library when she stopped at the gas station and was greeted by a jovial attendant with grease covering every bare spot of his body. Six months later, they were married.

  “That’s what I’ve been told by the older and wiser, but that’s okay. I didn’t put in a specific order, anyway.”

  Marta stole a quick peek at Brad, and for the first time, she was seeing the man behind the iron apron – and she liked what she saw.

  “There’s our destination.” Brad pointed to a knoll adorned with an enormous building glowing with romantic, soft lighting.

  Two twenty foot lighthouses flanked either side of the road leading to the chateau-like structure.

  “Vineyard by the Sea.” Marta read the placard attached to the lighthouse on the right. “Is that what this place is called?”

  Brad nodded. “Yep. This is the first time I’ve ever actually been here. Their wine’s supposed to be top notch.”

  Though she tried her best to keep her thoughts from wandering back to the last time she’d had wine, Marta’s neurons had a mind of their own – not to mention they’d just passed the exact spot a few miles back. Stash’s face refused to peel away from her mind’s eye, and everything reminded her of him. Five stinking days, and she was already turning into sentimental mush.

  A sharply dressed valet waited under the massive, two lane portico. Brad jumped out and hurried around to open Marta’s door.

  “Thank you!”

  He took her hand to help her out, and instead of letting go, he held fast to her clammy fingers. Marta wondered if he was grossed out by her sweaty hand, but if he was, he didn’t act like it. His hand, though much larger than her own, was gentle – nothing like the ultra-confident monkey clutch of Stash.

  Stash Steele. What did she care about him? He up and left her with a pathetic little note as his final goodbye. Taking a deep breath and shoving it aside, Marta wondered if she’d ever go a day without thinking about him and wondering what would have happened if he’d stuck around.

  “I hear they have really good food here,” Brad whispered in her ear as they waited for the host to seat them.

  Marta giggled like a teenager. “Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her laughter bottled up. “It’s just really strange being here when you…well, you know what you do.”

  He leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear lobe. “You know and I know, but they don’t know.”

  Turning a little too quickly, the tip of Marta’s nose brushed against Brad’s, and for a split second she was sure he was going to kiss her. Her face flamed up just thinking about it and she felt like melting into the floor. Coming in for the save of the day, the host appeared out of no where.

  “Will the far corner table do, sir?”

  Looking a little irritated that the host had chosen that particular moment to make himself known, Brad straightened up. “It’ll do fine. Thank you.”

  Following Marta around to her chair, Brad helped her slide her trench coat down over her shoulders. His thumbs brushed against her bare skin, sending a wave of goose bumps down the back of her neck. She wondered if he’d stroked her arms on purpose, and she also wondered just why in the hell she felt the way she did. It was Stash that she wanted, not Bradley Mirelli.

  Settling down into the chair, Marta instantly noticed the table décor. “This is beautiful! We should do something like this.” She snatched up a Hershey Kiss from the heart shaped dish in the middle of the table.

  “If you have ideas, feel free to run with them. I learned a long time ago that I’m no interior decorator. I’ll stick with making the food.” Brad picked up a menu. “Speaking of food, what’ll be your pleasure tonight, mademoiselle?”

  Marta raised a brow and shot Brad an evil grin. “Why don’t you recommend something? What do you think I’d like?”

  Though she hadn’t meant it as innuendo, Brad seemed to take it that way.

  “I can think of a few things you might like.” Tearing his eyes away from her lips, Brad threw himself back into the menu selection. “Chicken’s always good,” he said, his nervousness only partially hidden. “They can’t really mess that up, now can they?”

  “Well,” Marta hedged, “I have an aunt who turns chicken into rubber, so it can be done, if it’s done right.”

  Brad tossed down his menu. “I’m up for living on the edge. How about you?”

  Marta shrugged and slid her menu on top of Brad’s. “If that’s your version of living on the edge, I’d hate to see you when you’re being careful.”

  “Time, temperature, ingredients.”

  “What?”

  “Time, temperature, ingredients,” he said again. “Those three things are what I’m careful about. Everything else is a free fall.”

  “You just don’t look like the type.” Marta tried to picture Brad bungee jumping, but she couldn’t get the apron off of him, and when she tried to envision him pushing his fancy, little sports car to the outer limits of its speed capabilities, she nearly laughed out loud. “You’re not really serious, are you?”

  Brad draped his dinner jacket over the back of his chair. “Half. You see, I have a bit of a split personality. The half of me that wants to do crazy things is always fighting with my sensible half.”

  “Who wins?” Marta traced the outline of Brad’s strong shoulders with her eyes and wondered if his crazy side would make an appearance before the night was over.

  “The sensible half, of course.”

  There goes that. It was probably for the best. Marta peeled her eyes away from his prettiness and focused on the menu.

  “Blackened chicken with fettuccini alfredo.”

  “You little traitor.” Brad raised a brow in mock irritation.

  “I just want to compare.” Blinking her eyes innocently, Marta folded her hands on the table in front of her.

  “That’s what all the little girls say,” said Brad, leaning back and crossing his arms. “And when they finally have a good, long peek, they squeal and run away. Funny thing is, I’ve never quite figured out if they’re running away in terror or disgust.”

  “Absolute terror,” Marta teased. “I’m sure of it.”


  Brad leaned in and caught up her hands. “I’m pretty confident that no one ever ran away from you, so if you don’t mind me asking, how is it that you find yourself single at the ripe old age of twenty-two?”

  Marta shrugged. “Twenty-two’s not that old. I’ve got plenty of time to run away from men. And why should I commit before I’ve had my fun?”

  At least that’s what she’d been trying to convince herself of for the last few weeks. Realistically, she knew that eventually Stash would’ve worn her down, and she would have been more than happy to commit to whatever it was that he’d have asked of her. As a matter of fact, if Stash knew just how close she’d been to caving in, he probably wouldn’t have run away.

  ***

  “Not bad.” Brad tossed his napkin down on his empty plate.

  “It was a little spicy.” Marta didn’t want to hurt Brad’s feelings by gushing over the best blackened chicken she’d ever eaten.

  Brad chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar. It was fantastic. I’d really like to meet the chef.”

  “Won’t that blow your cover?”

  “Yeah. But it would be worth it to find out exactly what mixture of rub was used. It’s genius!”

  “Well,” said Marta, looking over Brad’s shoulder at the approaching waiter, “here’s your chance.”

  In a whirlwind space of two minutes, Marta found herself standing just inside the doorway of the massive kitchen and feeling right at home with the sea of stainless steel.

  A garbled mess of voices erupted all around her; Marta struggled to decipher the words coming between the laughter and general chaos.

  “I didn’t know you worked here!” Brad clasped the chef’s hand and pulled him in for a quick man-hug. “I thought you were going back to Seattle to start the next big thing in the dining world.”

  “Didn’t work. The people just weren’t feeling my style. The northeast treats me much better.” The chef nodded toward Marta. “Is this your wife?”

  Marta knew her face had to be on fire, but Brad didn’t seem to notice. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the middle of the conversation. Though she wasn’t exceptionally short, Marta felt like a shrub between two towering trees.

  “Marta, this is Marco. He and I went to culinary school together. Marco, this is Marta, my lovely date for this evening.”

  Marco raised his brows. “And every other evening, if you’re a smart man.”

  Brad laughed and wrapped his arm around Marta’s shoulders. She knew what that little gesture meant. Stash had done it on several occasions when someone gave her ‘the eye’. God, she missed him!

  “What time are you free?”

  Marco glanced up at the black and white clock that looked like it had come right out of the halls of an old high school. “Twenty minutes. Why? You have ideas?”

  “Maybe we can hang out for a while. Catch up on the lost years.”

  Marta nudged Brad’s arm with her elbow. “Are you forgetting something? The reason we came?”

  “Oh! The wine.”

  Marco’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, the wine tasting festival. The second best thing about this place – second to my blackened chicken.” It was all he could do to keep from bursting with laughter. “No, I’m not psychic. One of the waiters overheard your conversation and warned me that I’d be getting a visit. Normally it’s the little old grandma who wants my recipe for Sunday dinner.”

  Brad leaned in. “And do you give it to her?”

  “I won’t even give it to my own mother.”

  Marta laughed out loud. She liked this guy. “That must be the ultimate secret ingredient.”

  “The only person who knows is my wife, and I’ve threatened to withhold sex if she even thinks about spilling. And if you know Marco, that’s the worst thing that could ever happen to the women of the world.”

  “Woman.”

  Marta spun around to meet the owner of the voice.

  “What my husband meant to say was woman, as in singular, one and only, solitary.” She reached out her hand to Marta while eyeing up Marco with her gorgeous, chocolate come hither eyes. “I’m Shelli.” The glitter from her blue shadow dusted down around her cheekbones, giving her the air of a lovely sprite. Even Brad seemed to be temporarily caught up in her loveliness.

  “Nice to meet you, Shelli. I’m Marta.” Marta may as well have been invisible; she was unceremoniously set aside by the pixie-like red-head.

  “How have you been, Bradley?” Shelli brushed past Marta and planted her lush, glossy lips right on Brad’s partially open mouth. “It’s been a while. Where’ve you been hiding out?”

  A bit of heat emanated from Marco as he watched the exchange between Brad and his wife. “So, you two know each other?”

  Whether done on purpose or not, Shelli took her time pulling her attention away from Brad. “Old friends,” she said, catching Marco’s hand. “Brad and I lost our business virginity together.”

  Marco grunted and gave her a quick squeeze. “And how was it?”

  A devious grin stretched from ear to ear and Shelli gave Marta a quick once over. Normally, one would just call it a ‘glance’, but Marta knew exactly what was going on. “Worth a repeat.”

  “Um, well,” said Brad, trying the break the stifling chunk of air between them. “We should probably get out of your kitchen and let you finish up for the night.”

  “Don’t even think about it. I’m almost done here. We should go out for drinks.” Marco waggled his brow at Brad. “What about Ringer’s? I hear it’s still the same, old place.” He bent down and kissed Shelli on the end of her nose. “What do you think, boss woman?”

  Shelli crossed her arms. “Well, I suppose we’re basically finished here for the night, and Jasper can handle the winery.” She looked at Marta. “Have you ever been to Ringer’s?”

  “I’m kind of new to the area, so I haven’t really been anywhere.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re in for a treat, Marta. It’s a guy’s heaven and a girl’s nightmare.”

  “Only if you’re afraid of showing skin,” Marco confessed. “Other than that, the music’s energizing, the people are friendly, and the drinks are mixed by a ninety-four year old guy who cut his teeth bar tending, so you know he’s good.”

  Marta looked up at Brad. “Is it gonna be the crazy half?”

  “Yep, and we better get going before the sensible half ruins the fun.”

  Twenty minutes later, Brad and Marta were leading the way with Marco and Shelli following close behind in their Hummer.

  “They seem really nice.” Marta smiled when she thought of Marco and his crazy personality. “Down to earth and normal.”

  “Ha! That guy’s anything but down to earth. You’ll find he’s stranger than anyone you’ve ever met and crazy enough to be institutionalized. But, what you see is what you get with Marco.”

  “Shelli seems nice, too.” Though Marta was a tad irritated with the kiss Shelli’d planted on Brad, she was more curious than anything else. “Did you date long?”

  Brad seemed like he’d rather crawl under a rock than talk about pixie-woman. “She’s okay as far as women go.”

  Marta hated those types of answers. “And?”

  “And we dated for about six months until a clash of our professional personalities came to bloody blows. She wanted seafood and I wanted Italian.”

  Marta tried not to smile. “That’s it?”

  “You don’t know Shelli. I can tell you with absolute certainty that she’d cut out her own mother’s tongue to get her own way. And there was no way I was doing seafood. I don’t like most of it, anyway – especially lobster.”

  “Seriously? You live in the northeast and you don’t like lobster? What kind of American are you?” Marta couldn’t imagine a single soul turning down lobster.

  “The kind of American who tastes nothing but stagnant water every time I try to eat it. I just…can’t. I’ve tried cooking it in different ways and the only way I can stomach it is
mixed in sauce.”

  “Wow. Maybe you’re missing that taste bud.”

  Brad laughed. “Nope. I think the rest of you are missing yours or you’d understand what that stuff actually tastes like.”

  “Let me guess,” Marta teased, “you don’t like chocolate, either.”

  “Now, chocolate’s a different story. Seems like it’s time I dust off the old menu and bring back the chocolate fountain. It was one of my greatest achievements until a kid decided he’d puke in it. Kind of ruined the whole open air concept. I haven’t attempted it since.”

  “That’s…disgusting.” The mere thought of vomit drizzling down over a chocolate fountain made her sick to her stomach. “What did you do?”

  “Let’s just say his mother inherited a really nice chocolate fountain courtesy of Mirelli’s.”

  “Well, at least I know what to get you for your birthday. When is that, anyway?”

  His momentary hesitation wasn’t lost on Marta.

  “April. April first.”

  Marta chuckled. “Are you serious?”

  Brad tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yep. I’m a joke. I spent years trying to convince the kids at school that yes, it was my birthday, and no, I’m not playing an April Fool’s day joke on them.” He sighed. “I almost needed therapy by the time I graduated.”

  Marta smiled. The man emerging from the apron was quite nice.

  When they finally arrived at Ringer’s, the parking lot was about to burst at the seams; they had no choice but to park in an adjacent lot and walk. The massive crowd standing around outside looked like the result of a badly planned fire drill.

  “Wow.” Though Marta wasn’t sure what she really expected, it wasn’t this.

  Shelli clicked her tongue in disgust. “Watch us not get in.”

  “Calm thy temper, woman.” Marco pulled Shelli close. “It looks like there’s movement among the savages.”

  Movement, if that’s what it could be called, drizzled along for nearly thirty minutes before they even caught a glimpse of the door. The closer they got, the louder the music. The rhythm pulsed right though Marta like an external heartbeat.