by Jackie Braun
“He tells me there’s plenty of time to get married, have kids and buy a minivan.” She frowned then. “But...”
“But?”
“He thinks I’m wasting my talent at my current job,” she admitted quietly.
“Are you?”
Darcie made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s the subject for a very long conversation. Right now, I think we should stick to the basics.”
She was right, of course, but Nick was too curious about her to let the matter drop. “What talent is it that your father feels you are wasting?”
“I have a degree in journalism from Buffalo State University. I enjoyed feature writing. Some of my professors told me I had a flair for it. My plan was to work at a newspaper and once I had enough decent clips—”
“Clips?”
“Copies of articles I’d written. Once I had enough of those, I was going to apply for a job at one of the large women’s magazines headquartered in New York.”
“So, you wanted to come to the big city?”
“I did,” she admitted on a shy smile. “Once upon a time I thought I could make a name for myself in publishing.”
“But?”
The smile vanished. Darcie shrugged. “Something came up and then the fact-checking job at Automobile Enthusiasts Monthly came along.”
“Do you ever do any writing for that magazine? You certainly know enough about cars to do a credible job of it.”
“The editor has let me do a couple of blurbs about upcoming car cruises, but nothing meaty or in-depth. He either tackles those himself—it’s a small publication—or he farms them out to a freelancer. It doesn’t hurt that the freelancer is a poker buddy.” She sighed. “So, I check facts.”
The more she said, the more questions Nick had. He contented himself by asking the one that cut straight to the heart of the matter.
“Do you enjoy your work, Darcie?”
“I suppose.” She shrugged. “It pays the bills.”
A tepid and telling answer, in Nick’s opinion.
“You should do something you feel passionately about. Otherwise, what is the point?”
“I guess you would know, since you’re obviously passionate about your work.”
He glanced over and waited until he was sure he had her full attention. “I am passionate about much more than my work.”
* * *
Nick’s frank reply and the accompanying intimate smile sent a spurt of pure lust coursing through Darcie’s veins. The excitement churning away inside frightened her a little. It was so foreign. It seemed forbidden. But it wasn’t, she reminded herself. She was a single woman, a consenting adult. Heck, if she were being truthful, she was a parched patch of desert desperate for a good dousing of rain. Bring on the storm.
“If you continue to look at me like that, I will be tempted to forego dinner and return to your hotel instead,” Nick told her. Once again, his words were blunt. His smile bordered on sinful.
She called herself a chicken, but decided to play it safe.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about...all of the changes that have occurred in my life recently. Maybe more are in order.” Warming to the notion, she added, “God knows, the timing couldn’t be better. I need to find a new place to live. Why not a new job, too?”
It wasn’t as if anything tied her to Automobile Enthusiasts Monthly. The pay was mediocre, the benefits were crap. She’d only taken the position after she and Tad became serious. At the time, with some help from him, she’d convinced herself that a career in New York was a pipe dream. Settling down in Buffalo with reliable if tedious employment and a future with Tad—those were what had mattered, what she had wanted most.
“You are at a crossroads,” Nick said. Up ahead, the light turned red and he slowed the Shelby to a stop.
Darcie gestured with her hand. “It’s really more like this busy intersection, but with no working traffic light.”
“Ah, then you need to take care in getting to the other side.”
Treading carefully, that was how she’d spent the past several years. Feeling reckless now, she said, “Or I could just run like hell and hope for the best. After all, we’ve established that I am adventurous.”
“I like your style.” Nick’s hand left the gearshift to caress her cheek. He was leaning toward her, eyes hooded with unmistakable intent, when a horn blasted behind them.
“The light is green,” she said, suppressing a laugh.
“Yes. A green light. I believe I got that very impression.”
The car shot forward. Darcie’s pulse lurched as if trying to catch up. The scarf was in no danger of blowing off, but she pulled it snugger around her head, just to have something to do with her hands.
“Let’s talk about you.”
“All right. You know what I do for a living. You also know I have a brother who is to be married.”
“A younger brother. Pieter.”
“Very good. You pay close attention to details.”
“It’s what I do.” She shrugged. “I check facts for a living, remember?”
“Or you did.”
The seed, so recently planted, seemed to be taking root. But she forced herself to focus on the present. “Tell me about Pieter. How old is he? What’s he like? Are you close?”
A muscle ticked in Nick’s jaw, although when he spoke, his tone bordered on blasé. “He is a year my junior. As boys, we did everything together. Now...he works with our father at his shop. They are electricians by trade.”
“The family business?”
Nick nodded. “My father had hoped I would follow in his footsteps as well.”
“But you had other interests.”
“Yes.”
One syllable said without regret but full of sadness. More family expectations, Darcie decided. Hoping to lighten his mood, she shifted the subject. “Why don’t you tell me about Pieter’s fiancée?”
That muscle ticked in Nick’s jaw again. “Selene.”
The wind rushed past in the open car, but the tension grew thicker. “Um, that’s a pretty name.”
He snorted. “We grew up together, the three of us.” Nick paused before adding, “Selene and I used to date.”
Darcie blinked, too surprised to apply tact when she said, “You dated the woman your brother is marrying?”
“It would be more accurate to say that my brother is marrying a woman I dated,” he replied tersely.
“Oh.” More like uh-oh. Darcie had stepped into something unpleasant, and she had no clue how to scrape it gracefully off her shoe.
“You are wondering if I am heartbroken.”
“Are you?” she asked bluntly.
“It was over a long time ago.”
Nick might not be heartbroken—and the jury was still out on that as far as she was concerned—but Darcie didn’t think it was as over as he claimed it to be. She heard another emotion in his tone. Anger? Betrayal? If it truly was over, he would feel nothing. She wanted to ask why he and Selene had broken up, but she sensed that topic wasn’t open for discussion.
She said quietly, “It has to be awkward.”
“It is.”
Did this mean Nick was on the rebound, too? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that or even if she had the right to feel anything. They had been driving in silence for a couple of minutes, when something occurred to her.
“Um, speaking of awkward, will Selene and Pieter be at dinner tonight?”
As it was, Darcie had enough to worry about what with convincing his parents and grandmother that she and Nick were an item without adding bad blood and an old lovers’ triangle to the mix. Thankfully, Nick shook his head.
“They have other plans. Some last-minute meeting with the caterer ab
out changes to one of the side dishes. Apparently, a cousin of the bride has a severe peanut allergy.”
“Oh, thank God.” Darcie closed her eyes and grimaced. “Not about the allergy. Those can be deadly. Anaphylactic shock and all. But—”
“I know exactly what you mean.” His dry laughter served to put her at ease.
A few minutes later, they arrived at a two-story white stucco home surrounded by lush, terraced gardens.
“We’re here.”
Showtime, Darcie thought, as she removed the scarf and checked her appearance in the rearview mirror.
“You look beautiful,” he assured her.
Even so, nerves fluttered in her belly. She offered up a prayer that in addition to passing parental inspection, she wouldn’t humiliate herself by getting sick.
“This is my grandmother’s house, but my mother and father live just there.”
He pointed to the home next door that was similar in size and appearance and whose yard was equally well-landscaped. Concentrating on the details helped quell her nerves. As limited as her knowledge of plants was, she recognized geraniums spilling from the pots near the front door, as well as near the iron railing that girded a second-story terrace. And even without the assistance of a breeze, she could smell the heady scent of roses.
“Wow. Your mother and grandmother must have green thumbs. Everything looks so, well, green. My mom is like that. And my sisters. They can grow anything, anywhere. As near as I can tell, my thumb is black.”
“Black?” He took her hands, studied the digits in question. “They look normal to me.”
“It’s just a saying. It means I’m a plant killer, which is why the only plant I own is a ficus whose leaves are made of plastic. There’s no chance of killing that sucker.”
“I see,” Nick said patiently.
No, he didn’t, because there was no point to this conversation, except for stalling. Darcie was babbling like an idiot, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. More words tumbled out. “Although the ficus still looks pathetic thanks to Rufus.”
Nick’s lips twitched. “The cat you referred to as the spawn of Satan?”
“That’s the one. He used it as a scratching post.”
Nick got out and came around the car to open Darcie’s door. “Come.” Suddenly he seemed so formidable, as though he were prepared for battle. The sudden change from playful to guarded did nothing to settle Darcie’s nerves.
He led her to the door, entered without knocking. This might have been his grandmother’s house, but he didn’t stand on formality. She liked that. The foyer opened into a living room with a fireplace. It was a comfortable room, a place that invited one to sit and relax. Darcie wished she could, but she was wound up as tight as a spring. From the rear of the house, she could hear voices, although she couldn’t make out anything that was being said since it was in Greek. She heard Nick’s name mentioned and then she thought she heard her own. When she glanced at him, his expression was apologetic.
“They say they are eager to meet you.”
Darcie doubted his translation was complete or completely accurate.
He took her hand. “This way.”
The mingled scents of spices and roasting meat wafting from the kitchen should have had her mouth watering, but it was dry as sawdust. She stopped walking.
“I need another minute,” she whispered and sucked in a deep breath.
“You are nervous. I understand.”
Did he? It wasn’t only her part in the deception that had her worried, but what his family would think of her. Her old insecurities bubbled up before she could stop them. What if they found her as lacking as Evelyn had?
“You will be fine.”
“Fine,” she repeated, feeling anything but.
“It is only one meal.”
Yes, but it felt like her last supper.
“Darcie.” Nick framed her face with his hands. His palms were warm, the pads of his thumbs slightly calloused as they brushed over her cheeks. “You...”
Whatever else he said, and she thought it might have been in Greek, was lost to the rushing in her ears. Besides, words, no matter what the language, were superfluous. He was going to kiss her again. That much came through loud and clear. And she wanted him to. So much so that she didn’t bother to wait for him to lean in and claim her mouth. She clasped the back of his neck and closed the gap between them herself.
She’d always been a fan of fireworks, though it had been a very long time since she’d experienced any. This kind lit her up inside until she was sure her skin glowed from the heat. Someone moaned. She was pretty sure the sound came from her. Regardless, Nick took the opportunity to change the angle of their mouths. His hands no longer framed her face. His fingers splayed over the small of her back, exerting subtle pressure that brought her flush against his hard chest.
A woman’s voice cut through the haze of hormones.
“This must be Darcie.”
They sprung apart. Fireworks fizzled until they were but pesky smoke. Way to make a first impression, Darcie thought, giving herself a mental slap. Nick, meanwhile, offered the sort of charmingly sheepish smile that probably had helped him out of plenty of scrapes as a boy.
“Mama. My apologies. I seem to have gotten carried away.”
“Yes. That much I could see for myself,” she replied dryly.
But she was smiling. And so was the older woman standing just behind her in the doorway.
In heavily accented English, Nick’s yiayia said, “Manners, Nikolos, manners. Introduce us.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Of course. Darcie Hayes, this is my grandmother, Sophia Pappas, and my mother, Thea Costas.”
Hands were shaken, greetings exchanged. Darcie knew she was being sized up. Funny, but some of her earlier nervousness had evaporated. Nick’s mother and grandmother were curious about her, that much was very clear. But she sensed no antipathy, no animosity. She felt welcome if not accepted. And that was before his grandmother slid one of her boney arms around Darcie’s waist and propelled her toward the kitchen.
“Come. I will pour the wine. You will tell us about yourself. Start with your ancestors. Might there be a chance some of your people came from Greece?”
FIVE
Nick’s father arrived just before the meal was served. By then, Darcie’s nerves had calmed substantially. It helped that while seated in the kitchen watching Thea and Sophia finish the preparations she’d polished off a glass of a lovely dry red wine.
She refused a refill when Nick would have poured her one. It wouldn’t do to get snockered. But she told them, “This was very good.”
“It is bottled by Nick’s uncle, my brother, and his sons,” Thea said proudly. “They have a small vineyard in Thrace.”
“Nick is the only one of his generation to leave Greece to work,” Sophia lamented. “We keep hoping he will return for good one day.”
“Yiayia,” he said.
“What? I only say what is true. That is what we all hope will happen. Is it not, Thea?”
His mother flushed and was saved from answering by Nick’s father, who said as he entered the kitchen, “He is here now. Let us enjoy our time together.”
The older man wasn’t as tall as Nick, but his shoulders were just as broad. Age had added more girth to his waist, deep lines to the corners of his eyes and gray hair to his temples. But he remained a handsome man. This is how Nick would look in thirty years’ time, Darcie thought. Warmth spread through her. She chalked it up to the wine.
“This is my father, George Costas,” Nick said.
“Darcie Hayes.” When she would have shaken his hand, George kissed both of her cheeks.
“She is prettier than Danika.” He winked at Nick.
“Danika?” Darcie mout
hed.
“I will explain later,” Nick mumbled.
“Stop flirting, Baba, and go wash up,” Thea said with an exaggerated shake of her head. “Dinner is ready.”
They ate alfresco, seated around a table under a pergola in Yiayia’s backyard. Vine-covered trellises lined the pergola’s sides, offering shade from the late day sun. The center of the table was heaped with enough food to feed twice as many people.
Darcie smoothed a napkin over her lap. “Everything looks wonderful, Mrs. Costas and Mrs. Pappas.”
“Call me Yiayia. Everyone does.”
“And you may call me Thea,” Nick’s mother said, passing Darcie a platter of sliced lamb. “You are not a vegetarian, I hope. A lot of young people are nowadays.”
“No.” Even if Darcie had been, the delicious-smelling meat would have tempted her to take a bite.
“That is good,” Yiayia said. “Nick likes red meat.”
“True.” Thea nodded. “But he will fly home for dinner on a Palm Sunday if I promise to make bakaliaros tiganitos.”
At Darcie’s perplexed expression, he explained, “It is a salt-cured cod that my mother then batters and deep fries. It is very tasty, but it is the dipping sauce she makes to go with it that has me booking my flight.”
“Here, we are so close to the ocean that the fish is fresh and plentiful,” Yiayia said.
“Manhattan is next to the Atlantic,” he pointed out patiently and Darcie got the feeling this was a long-standing argument.
“It is settled,” George offered. “Water and fish are everywhere.”
But Yiayia wasn’t done. “Do they even know how to make bakaliaros tiganitos in America?”
“I will look on the menu at the next Greek restaurant I visit.”
Sophia shrugged. “It does not matter. They will not cook it as well as your mama does. I taught her, just as my mother taught me. Just as your mother will teach your future wife.” She glanced slyly at Darcie.
George apparently didn’t get the memo about playing it coy. “Maybe you could teach Darcie, Thea.”
Everyone at the table turned and gaped at him. Nick was the first to recover. There was a gleam in his eye when he said, “I do like Mama’s bakaliaros tiganitos.”
