by Taylor Dean
“Sure. I’d love to.”
“You like spicy? I’m all about spicy.”
Shocker. “Spicy is fine with me.”
“Wanna dice the bell pepper? I’ll do the onion and suffer the consequences.”
“Okay.”
We stand side by side, our knives chopping away. Zane doesn’t stop moving along with the music.
“C’mon, Mila. The rule of the kitchen is you have to dance while you cook. It makes the drudgery go by faster.”
I’m Gonna Be starts to invade the airwaves. The beat begs to be danced to, so I move with the music as The Proclaimers sing about walking 500 miles to fall down at someone’s door.
Zane adds the bell pepper and onion to a pan and gives them a good sauté before adding them to the pot he has brewing on the stovetop. I try not to notice the movement of his hips, but they’ve decided to stare at me because none of his body parts have any manners. The smell of tomatoes and spices are calling to me, making my stomach grumble. At least, I think hunger accounts for the strange feeling in my stomach.
Zane dances over to the sink, washes his hands and uses a paper towel to wipe the onion tears from his eyes.
“It just has to simmer for twenty minutes or so,” he says.
While the chili finishes up, we clean up the kitchen, dancing along with the music, laughing at ourselves here and there.
He leaves the cutting board on the countertop along with the salt and pepper shakers instead of tucking them away into the cupboards. “There, now it looks like someone lives here and this isn’t a freakin’ model home.” He hangs the dishtowel on the oven handle, then messes it up so it’s not perfectly folded. “Much better.”
I can’t help but giggle. We’re acting like two kids who’ve been left home alone while our parents are out.
Zane grabs two bowls, ladles us each some chili, and covers the top with a generous amount of grated cheese.
“Hey, do you like Jeopardy?”
“The game show? Is that still on?”
“Yeah, you like it?”
“Sure.”
He hands me a bowl as he heads for the couch. He switches the music off and flicks the TV channel to Jeopardy. He assumes his usual position with his feet propped up on the coffee table. I don’t think the man has the ability to sit in any other way.
“C’mon, let’s see who can get the most answers right. Your answer has to be in the form of a question, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” I’m still standing in the living room, holding my bowl of chili, feeling dazed.
I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more unassuming man. This is Zane, like him or not. He is what he is and he doesn’t apologize for it.
“You gonna sit?” he asks with his mouth full.
“What is letting the body rest while the buttocks and thighs hit the couch?”
He lets out a bark of laughter. “That was perfect. A true Jeopardy winner in the making.”
I like this.
No, I love this. If this was a date, I’d call it the best date ever.
I take my seat on the other end of the couch.
He turns out the lights so we can watch the TV in darkness. Fog hangs in the air outside, but not enough to hide the city lights sparkling back at us from the large windows.
While the contestants are being introduced, Zane says, “Found a house today. It’s an old Victorian fixer-upper. It’s three stories, big on charm and authenticity. Big on the wallet too, but I fell in love with it. I’m gonna go for it. The seller’s eager to get it off his hands. I should be out of your way soon.”
He said he’d be out quickly and he’s keeping his word. A flash of disappointment washes over me. I enjoy his company.
“But who will make me chili when you’re gone?”
“No worries, I’ll bring you some. Don’t mind sharing.”
His answer makes me smile.
chapter twelve
~
I JUST PLAYED every piece I’m practicing for my upcoming symphony performance perfectly two times in a row. Not one single mistake, not one single slip up or hesitation. I’m so thrilled I stand next to my piano bench and do my silly happy dance.
It’s always been my reward when I finally get a piece right. After all my hard work, it’s my release, my own personal celebration. In truth, it’s a great stress reliever. I jump up and down, my fist hitting the air several times in a row, my head bobbing from side to side.
My fellow musicians nicknamed my dance, Mila’s Musical Moment. It became a joke at Juilliard, something I was known for.
Little did they know, I did it as a kid every time my strict piano teacher told me I’d passed off a song. It seemed to me as though it was a moment worth celebrating, no matter how brief.
Old habits die hard.
The front door slams and Zane walks in with his lazy swagger, his flip flops rhythmically hitting the floor. He removes his sunglasses and tucks them into the neckline of his t-shirt as he always does.
“What was that?”
I sit at my piano bench. “What?”
“That funny dance you were doing? I saw it. You can’t deny it.”
Fine, I might as well fess up. “It’s my victory dance for whenever I get something right on the piano.”
“It’s cute.”
“It was cute when I was five and proud of myself for playing Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Now it’s triumphant.”
He chuckles. “Do it again.”
“No, it’s reserved for winning moments. Doing it now would be blasphemous.”
He points at me. “Gonna be watching for it. Got my eyes on you, Westerman.”
“Whatever.” He’s been easy to live with over the past week. Nothing seems to bother him and he’s never in a hurry. He’s a go with the flow kind of guy. I haven’t seen his “unpleasant” side. Instead I find him affable and easy going.
“I have news,” he announces.
I turn on my bench and face him.
“We have been summoned by the queen mother to dinner at the palace promptly at six this evening, along with a reminder that being late is completely unacceptable. We shall therefore show up at six-fifteen. No Jeopardy for us tonight. No worries, I’ll DVR it and we’ll catch it later.”
Jeopardy has become our evening pastime and stiff competition. “Hold up. We?”
“Yes, Debra’s spies found out I was in town and that I’m living here with you. I imagine her head is spinning on her neck right about now. Watch out for projectile pea soup.”
Gross. “Why do I have to go?” I ask, sounding like a petulant child.
“It’s not a death sentence.”
“It feels like one.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he mumbles under his breath. “Because she asked that we both attend. And because I don’t want to go alone.” He cups his hands close to his chest. “Please don’t make me. Please, please, please.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve known you for one week and I consort with your arch nemesis. What makes you think I’ll be any help?”
“She’ll be outnumbered and we can gang up on her.”
We exchange a fist bump. “You have no idea how appealing that sounds.”
His expression grows serious. “And I want to see my dad. She keeps telling me it’s not a good time, that he’s having a hard day, or that he’s sleeping. She’s blowing me off.”
“That’s not right. Can’t you insist upon it?”
“I could. I have a key and . . . actually the house is in my name.”
“What? That huge house is yours?”
He makes a funny face. “Technically.”
“I bet Debra hates that so much.”
“I’m not sure she knows.”
“The plot thickens.”
“I have every right to be there. But I’d rather not upset my father by getting ugly.”
“It’s too late for that, Zane. It’s been ugly all of your life and Debra made it that way.”
I asked Ryker to explain the rift between himself and Zane in detail. He told me there was no actual rift, that Zane was simply an unpleasant person who causes problems everywhere he goes.
His answer was most unsatisfying, and I told him so. He had to go and told me he’d explain more later.
I expect the truth. I need to know his side of the story and what I could be potentially marrying into.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Mila. I’m not asking for sympathy. I got this.”
“You got this, but you don’t want to go alone to have dinner with your stepmother in your childhood home?”
He pretends like he’s making a jump shot. “Two points for Mila.”
He lands and his entire body stills, observing me. His large brown eyes blink heavily as he stands before me. “Come with?” he says quietly, the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him.
How can I resist?
It’s Friday night and I have a rare free weekend ahead of me. I’ve played for ballet classes and practiced with the symphony all week. A break would be nice.
If Debra wants me there too, I should at least make an appearance. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll come with you.”
We both retire to our rooms to get ready for the evening. When we exit and find that we’re dressed alike in jeans and t-shirts, him in flip flops and me in sandals, it gives us a good chuckle.
“You’re wearing that on purpose, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Just bein’ myself.”
As we leave, he adds, “I can’t help it if my clothing irritates the queen mother.”
His choice of vehicle is as casual as his choice of clothing. He drives an older Jeep, the top unattached. I climb in and find it rustic in a charming way. It’s not terribly neat, but it’s not filthy either. My mom’s motto was, “Clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy.” That describes Zane’s Jeep. I put my long hair into a quick braid to keep it from becoming a snarly mess during the drive. Zane flips on his music and it’s too loud, but once we’re driving in the open Jeep with the rushing wind, it’s perfect.
I close my eyes, letting the wind hit my face and the music envelop me. I feel myself relax and de-stress after the busy week I’ve had.
All too soon, we’re in front of the Martel mansion.
Zane checks the time on his phone. “Six-twenty. Perfect timing.”
I suppress a smile right along with him. “We’re horrible people.”
“If we’re horrible, Debra’s a monster.”
“It had to be said.”
“Mila, I want you on my team,” Zane says with a laugh.
We approach the door and I love the two-against-one feeling. It’s the most confident I’ve ever felt when facing Freddy. I follow Zane’s lead to see if we ring the doorbell or just enter.
He rings the doorbell. But Ryker does too when he visits.
If I’m visiting my parents, I always enter without even knocking. They’re always happy to see me barge in.
Visiting Debra is a different beast.
Speaking of beasts, Debra answers the door and grants us her “baring her teeth” smile. It makes me shiver.
“Oh, I didn’t know you’d be arriving together. How sweet.” She glances at her watch with dramatic flair.
“We’re coming from the same place. Seemed easier,” Zane says.
“Too bad it couldn’t have been sooner.”
“Didn’t you say six-thirty?” he asks innocently.
What a stinker. Yet, I’m enjoying every minute.
“No, Zane, I said six and you know it,” Debra says, her face sour.
He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t get a hug or any air kisses either. She simply looks down her nose at him as though he’s something disgusting. “So glad you’re home, Zane. Your father will so be pleased.”
Her words are not believable. At all. I’m rethinking the authenticity of every single one of her compliments.
I get one air kiss. “Mila, so good to see you, dear.”
I doubt that very much.
Zane folds his arms, looking uncomfortable. I can’t say he necessarily looks sad to the average onlooker. But to me, he looks troubled. I think his humor covers up a world of hurt. It makes me feel a flash of pure hatred toward this woman who has rejected Zane so fully during his lifetime. How do you reject an innocent baby?
“Ryker says he misses you terribly, Mila.”
“I miss him too.” It’s the truth. I miss what we had.
“I know how hard it must be for you two lovebirds to be separated. You must be pining for each other. Don’t worry, you’ll be back in each other’s arms soon.”
I nod because I don’t know what to say to that. I know she’s not thrilled about Ryker dating me. I feel like she’s making comments about us only for Zane’s benefit, like she feels the need to mark Ryker’s territory for him.
My thoughts are confirmed when she directs her next comment to Zane. “Those two. They can’t keep their hands off each other. It’s quite adorable.”
Not true. Ryker is not big on PDA. In public or private.
Debra looks me up and down. “Where have you two just come from?”
Zane answers. “A wrestling match. They were about to start the female mud fights when we had to leave. Sorry to miss it. Do we smell like smoke?”
Oh, he’s good. He knows how to poke the beast just right.
Debra’s face turns red. “Don’t be ridiculous, Zane. You’re such a smart aleck.” To me, she adds, “He always has been.”
“I think he’s funny.”
“Oh, he is,” she says with a flutter. “Such an interesting personality, our Zane.” She hands a wrapped gift to Zane. “I bought you something. A welcome home gift.”
Zane accepts the present. “For me, huh? How do I rate?”
He unwraps it quickly. It’s a twelve-pack package of department store socks.
Wow. Debra has a cruel streak inside of her that scares me. I can’t play in her league.
Zane slaps his thigh. “Look at that. Amazing invention. Did you know these existed, Mila?”
“Something called shirts exist too,” I tell him quietly, so Freddy can’t hear.
“Who knew?” He tosses the package on a foyer table and pounds his flip flops harder against the tile floor.
“Just a gentle reminder, Zane. Some occasions require shoes and socks,” Debra says as we follow her toward the dining room.
Our dear, sweet Freddy is at her best this evening.
Look out.
I cast Zane a glance as we cross the threshold. But his eyes are elsewhere.
James Martel is sitting in his wheelchair next to the table, hunched and defeated. His normally blank face alters when he sees Zane. A wave of recognition crosses his features, animating him in a way I’ve never seen before. His back straightens, his expression brightens, and his eyes widen.
Zane rushes to his father, engulfing him in a bear hug. “Dad.”
A strange sound emanates from James, a sort of wail and grunt combined. He does it over and over again, clearly expressing happiness in the best way he knows how.
I have to hold back tears at the sight of the reunion of father and son. All this time, I thought James wasn’t “there” at all. I was mistaken. Something inside of him absolutely knows Zane.
When I glance at Debra, her face is a mask of anger. She can barely conceal her feelings.
I don’t need to confirm the truth of what Zane told me about his life. It’s more than obvious.
“That’s enough, Zane. I don’t want him to get over excited.”
She’s such a killjoy. Something tells me it’s going to be another one of those long evenings.
chapter thirteen
~
ZANE TAKES THE seat next to his father, gripping one of his hands tightly in his own.
But James has other plans. The long, throaty noises continue to emanate from him, almost as though he’s trying to tell Zane something. I see it as a great exp
ression of love for his son. I have to hold back tears. The two of them clearly have a strong connection.
“It’s all right, Dad, I’m home. Everything’s okay. I’m home and I’m not leaving. I’m stationed right here in San Francisco now. I’ll be here everyday to see you. That’s a promise.”
“All right, then. Let’s eat, shall we?” Debra claps her hands twice like she’s in a “clap on” commercial.
The lights don’t respond, but their private cook appears bearing plates of food.
James’ nurse quietly sits next to him, holding several small bowls of pureed foods on a plate.
“Let me feed him.” Zane takes the plate from the nurse. “Take a break, I can do it.”
“Zane, that’s good of you, but that’s why we have a nurse.” Debra stops the nurse from leaving.
“I want to do it.”
Zane doesn’t wait for Debra’s permission. He begins to spoon-feed his father, moving slowly, wiping his chin with a napkin in between mouthfuls.
Debra nods at the nurse, and she quietly exits the room. I see why Zane calls her the queen mother. She truly rules over her domain.
Debra and I begin to eat our dinner, while we watch Zane feed his father. There’s so much tension in the room, my stomach starts to hurt. Zane completely ignores Debra and concentrates on his father.
Debra chews her food slowly, her eyes burning holes in the walls. Every few moments, she remarks on the food.
“The asparagus is delicious.”
“The chicken is so tender.”
“The homemade rolls are divine.”
I nod and smile, agreeing with each comment. Mostly, I keep my head down and eat my dinner.
“Thank you for taking such good care of Ryker’s penthouse, Mila. You know how much that place means to him. It’s his pride and joy.”
“Yes, it is.” He isn’t falling in love with it, he is in love with it. Hmmmm, that was a bitter thought.
“Thank goodness, you have so much time on your hands.”
That grabs Zane’s attention. “Mila’s very busy and works hard. Just because she practices at home doesn’t mean she has time on her hands.”
Whoa. I like Zane as my great defender. Go team Mila and Zane.
Debra smooths her perfect hair. “I simply meant it’s really . . . nice of her.”
