by Lana Ames
I looked back into his eyes. “I do.”
“Then it is.” He nodded, as if that sealed the deal. “Good. So, I know we haven’t even been served lunch yet, but I want to talk about dinner.”
I busted out laughing. “Mahlen, sweetie, if we hadn’t spent last night like we did, I’d swear you think about nothing but food.”
He laughed as well. “That’s fair, but this isn’t actually about the food. It’s about the company.”
“Oh?”
“You remember Jorge and Javier from last night?”
I tried to replicate the arch look he’d given me a minute ago. “Honey, our time after dinner was pretty distracting, but I do actually remember the meal as well. And the guys we met.”
“Right. Well, Javier called me this morning and wondered if we wanted to meet them for dinner tonight. They both really liked you, and I hadn’t seen them in far too long; they thought we could get together.” He watched me carefully as he said this, as if I was going to object to hanging out with his friends more. “I know this might be too much, too fast.”
“No, it’s not; it sounds like fun. So we should talk—”
But then our number was called, and Mahlen hopped up and fetched our burgers.
Once we were settled and eating, I resumed. “I don’t want to be all typical-female on you here, but I’d like it if we could, um, talk even just a little bit about what we want here?”
He cocked his head, looking at me quizzically, then held up his burger. “I got what I want. Do you want more fries or something? Milkshake?”
“Very funny.”
He laughed. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Yes, that’s a good idea. Who starts?”
I shifted in my seat. “Um, I guess since I brought it up, I can.”
“That’s fair.”
“I’m…single, obviously, and I have been for a long time.” He nodded. “And I guess maybe it was kind of obvious that I was kind of interested in you for…well, a while.”
“No, not that obvious; I did wonder, but it was entirely unclear to me.” He grinned. “I’m glad to hear it, though.”
“Last night was amazing, even if it did take me by surprise.”
“Me too. On both counts.”
I ate a few fries, collecting the rest of my thoughts. “I want to keep on with this, see where it’s going. Like I said this morning, probably we can’t spend literally every minute together, but…I think we’ve got something here, and I’d like to give it a chance.”
“I would like that too.”
And then we gazed goofily at each other for a minute.
“I guess it’s my turn,” he said, “though what I just said—that I would like to give this a chance too—is pretty much where I’m coming from.” He frowned, just slightly. “And the surprise part. I definitely want to underline the surprise part.”
“Oh?”
He nodded, took another bite of his burger, and chewed, thinking. “It was just…the way it all came together. The print, the dinner, the…rest of the evening. It flowed so naturally. Like there was never any question what should happen next, and that it was all just one hundred percent all right. Almost, meant to be? I don’t mean to sound weird or like I’m reading too much into this,” he hastened to add.
“No, not at all. I kind of feel the same way myself.”
“Yeah. I’d call it magic, if I didn’t know any better.”
And there was that word again. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, staring down at my fries.
“Grace?” I glanced up at him; he looked understandably concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I smiled at him. “I’m probably still just a little tired. Very happy, though, don’t worry.”
“We don’t have to meet the guys for dinner if you don’t want to—”
“I do want to.” And why did I, so badly? Because it sounded like a great idea. I wasn’t even sure myself why I wanted to, but my mouth ran on without my brain’s input. “I want to know your friends—I want to know your life. And, well, I liked them. They seemed fun, and interesting.”
“They are. Even though they’re twins, they found very different fields to shine in.”
“Oh?” I tried to remember what they’d said. “All I remember is one was artistic and one was financial, or something.”
Mahlen nodded. “Jorge is a sculptor. That’s how we met, actually; years ago, in art school. He’s not unsuccessful by any means—he does a lot better than I do—but Javier works for First Central Bank downtown, in charge of a whole investment department, so he’s the ‘financially successful’ one.”
“Ah.”
“And so,” Mahlen went on with a cheerful grin, “you will see that I am not always planning to buy the meals. The brothers are treating us tonight.”
I grinned back at him. “How can I refuse that?”
~*~*~*~
Lunch flew by; the afternoon dragged. Oh, we were busy enough, but I so did not want to be making prints and cutting mat board and waiting on customers who didn’t know what they wanted. Usually I loved my job, loved seeing all the different things that people brought to us, loved making them as beautiful as possible, displayed at their best.
Today, I just wanted to get out of there. Back to Mahlen…and his interesting friends.
I tried not to think about how attractive the brothers were. How flirtatious they had been last night. How…interesting I had found them.
And I particularly tried not to think about the absurd thing that Emma Foster had broached with me yesterday afternoon.
Right before this whole adventure started.
It was her fault I was even thinking this way, I mean not thinking this way. I had never, ever even considered finding another man attractive when I was already with someone—much less doing something about it. That sort of thing was just way beyond anything I could be capable of.
So, I just kept not thinking about it. All afternoon.
Mahlen was at the print shop’s door right at five-thirty. “I’m glad you didn’t have anything else to do today than squire me around and feed me,” I said, as Monique walked up to turn the ‘open/closed’ sign around.
“Nothing could be more important than seeing you well fed and comfortably transported, milady,” he said, with a courtly bow.
Monique rolled her eyes. “All right, you two crazy kids, have fun tonight.” She began the close-up procedure on the cash register, waving me away from my offer to help. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said, with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary.
“What wouldn’t Monique do?” Mahlen asked, after we’d stepped outside.
I gave a mock-shiver. “I would not want to know.”
He laughed. “She probably has a whole harem of men locked up at her house.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Why would you say that?”
Mahlen stopped too, turned around, and grabbed my hands. “Grace! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything, that was a joke.” He peered into my eyes, looking very worried. “Are you sure you’re all right, you don’t want to just go home and rest tonight? We can reschedule dinner, the brothers will totally understand.”
I shook my head. Why did I react so strongly? It was just…the coincidences, the echoes, they were starting to get to me. “I’m fine. I’m sorry—I know it was a joke. I just…” I took a deep breath. “I do want to go out tonight. But maybe we should try to make an early night of it. Go home right after dinner and…sleep.” Just standing here on the sidewalk with him, holding his hands, gazing into his eyes…I felt that magical heat building in me again. Oh my goodness. Was this man actually going to be good for me, or not?
Mahlen grinned, looking relieved but still a little wary. “We will make sure you get plenty of sleep tonight. I can even let you sleep alone if you like.”
My face fell. “I’m not that tired.”
Now his smile grew. “
Good. Now, let’s go get some food in you. Maybe that will perk you up.”
He drove us toward the city center, but we hadn’t gotten very far before his phone rang. “Crap,” he said, negotiating a busy intersection and looking flustered.
“Do you want me to get that?” I asked.
“Sure.” He fumbled the phone out of his pocket and passed it to me, keeping his eyes on the traffic.
“Mahlen’s phone, Grace speaking,” I said.
“Grace! Just the woman I wanted to talk to,” came a golden voice. “This is Jorge. Are you guys at the restaurant yet?”
“No, we’re just heading there though.”
“Tell Mahlen to turn around, there’s been a change of plans. Come to my house.”
“Your house?”
Mahlen glanced over at me, a question in his eyes. “Jorge says to turn around and go to his house,” I told him.
“I got a deal on some fresh salmon and it has to be cooked tonight,” Jorge said. “You do like salmon, don’t you?”
“Love it,” I told him.
“Oh, thank goodness. Tell that man of yours to pick up some wine too, and get over here!” He hung up.
I set the phone down and told Mahlen the rest of what Jorge had said.
“Luckily for us all, I’ve got a case of wine in the trunk,” he said, turning into a parking lot, then heading in the opposite direction.
“You do? Why?”
Mahlen beamed. “Another appreciative client.”
“Wow. Your job has pretty good perks.”
He nodded. “It seems to, these days.” Then he gave me another glance; this time, his gaze was smoldering. “Yes, very good perks indeed.”
I couldn’t help the grin…or the heat that washed through me.
Chapter Five
Jorge’s house was on the outskirts of the expensive, hilly neighborhood where I’d gone to a certain peculiar costume party last week…nowhere near the higher elevations where Lady Periwinkle’s mansion was, just at the base of the hills. Still, it gave me an odd shiver to be heading there again.
I’d agreed to go to the party with a friend of mine, Katrina, but at the last minute she’d fallen ill. “But you have to go,” she’d told me. “When will you ever get a chance to see the inside of such a house? And the food will be amazing.”
Strangely, there had been no food at all. The champagne, however, had been extraordinary. And I’d really enjoyed dancing with a certain sexy vampire.
I’d even enjoyed meeting Emma, before I’d realized how crazy she was.
I dragged my thoughts away from last week’s weirdness and paid attention to the here-and-now. Mahlen was parking his raggedy little car in the driveway of a nice, though not ostentatious, house, next to a sleek black sports car. “Ah, Javier’s already here, I see,” he said, getting out and hurrying around to open my door for me.
“Where’s Jorge parked?” I wondered.
Mahlen pointed. “Garage.”
“Oh!” Silly me. Well, in my defense, I had no car and I lived in a crazy little apartment, so.
And maybe I was nervous and off balance.
Mahlen took my hand, sending a flood of ease and reassurance through me…and that delicious heat again. As we walked toward the front door, he gave me a little kiss behind my ear and whispered, “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”
“My pleasure,” I murmured back, with a smile.
He didn’t even knock, just opened the door and let us in. “Hi honey, we’re home!” he called out as we stepped into a long, wide hallway. The ceiling stretched two stories high in this entryway; I looked up and saw a balcony above, with doorways into second-floor rooms.
One of the twins came around the corner at the end of the big open hallway, wearing a white apron over faded blue jeans and bare feet. He had a little bit of flour or something on his cheekbone, his hair was adorably tousled, and he looked good enough to eat. And why was I thinking such a thing?
He grinned at us, his teeth white and striking against the beautiful tawniness of his complexion. “My absent-minded friend,” he said fondly to Mahlen, and I knew by his voice that he was Jorge. “Can you not follow the simplest of directions?”
“What is that?” Mahlen asked. “You said come here, and here we are.”
Jorge tossed his hands in the air just as Javier stepped into the hallway behind him, still wearing a banker’s business suit, though without the jacket. Also, he had loosened his tie. The effect was a startling mix of refined and rakish, and made a pleasing contrast with his even more casually dressed brother. “The wine!” Jorge said.
“Ack!” Mahlen smacked himself in the forehead with the back of his hand. He does so like to hit himself, doesn’t he? I thought. It sounded hard enough to hurt, though he didn’t seem injured. “It’s in the trunk. I’ll be right back. Entertain Grace during the thirty seconds I’m gone, you two.”
Both brothers stepped closer to me, smiling their near-identical smiles. My heart melted in spite of myself. Okay, I could admit, just here in the privacy of my own brain, that they were some smokin’-hot men. I didn’t need to tell anyone else, but I could enjoy the view, couldn’t I? “I think we can do that,” Jorge said.
Javier came around his brother and offered me his arm. Behind me, I heard the front door close, as Mahlen went back out to the car. “May I?”
I took his arm, because why not? And I was glad I did. Those were some fine, strong muscles under that fancy shirt.
Not that I was going to tell anyone I thought so.
Javier led me into a large kitchen, almost as big as the whole front room of the print shop. A grand central island held both the stove and a small sink; a larger sink took up much of the opposite wall. On the near side of the island were four bar stools. Two half-drunk glasses of wine sat there. He brought me to one of the stools, in the center. “I’d offer you wine, but apparently we have to wait for the proper vintage to arrive.” Javier waved at the two glasses on the counter. “You don’t want this plonk.”
“I’m not picky,” I protested, but Jorge walked in behind me and said, “Nor are we, but we like Mahlen to think so.” He went to the other side of the island and picked up a large wooden spoon.
“Ah,” I said, as though I understood.
“It makes him feel better about his ‘wine expertise’,” Javier explained.
“Or lack thereof,” Jorge added with a grin. “Though he does all right.”
“He picked the wine last night, and it was good,” I said, defending my guy. But it was true.
Something was sizzling in a large, shallow pan on the stove; Jorge gave it a stir, then went to the fridge and began hunting around in it. “That smells amazing,” I said to him. “What is it?”
Jorge came back from the fridge with a bag of parsley. “Oh, just a little rice to go with the salmon.”
I leaned over the island to get a closer look. “Most complicated rice I’ve ever seen.”
Javier grinned as he took a seat beside me and sipped his ‘plonk’. “Jorge never does anything simple. Not even in the kitchen.”
“I see.” I looked around the room, wondering what was taking Mahlen so long. “Ooh, is that your art?”
Jorge followed my gaze to a sculpture under the far window, a semi-abstract rendition of a giraffe. I think. “Yes,” he said, and gave me his luminous smile again. “It’s an early piece, though. I’ve worked out a few techniques better.”
I got down off my stool and went over to take a closer look. “I love this,” I said, entirely sincerely. “I’m not sure how it could be better.” The piece was fluid, and expressive; it made me feel complicated things inside. Good things, mostly. This man had talent.
“I’m doing more representational work nowadays,” he said. “I’ll show you some more recent work…after dinner.”
Javier laughed. “Oh, oldest trick in the book. The only way to get to his studio is through his bedroom, you know.”
I smiled at them both.
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to take a chaperon or two with me, to be safe.”
“That’s a fine idea,” Jorge said. “The more, the merrier.”
Settle down, brain, I told myself, as another flash of heat went through me. They were just flirting with me because that’s what some men do. It was as natural as breathing for them, apparently. It meant nothing.
Mahlen at last walked in, carrying a big box. I hadn’t even heard the front door. “Relax, everyone! We are saved from the horrors of sobriety,” he announced, setting the box down on the corner of the island.
“Well, that’s a good start, I suppose,” Javier quipped, as Mahlen pried open the box and pulled out a bottle of red. Javier leapt up to find a bottle opener, and in another minute, four fresh glasses were filled.
“This is delicious,” I said, savoring the wine on my tongue. It was somehow both light and rich, fruity without being sweet.
“I thought this would be the best with salmon,” Mahlen said. “It’s a mixed case, though, so we can graduate to something heartier later if we want.”
All three men exchanged knowing glances and grins.
“What?” I asked. “No fair having secret jokes, you’ve got to let me in on it.”
Javier took the stool beside me again. “No secret, really; our Mahlen fancies himself a wine expert on a soda pop budget.” He swirled his own glass and took a swallow. “This isn’t bad, though, dude. Did you pick it out yourself?”
Mahlen shrugged. “Not entirely. I did tell the client what I liked. She chose the vintages, though.”
“She?” Jorge asked, looking up from what he was doing. He had four big pieces of salmon on a platter next to the stove and was arranging herbs and seasonings atop them; a frying pan heated up just beside them. “Oh do tell!”
Now Mahlen looked…embarrassed? “Nothing to tell. Just a grateful client.”
I took another sip of my wine, wondering just how much I was missing here. I felt connected to Mahlen all the way down to the bottom of my soul, and I’d been acquainted with him for a year, but…it was becoming increasingly clear to me how little I actually knew about him.
