Come Home with Me

by Susan Fox

  She nodded. “What’s up with the name, by the way?”

  “It’s owned by Celia and Rachelle. Rachelle is a native Destiny Islander. Her dad is descended from very early settlers of the island, freed slaves from the States who came north to Victoria and then scattered around the area. Anyhow, she runs the front of the house and her wife Celia, who grew up in Vancouver, is the chef.”

  “Cool combo on their names. Obviously, it was meant to be, them getting together and opening a seafood restaurant.”

  “Like it was their destiny, right?” He winked.

  She groaned. “I really wish this island had a different name.”

  He chuckled. “Before C-Shell, this was a fish and chips place, but not a very good one. Rachelle and Celia renovated it outside and in.” They’d reached the front door now.

  “I like the cedar shakes.”

  “They probably wouldn’t look so good in Vancouver,” he teased as he ushered her inside.

  Rachelle, all brown and black as usual, with her chocolate skin and black, long-sleeved shirt and pants, glanced up with a smile. “Luke! It’s so good to see you.” She came toward them, her only touch of color in the bright beads that decorated her ears and were woven into her intricate black braids.

  “You too, Rachelle. This is Miranda Gabriel. You may remember—”

  Miranda jumped in. “You were in Aaron’s class, weren’t you, Rachelle? Your name didn’t ring a bell but I do remember admiring that stunning hair.”

  “And you’re his little sister, all grown up and beautiful. Have to say, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

  Miranda laughed as she let Luke take her coat. “And that’s a good thing.” She glanced around. “What a great job you’ve done here. I can’t believe you and your wife own a restaurant. And Luke’s a vet, and Aaron has Blue Moon Air. It makes me feel like we’re all so old.”

  Rachelle gave a rich laugh. “Older and wiser, if we’re lucky. Come on, I’ll show you to your table.” She turned, straight and sleek and gorgeous. She could have been a model. And yet Miranda’s less dramatic looks appealed to him more.

  Crossing the room, he exchanged nods with several islanders, and noted that Miranda smiled at a couple herself, probably customers of Blowing Bubbles. By later tonight, the gossip mill would be churning and an expanding circle of islanders would know he and Miranda were dating.

  When Rachelle had seated them at a window table looking out on the harbor, she said, “Luke, I can’t thank you enough for making that emergency call when Fairley got attacked by that dog. Mom was crazy worried and if she’d had to drive she could’ve crashed the car.”

  “No problem. It comes with the job.”

  To Miranda, Rachelle said, “Fairley’s my mom’s ferret. And best friend, I think. My dad was out fishing—he supplies the restaurant, by the way—when a crazy dog lit into Fairley.”

  “I’m glad Fairley’s okay,” she said. “And I’m looking forward to the seafood. This is a real treat for me. I’ve been wanting to eat here.” She gently touched the sprigs of purple heather in a small pottery vase and then gestured around. “I love the décor. The nautical touches are just right, adding authenticity without making it kitschy.”

  Luke agreed, and knew that the fishing nets and old floats, the rusted anchor, and other items were genuine, provided by Rachelle’s dad.

  Miranda went on. “I’ve worked in a lot of restaurants over the years, and it takes real talent to hit the right note.”

  “Thanks, Miranda. I appreciate that.” She winked. “And I’ll tell the staff to be on their toes, since they’re looking after one of our own. Speaking of which, your server will be along in a sec to see what you’d like to drink, so I’ll let you peruse the cocktail menu and wine list. First drink’s on me, as a thanks to Luke, so make it a special one.”

  After she’d gone, he and Miranda both put their phones on the table and exchanged smiles. He only hoped that neither phone vibrated for the next couple of hours.

  Miranda picked up her menu and made a humming sound. “Oh, this is nice. Being in a fine restaurant as a customer rather than as waitstaff or busgirl.” She gazed out the window at the harbor view. “It’s so dark at night at SkySong and at Aaron’s place, but here you can see the lights on the boats down on the docks. Like stars that shine even when it’s cloudy out.”

  When she pulled her gaze from the view and turned it on him, he saw sparkly stars in her blue eyes, though maybe it was a reflection from the candle on the table.

  “Thank you for this, Luke. It makes me feel special.”

  “You are special, Miranda.” And so beautiful, with that fancier hairdo and the touch of makeup. Her bare neck and upper chest looked creamy and feminine against the greenish-blue top. The abalone earrings danced and caught the light, calling attention to her delicate ears and long neck. He’d noticed that whatever pair of earrings she wore, the silver heart remained in her left ear.

  She glanced down at the menu. “Not so special. I’m just a hardworking single mom who’s made more than her share of mistakes in her life.”

  “And haven’t we all done that? We learn from them, we keep trying. That’s what you’re doing. Don’t put yourself down, okay? You’re special. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially yourself.”

  Her head was still down and he said, “Miranda?”

  When she finally looked up, her eyes were moist and gleaming. “I hear you. Thanks. But please stop talking now, okay?”

  Smiling, he ducked his own head and perused the menu. “I’m not much for cocktails or hard liquor. Think I’ll have a craft beer from Blue Moonshine. How about you?”

  “I’m a woman,” she announced, some sass back in her voice.

  “I kinda noticed that.” He matched her teasing tone and tried to keep his eyes from the scooped neckline of her top, which bared a lot of skin but stopped short of revealing cleavage. “But the significance of it escapes me at the moment.”

  “I like girly drinks.” She read the beverage menu, with a lot of, “Oh, listen to this” and “Doesn’t this sound amazing?” comments.

  Their server, a middle-aged woman in black pants and shirt, with a neat blond braid, came over to the table. He knew most of the locals, but didn’t recognize her. “I’m Ellen,” she said, “and Rachelle asked me to take special care of you two. What can I bring you to drink? And how about some appetizers to start with? Celia’s lobster ravioli and the crispy crab bites are my personal favorites, especially on a chilly night like this.”

  “Tell me more about the C-Shell cocktail,” Miranda requested. “I’ve never heard of guavaberry rum.”

  “It’s a special liqueur made on the island of Sint Maarten, from berries that grow there,” Ellen said. “Rachelle has relatives there and she and Celia discovered it on a visit. Now they import it for that cocktail and a couple of dessert specials. The flavor’s kind of fruity, kind of herbal. It goes beautifully with the orange juice, pineapple juice, and cream in that cocktail.”

  “Sold. It sounds delicious. Can you give us a minute to think about appies?”

  “Of course. Sir?”

  He ordered his beer and he and Miranda studied the menus. She put hers down and plunked her elbows on it, leaning forward and saying dramatically, “I want everything!”

  Her eager expression and the desire in her voice had him thinking about an entirely different “everything” than what he knew she meant. What would it be like to have Miranda in his bed, making that enthusiastic pronouncement? His body tightened with arousal.

  “How can I possibly choose?” she went on.

  In bed, he’d take the pins out of her hair, one by one. And then he would slowly, thoroughly, and erotically give her everything. Happily. And then he’d do it all over again. He cleared his throat and suggested, “Want to pick a few things and share?”

  “Yes, please.” She sat back, the silky sea-colored top rippling across her breasts. “What about starting with those two a
ppetizers? If a server recommends a dish, it’s because either the kitchen wants to get rid of it or she genuinely loves it. At this place, I’d bet it’s the latter.”

  “Where’s the business sense in pushing something that’s maybe subpar?”

  “Depends on your clientele. If it’s tourists who’ll eat there once and never come back, why not use up leftovers and stuff like that on them? Though I do think it’s dumb, because some of them go online and leave bad reviews. Most good restaurants don’t do it.” She grinned. “The staff get to take home the crappy leftovers.”

  “There’s lots to think about when you run a business.”

  “For sure. I’m happy leaving that to someone else and just doing my work and earning my paycheck. Running your own business is too risky for me. Though”—she gave him a smile—“if you’re the only vet on an island, I guess the risk factor is low. As long as those bulls and newts keep on breeding.”

  He was laughing as Ellen delivered their drinks. Miranda’s was a frothy, peach-colored concoction in a martini glass. The server carefully poured Luke’s beer into a glass mug and departed with their order for appetizers.

  Miranda took a sip and said, “Oh, my. This might even beat chocolate.”

  Rachelle dropped by to ask, “How do you like the C-Shell, Miranda?”

  “It’s orgasmic.”

  Luke almost choked on a swallow of beer and Rachelle gave him an amused glance. “Glad you’re enjoying it.” She winked. “A girl can never have too many orgasms.”

  Okay, now he was officially choking and, he guessed, beet red. Not to mention battling an erection.

  After Rachelle departed, Miranda turned an impish grin on him and then her expression grew thoughtful. “So if—no, never mind.”

  He was almost afraid to find out what she’d started to ask, but he said, “If we’re going to date, I want us to be honest. Miranda, this is maybe rude or insensitive, but here’s the thing. We’re two independent grown-ups, but that’s not all we are. We’re parents. Whatever we do, we have to think how it’ll affect our kids.” Even if his aroused body, so frustrated after years without intimacy, urged him to make sex his priority.

  “Yes. Totally.” She swallowed. “I’m not exactly the best influence, given my past.”

  “Your past is . . . well, of course it’s relevant, because it’s part of what made you the person you are today. But that’s what’s important to me: who you are now. I need to be able to trust you. And you need to be able to trust me. Right?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “So I think you should be able to ask me anything. Even if it’s about something that might be painful for me to talk about. To think about. And vice versa. Okay?”

  She thought about that and then gave him a half-hearted, “I guess.”

  Ellen served the two appetizers and they divided them and tasted them. Luke thought they were delicious, but the best part was Miranda’s obvious enjoyment. He ate quietly, letting her concentrate on the food. But when the appetizers were finished, and they’d ordered the shrimp and sausage jambalaya and the miso-maple glazed sablefish, he said, “You were going to ask me something earlier, after you were raving to Rachelle about your drink.”

  “Was I?”

  “Yeah. You started, and then said, ‘Never mind.’”

  “Oh, that.” Her lashes lowered, darker than usual with a touch of mascara, and he noticed the bluish-green makeup that accented her eyelids.

  “Go ahead and ask.”

  “It involved Candace. And it was, uh, intrusive. It’s not something I need to know.”

  “Ask, and if it is too intrusive, I’ll tell you.” He braced himself.

  Toying with the straw in her fancy drink, not looking at him, she muttered something he didn’t catch.

  “What?”

  She glanced up and whispered, “Sex.”

  Thank God he wasn’t drinking beer this time, or he might have spewed it across the table. “What about it?” His erection was painful now.

  * * *

  Cursing her own curiosity and impulsiveness, Miranda wished she’d never started this. It was too embarrassing and far, far too personal. But now that she had, and that Luke had insisted they be open with each other, she pretty much had to go ahead and ask. “You’ve only been with one woman. And she was only ever with you?”

  He nodded.

  She knew she was blushing, and there was a flush of pink on Luke’s cheekbones. The man sure did look good tonight. His dark chestnut hair gleamed like satiny wood, making her want to run her fingers through it. The muted sage green shirt and green-and-gold striped tie brought out the green and gold flecks in his amazing eyes. Luke was the kind of handsome that didn’t whack you in the face with an “OMG, he’s hot!” reaction, but grew on you the more you looked at him and spent time with him.

  She took a breath and came out with her question. “So how did you, you know, learn? About sex.”

  “Uh, the good old-fashioned way, I guess,” he said. “Experimenting. Playing. Figuring out what felt best for each of us.” As he spoke, she could see him relaxing, even smiling as if he enjoyed the memories. “Laughing. With sex, you have to have a sense of humor, right?”

  “Uh . . . I haven’t done a whole lot of laughing in bed.” If she wanted to chuckle, she read a humorous book or watched a comedy on TV. “I mean, sex should be, well, arousing and satisfying. I don’t think of it as funny.”

  Those colored flecks in his eyes danced as he gave a teasing grin. “Not even when you try some weird position in the Kama Sutra and get all tangled up and fall off the bed?”

  Oh my God. If he was trying to get her back for that tease about her drink being orgasmic—which had been another impulse she maybe should have resisted—he’d certainly done it with a vengeance. “The Kama Sutra? Seriously?” Luke? The handsome, responsible dad, the island vet, knew the Kama Sutra? She’d only ever glanced at it herself, finding it too foreign to relate to.

  What kind of erotic sex tricks did the man seated across from her know? Sexual awareness hummed through her, centering between her legs, and she tried not to squirm.

  “Can you believe, it was a gift from my mother-in-law? She’s very frank.”

  “Frank?”

  He nodded. “She’s a wonderful, loving person, but, well, the social niceties often escape her. She’s in your face. It takes an effort for her to think about censoring herself before she blurts out whatever she’s thinking. Sometimes it’s amusing, sometimes it’s painful. Often, she’s spot on, insightful, but she can miss subtleties that are obvious to the rest of us.”

  “Huh. Candace must have taken after her dad then. She was definitely socially skilled.”

  “Yes, and you’re right that her father is, too, though he’s quieter than Candace was. She was just naturally bubbly and sociable.”

  Yes, she had been. Personable, beautiful, and pretty much perfect. How could Miranda ever compete with Luke’s memories of Candace?

  Fortunately, Ellen’s arrival distracted her from that depressing thought. The server set out a platter of fish and veggies and a covered cast-iron skillet. Earlier, she’d placed empty dinner plates in front of each of them. “Since you’re sharing,” Ellen said, “I’d suggest you start with the sablefish. The flavor’s milder than the jambalaya. The jambalaya will stay warm in the covered pan. Enjoy.”

  Taking her advice, Miranda and Luke served themselves portions of miso-maple glazed fish along with the accompanying sautéed sugar snap peas and mashed potatoes. Miranda tasted everything. The fish melted in her mouth, the peas crunched, and the potatoes—“Oh, my, those are the tastiest potatoes I’ve ever eaten.” As best she could tell, the creamy mash combined white potatoes, sweet potatoes, a touch of ginger, and a tang of sour cream or cream cheese.

  The food even went well with the final sips of her still-frothy C-Shell cocktail.

  Between bites, she returned to the subject that intrigued her. “Your mother-in-law really gave you
guys the Kama Sutra?”

  “She said that in a long-term relationship that involves fidelity, sex can become routine and it’s important that you not let that happen. So she gave us the book.” He smiled. “At first Candace wouldn’t touch it. She said that if she looked at the pictures, she’d imagine her mom and dad doing that stuff.”

  Miranda laughed, spontaneously and loudly, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I take it she got over that?”

  “Yeah, we had some fun with that book.”

  “And here I thought you might be less experienced than me. You probably know way more than I do.” And didn’t that notion keep her body buzzing? How had she ever thought that Luke wasn’t a particularly sexy man?

  He frowned and then said, “Sticking with my honesty thing, I have to admit it bothers me to think of you with a bunch of other guys.”

  She swallowed. “Because it makes you think I’m slutty?”

  “No. I’m sure it’s more typical of twenty-somethings than the faithful-to-your-first-love thing Candace and I had. It’s more that I hate to think of other men’s hands on you. I don’t like the idea of you caressing other guys, being intimate with them.” He shrugged. “It’s some kind of primitive male reaction, I guess. ‘My woman. Hands off.’”

  His woman? She leaned forward. “That makes no sense. You didn’t even know me until a few weeks ago.”

  “Did you hear me say ‘primitive male’? It’s instinct. There’s nothing rational about it.” He lifted the lid from the cast-iron skillet of jambalaya, and dished out portions for both of them.

  “Well, as long as you admit you’re irrational,” she teased. After all, it was irrational of her, the feminist, to feel pleased by his caveman reaction.

  She tasted the rich, spicy mixture of shrimp, sausage, rice, and tomatoes. “Oh my God, that’s even better than the sablefish. And so perfect for a cold winter night.”

  “Chef Celia’s a genius,” he affirmed.

  Ellen dropped by and asked if everything was to their liking, and they both gave her raves. On her heels, a man approached their table. He looked familiar, so perhaps he’d been in the store once or twice. He was dressed up, for an islander, wearing a nice sports jacket and tie. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, kind of handsome in a distinguished way. His hair was a mix of gray and blond, he wore glasses with tortoiseshell frames, and as he extended his hand, he flashed a big, white-toothed smile.