But here she was—at his house, showering inhisshower (he didn’t even want to think aboutthat…but then, of course he did)—and now, after the weird-as-fuck events at the theater, they had something inescapable in common besides their shared history. He wasn’t going to let her leave until they at least talked aboutthat: who and why someone was trying to scare her away from the theater.
But Jake wasn’t so confident that he didn’t hedge his bets. So he wasn’t going to rely on just two wine glasses and a simple bottle of Pinot gris.
Since she was still busy in the shower, that gave him time to put some other stuff together. His sister Irene had given him a fancy wooden serving tray for a housewarming gift, and as Pop didn’t care about visual aesthetics—and neither did Declan, Baxter, or Drew—Jake hadn’t had any reason to break it out yet. Being new in town, he didn’t get many visitors except for the guys working on his house.
He pulled out some Pointe Reyes marbled blue cheese that was soft enough to spread like butter and set it on a small plate on the tray. Then he dumped olives—briny Kalamata, buttery Castelvetrano, and some pinkie-nail-sized black ones that he didn’t know the name of—along with a small scoop of almonds into four tiny dishes that were meant for soy sauce with sushi. Then he arranged them in a semicircle around the cheese.
It might not be Martha Stewart orQueer Eye, he thought, surveying the presentation, but at least it wasn’t College Boy Beer Nuts. His tastes—and budget—had improved in the last decade.
The last addition to the tray was one he actually agonized over for a few minutes. Crackers—he had some really nice artisan ones—or bread that he’d made himself?
Crackers were fancier, and putting out his own bread might be self-serving…but it was really good bread and fresh just this morning, and the crackers would keep…but there were fewer carbs with crackers (did she care about carbs? Maybe. Probably.)…
Hell.
He could still hear the shower running, and was pretty sure she was singing in it. He wondered what song was on her mind and in her heart today.
Jake smiled to himself. Vivien always sang in the shower, and whatever ballad or tune she was belting gave a good indication of her mood. She had a stunning voice—clear, strong, and vibrant—and more often than not, hearing her sing something like “Defying Gravity” or “Blue Skies” had put him in a good mood too.
There were a few times he’d slip into the shower with her and join her in a duet—often something fromPhantom, although another of her favorites, which she had taught him, was fromAnnie Get Your Gun.Those duets had ended up far differently in the shower than they did onstage…to their mutual satisfaction.
With such a pleasant memory fresh in his mind, he started humming “Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)” as he debated between crackers and bread.
When he heard the sound of a blow dryer (he didn’t own a blow dryer) from the bathroom, he knew he couldn’t waffle any longer.
So he took the round loaf of bread he’d made early that morning in between calls during his shift and sliced a few pieces. Then he cut them in half so they were the shape of flattish semicircles and fanned them out on one side of the tray. A small dish of olive oil followed—he was half Italian; it was a requirement—and by then he realized he needed napkins and butter and cheese knives, a spoon for the almonds, toothpicks for the olives…maybe small cocktail plates, too (which he didn’t have, so he had to skip).
He’d just come back in from carrying the tray out to the patio when he heard the sound of Vivien’s footsteps. Perfect timing.
He poured two glasses of wine and stuck the bottle into a wine cooler (another housewarming gift—this one from his other sister Mathilda—for apparently his siblings thought he was far more of an entertainer than he was. Maybe he should hint that he needed cocktail plates).
“Feel better?” he asked as Vivien came into the room.
Her tousled, slightly damp hair hung in whisky-colored waves around her shoulders, making her appear as if she’d just rolled out of bed…which was an image he’d never forgotten and now was sharply reminded of.
She’d changed from loose cargo pants, work boots, and snug tee into a soft yellow sundress that ended just above her knees. Her feet and pretty legs were bare and blindingly white except for bright pink nail polish on her toes.
“Much better, thank you,” she said, and took the glass he offered. “And this’ll help even more.” She smiled, and his heart gave a little shimmy because that smile seemed genuine and relaxed.
“Let’s sit on the patio,” he said, opening the slider. “It’s hours until sunset, but there’s shade.”
“You got really lucky to get this place,” she said, wandering to the edge of the patio. “Wow…there’s not much here between you and down there.”
It wasn’t a straight drop-off down the bluff, but you didn’t want to take a leap off the patio either, because you’d be rolling down a bumpy incline studded with rocks, trees, and other barriers. At the bottom was a well-traveled, curvy road that hugged the lakeshore.
Jake noticed she didn’t take a step back from the drop-off and smiled to himself. No, the woman he’d known hadn’t changed much. He could even hear her humming something under her breath. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“I’m getting some huge boulders brought in to shore up the edge there,” he said, coming to stand next to her and wondering why she hadn’t said anything about the tray he’d so painstakingly put together. “Before any of my nieces and nephew come over. And I’ll have some low bushes—I don’t know what kind—planted there along the top, and a small barrier put in behind them to make it even safer without obstructing the view.”
“It’s going to be absolutely lovely— Oh, wow, yum!”
Ah. She’d seen the tray.
“How did you know I love Castelvetrano olives?” she said, spearing two of them with a toothpick in one quick movement. “And I didn’t realize how hungry I am. It all looks so good. You didn’t have to go through all that trouble, Jake,” she said, even as she speared two more olives with unbridled enthusiasm. “But thank you.”
“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” he replied as she drew the olives off the toothpick with her mouth. His knees went a little weak at the sight of her lush pink lips puckering like that, accompanied by her low moan of appreciation—and he distracted himself by taking a sip of his wine. He gave his own hum of approval over the vintage. “It’s just as good as I hoped. Do you like it?”
“It’s very good. I’m a sucker for unusual whites, and this one fits the bill. It’s got a little bit of pear, don’t you think?”
