Their lunch dates, initiated by him to satisfy his long-standing curiosity about her, had become something far more. He watched the clock for the noon hour, his eagerness to see her palpable in the rising beat of his heart and the restlessness in his limbs. The job at the museum kept him interested and busy, but always, always, Claire’s elegant features and rare smile lingered in the back of hismind.
Reserved and business-like during their first lunch meeting, she had slowly opened to him as he helped her translate documents from Armenian to English and joked that some of the commentary in the margins of a few manuscripts she’d researched were anything butreligious.
She didn’t bring her laptop for lunch date number three, and he didn’t ask. They spent a too-short hour chatting of inconsequential things—favorite movies, favorite food, favorite songs. She was far more fascinating than research notes on medieval hymnals. During lunch number four she spoke briefly about her sonJake.
Andor recalled that part of their conversation, short as itwas.
“I overheard you tell Delilah yesterday you had to pick up Jake. Your son?” He crossed his fingers in his lap and hoped Jake wasn’t a boyfriend or even worse, ahusband.
Claire nodded, a softness entering her eyes along with an odd wariness. “He’s ten. I have a babysitter look after him once school is out and until I gethome.”
She said nothing else about her son after that. No stories of childhood antics, sports events or personality quirks. No bragging of grades or tales of trips to friends’ houses. Just his name, his age and the fact he had a babysitter who watched him after school. Andor wanted to ask more, but the look in her eyes warned him he’d get nothing else. He smoothly switched subjects and watched, confounded, as she visiblyrelaxed.
He thought a few meetings and a few conversations would satisfy his wonderings about Claire. His interest would wane, and he’d move on to his next flight of fancy before Nicholas called him to his annual duties. Instead, his interest had deepened to fascination then to enchantment as he came to know the woman who’d first captured his attention one Christmaspast.
When he invited her to dinner, Andor had been sure she’d say yes. Cautious and reserved she might be, but she had expressive eyes, and he hadn’t mistaken her attraction to him. She accepted every invitation to lunch. So when she declined his invitation to dinner, Andor felt like he’d been sucker-punched. He’d grown overconfident, seen an interest that wasn’t there and made wrongassumptions.
He was good at hiding his emotions, but it took effort to relax his hands on the steering wheel as he drove back to the museum after lunch. “May I askwhy?”
Claire fiddled with her purse strap, her gaze alighting briefly on his face before flitting away. “I won’t be able to get a babysitter for Jake on that short of anotice.”
Was that it? Not an insurmountable obstacle, and the tightness in his chest eased. “You can bring him with you,” he said. He wanted more time with Claire, and if that included her son, so be it. Her child was a part of who she was. Besides, after ten centuries of acting as Santa’s bodyguard, delivery boy and overall helper, he’d grown to like human children. They saw magic in everything. “I’d like to meet him. He can even pick therestaurant.”
Claire’s shoulders sagged a little, her faint smile rueful. “Thanks, but that won’t work. Jake’s not...” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to some point in a middle distance he couldn’t see. A frown creased her brow for a moment before smoothing away, and her back straightened. Andor didn’t miss the sudden death grip she held on her purse strap. “We can have dinner at my house if youwant.”
Judging by the look of dread on her face, he was sure he’d misheard her. She looked like she just invited him to a public hanging, and she was thecondemned.
“An excellent idea,” he said before she changed her mind. Something warned him—a flicker in her eye, the twitch of her eyebrow maybe—this was more than just another alternative to dinner out on a Friday night; it was a test of somesort.
Andor mentally shrugged. So what. A dinner, a hanging; he was fine with whatever she planned. He’d either end up helping her wash dishes or saving her from the noose. He was quite capable of doing both. “I’ll bring the food. Just tell me the time and what you two want to eat.” He waited, hoping she wouldn’t rescind theoffer.
She uncurled her fingers from around the purse strap—a good sign. “How about 7:30? Don’t worry about Jake. He’s a picky eater. I’ll have something for him athome.”
They pulled into the employee parking lot. Andor found a parking spot but kept the car running a moment longer. “What should I bring foryou?”
“Surprise me.” Claire smiled, opened her door and unfurled her tall frame from the seat. Andor unapologetically admired the view for a moment before killing the engine and joining her on the walk back to thebuilding.
He escorted her to her cube, greeted a slyly grinning Delilah—he’d never think of her as Dee—who had peeked around the corner of the wall separating her cube from Claire and left with a brief promise to see Claire the next evening. His sensitive ears caught the follow-up conversation between the twowomen.
“Sooo, how was lunch?” Delilah’s voice rang sing-song down the hall, followed by Claire’s more exasperated “Not anotherinterrogation.”
“I just asked how lunchwas.”
“Yeah, and then you ask me how he licks his spoon and if I’ve seen him nakedyet.”
Andor held in his laughter until he made it to the loading dock, certain Claire wouldn’t appreciate hisamusement.
He spent the following day, thinking of Claire’s fleeting smile while he and two other preparators wrapped and packed the fragile ceramics that would be shipped to another museum for exhibition in New Mexico. Evening couldn’t come fast enough, and after a quick text message from her at the end of the day assuring him they were still on for dinner, Andor bolted from themuseum.
Now, at 7:30 on the dot, he stood at the door of a small home fronted by a modest porch with a swing on one side and potted plants on the other. Claire answered the door on his second knock. Dressed in a black blouse and jeans that highlighted the length of her legs, she stood within the golden corona cast by the porch light, as beautiful and luminescent as any ljósálfar woman undermoonlight.
“Sunday’s Child,” Andor saidsoftly.
Her eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”
He held up two bags of fragrant take-out. “You said surprise you. I broughtIndian.”
She gave a delicate sniff, and her eyes widened. “That smells marvelous. Come in!” She directed him to a modest table set in a part of a main room designated as a dining area. The table was set for three. A votive candle sat in the middle alongside a bud vase holding twocarnations.
