“Ridiculous creature.” Picking the dog up with a good-natured huff, Felipe grimaced as she licked his face. “Don’t laugh. It’s only funny because she isn’t biting you.”
“Is this Pastel?” Oliver asked, holding his hand for the dog to sniff. When she gave him a cursory lick, he scratched the space between her ears. “She’s not an asshole. She’s just protective.”
“Exactly! I have been telling Felipe that for years.”
Oliver whipped around to find a black haired woman in a bottle green gown staring up at him. Her skin was a bit darker than Felipe’s and more to the ochre, and her features edged toward the feline with upturned eyes and a wide mouth. Oliver made a mental note to describe her dress to Gwen. Despite her diminutive stature, Louisa Galvan seemed to fill the hall with her presence as she cooed at the dog and took her from Felipe’s arms. It struck him suddenly how odd it was that a woman who could turn into a jaguar doted on such tiny dogs.
“You must be Oliver. I’m Louisa,” she said, offering him her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet one of Felipe’sfriends. He doesn’t often bring anyone to dinner.”
“Thank you for having me. You have a very lovely dog.” Oliver cringed. He had meant to say, “lovely home,” but he was rewarded with an airy laugh.
“Well, if you follow me to the dining room, you can meet Kuchen. We had just sat down to eat when you arrived, and she’s eagerly awaiting scraps.”
The first thing Oliver spotted as he entered the dining room was the black and tan Pomeranian staring up at the table. Kuchen’s tail wagged as they walked in, and it took everything in Oliver’s power to take a seat across from Felipe instead of stooping to pet the dog. Agatha drifted in behind them to take the seat at the head of the table as Felipe hefted the porcelain tureen to serve everyone.
“Sopa de pan,” Felipe declared with a smile as he set the lid of the pot aside. “The fancier version, too.”
“It is Sunday. I thought that called for eggs and better bread. And cheese.”
“Because I like cheese,” Felipe echoed as Louisa said it.
With a careful flourish, Felipe ladled a spoonful of rich tomato broth and bread into Oliver’s bowl. Breathing deeply, Oliver could smell the hints of garlic, onion, and herbs simmering beneath the bread. As everyone tucked into their soup, Oliver relaxed a fraction. The walls of the dining room were decorated with landscapes and drawings of what he assumed were mythological scenes. The shelves along the chair rail and the mantle contained intricate, colorful glassware and figurines of nymphs and goddesses. He tried not to gawk, but every time he looked up from his food, another pop of color caught his eye. In a different house, it might have been cluttered, especially with the potted plants mixed in, but it all felt artfully arranged and strangely homey.
“So, Oliver, tell us a little about yourself. I assume you work with Felipe?” Agatha asked, though Oliver noted how she didn’t mention the Paranormal Society, just in case. “How long have you two known each other?”
“Yes, we have worked together at the Paranormal Society for nearly a decade, I think. I am the society’s medical examiner. Before I came there, I used to be a doctor, but I found this suited me better.” He swallowed hard but put on his best smile for the well-rehearsed line. “Living patients are far less cooperative.”
Felipe opened his mouth and shook his head before he said, “I didn’t realize you were a doctor. Why didn’t you correct me any of the ten times I called you ‘Mr. Barlow’?”
“Because I didn’t want to be a bother.”
“But you earned that title. You should—”
Reaching in front of him to clear away his bowl, Agatha replied, “Unlike you and Louisa, some of us are actually conflict-averse. If you wouldn’t mind, Felipe, could you carve the chicken?”
Oliver mouthed his thanks as Felipe retreated to the sideboard to deal with the chicken. The conversation quickly veered into Louisa and Agatha telling them about how their past gallery show was nearly shut down by Comstock and his ilk for being indecent. Oliver couldn’t imagine how a painting of a naked woman created now could be worse than a statue of a naked woman carved centuries ago, but it gave him the chance to complain about how even some anatomy texts were hard to get a hold of due to those laws. Apparently, even scientific nudity could cause impure thoughts, although Oliver couldn’t remember a time when a medical image didn’t completely turn him off to the idea of ever touching another human being.
Taking a forkful of chicken, Oliver silently sighed at the succulent bite of garlic, onions, and herbs. The roast chicken and vegetables were the best homecooked meal he had had in ages, and it must have smelled good to the dogs, too, as they both hunkered close. Pastel sat between Louisa and Felipe while Kuchen seemed to sense Oliver’s weakness and stared up at him through the main course with big, wet eyes. When a small piece of chicken happened to fall in his lap, he made no move to stop it from hitting the floor. Kuchen stayed glued to his side for the rest of dinner, but Oliver didn’t mind. Somehow, touching the dog’s head and getting the occasional lick took the edge off his lingering anxiety.
By the time they were nearly finished eating, the conversation had moved on to shows the women had seen, and Oliver found himself nearly effortlessly chiming in when they mentioned performers or plays he recognized. From the way the two women batted the conversation back and forth, it was obvious they were a couple and had been for a long time. Where Louisa was sharp, Agatha softened her edges, and where Agatha spoke modestly of her work, Louisa swooped in to sing her praises and highlight the best features of the painting hanging over the fireplace. It all felt so easy.
Halfway through dessert with a snoring Kuchen slung across his lap and a smile on his face, it dawned on Oliver that Felipe had been very quiet. Across the table, Felipe watched Louisa speak with a ghost of a rueful grin. Oliver inched forward in his chair until his foot brushed against Felipe’s calf. When Felipe raised his gaze with a tight smile, the haunted look from that afternoon still lingered. Oliver wished he could hold his hand or kiss him, though those things would do little to ease the pain.
Clearing his throat, Oliver scratched Kuchen behind her ears. “So, out of curiosity, is Kuchen named for the German word for cake?”
“Yes!” Agatha exclaimed the same time Felipe groaned and ran a hand over his face.
“What? What did I say? I feel like I’ve stumbled into something.”
Louisa snorted and took a sip of her wine. “Felipe hates the dogs’ names.”
“That’s because it’s ridiculous to give the dogs the same name.”
“Wait,” Oliver replied, “I thought Pastel was named after the art supply.”
The aforementioned orange puff raised her head from Louisa’s lap to stare over the table at Oliver with her tongue hanging out of her mouth.
Felipe ruffled Pastel’s head. “Pastel means cake in Spanish, so both dogs are named cake. You see why it’s ridiculous?”
