Chapter 23 #2
They stayed that way, locked with each other until the music had faded away, until it became clear that The Copper Rose would be their residence for the night if they didn’t clear out.
Taking her hand and her jacket over his arm, Mateo led her back out into the night.
The parking lot had begun to empty, and the sounds and smells that had drawn them in had dissipated into stillness as they returned to the car.
The clock read two a.m. when Mateo started the car, but Melody wasn’t the least bit tired.
The exhaustion that had followed her home from work was a distant memory, and she was on pins and needles as Mateo guided the car away from the club, one arm braced casually along the back of her seat.
“Did you have fun, baby girl?”
Melody giggled. “I’ve never had a better time. And you are quite the dancer! How did you learn how to handle a partner like that?”
He chuckled. “Mari. She …”
Melody looked at him when he fell silent, eyebrows snapping together over his eyes.
He was suddenly tense, his hand clenching around the leather headrest of her seat.
Her heart sank at the conflict she found on his face—the grief and the guilt.
It was as if someone had let the air out of a balloon, suddenly and viciously.
She rested a tentative on his thigh. “It’s okay. You should talk about her if you want. If it helps.”
He shook his head and sighed. “This night is about me and you.”
“I know. And I also know that there are parts of you that belong to her and always will. What we have is ours, but that doesn’t mean you have to pretend she didn’t exist, Mateo. If there’s a memory or a feeling and you want to share it, I want to hear it.”
His expression softened as he spared her a quick glance. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I … this is new for me. There hasn’t been anyone since Mari. Not in a real sense.”
“I understand. Finish your story.”
A little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and the tension slowly leeched from his body.
“Country bars weren’t really my thing until I joined the army.
I went wherever the guys went and wherever there were women.
I met Mari at a bar like The Copper Rose.
She was there with some friends and spent almost the entire night on the dance floor. That’s where I first spotted her.”
“Was she a good dancer?”
“So good that guys were lining up to be her next partner.”
“And you got in that line real quick, didn’t you?”
“So fucking fast,” he replied with a little chuckle. “And embarrassed the shit out of myself once it was my turn.”
“Was this before or after you told her she would be the future Mrs. Garcia?”
“Before. It was after, when she was laughing and assuring me that I hadn’t been that bad, that I grabbed her by the waist, pulled her up against me and told her I was going to need lessons so I could lead her properly for our wedding dance. She thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.”
“I assume you took those lessons.”
“Signed up the following Monday. Went to country clubs every weekend to practice with different partners until I felt ready to try it again. We’d been on a few dates already, but the night I took her back to the bar and got her out onto the dance floor changed everything. We were inseparable after that.”
Melody smiled, warmed by the sweet story.
It was easier to imagine a younger, charming Mateo after their time at The Copper Rose.
If he’d been with Mariana the way he had been with her, she’d likely been dazzled beyond belief.
She could also imagine that Mari had probably fallen head over heels in love with him on the spot. How could she not?
“So,” she said after a beat of contemplative silence. “What now?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smirked. “Now, we’re gonna go somewhere private and make out like teenagers.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Sounds perfect.”
They were quiet for the rest of the drive, Mateo finding a Country radio station and cranking it up before opening the sunroof.
At one point he pulled off at a gas station, leaving her in the car and returning moments later with a bag of ice, which he stowed in the backseat.
He ignored her questioning glance and simply resumed the drive.
Melody daydreamed about what might happen next, hardly bothering to pay attention to where they were going.
After a while, they turned off onto a dark back road winding through thick clusters of trees.
The lake sprawled out in a breathtaking vista below them as they began to climb, the winding road taking them up a hill.
Finally, Mateo parked near a serene park overlooking the lake.
He helped her out of the car, then went into the backseat and then the trunk.
He handed her a large, folded blanket and clutched a brown paper bag under one arm as he took her hand and led her forward.
The smells of fresh grass and cool evening air caressed her senses, a damp mist rising from the ground to cool her feet.
Mateo found a spot he liked and exchanged the bag for the blanket, spreading it directly under a perfect circle of moonlight.
She stretched out on the blanket and watched as he crouched and began retrieving items from the bag, faintly remembering that he had mentioned making a stop during their road trip.
She wrinkled her brow as he retrieved two short glass tumblers and another, smaller brown paper bag concealing something else.
Then came the ice, a bottle of water, a bar of chocolate, a lime, and a small plastic bag holding something she couldn’t identify.
“What’s all this?” she asked, kicking off her sandals and leaning back on her elbows.
“I have had more than enough of you dissing my favorite drink,” he teased, pulling a glass bottle from inside the smaller paper bag. “If you’re going to talk shit about Scotch, you’re going to have a proper tasting first … make your opinion an informed one.”
Melody’s throat rebelled at the thought. She had tasted Scotch only once before, and it had been awful. But then, his assertion that she’d never tasted a good Scotch proved true. The shot Rudy had poured for her tasted like ash and rubbing alcohol—not an appealing combination.
“The first thing you need to know is that there are different types of Scotch. Your first taste was probably an Islay Scotch. Those tend to be aggressive and smoky—not the best for a first timer. For a girl like you, a Speyside or Highland Scotch would be better. Lucky for you, I’ve picked one of the best.”
Mateo tilted the bottle so she could read the label. “This is The Macallan 18-year sherry oak single malt. Very luxurious.”
Melody reached out to trace a finger over the gilded label. “Looks expensive.”
“Only the best for you, baby girl. Now … did I mention this would be a blind tasting?”
Melody raised her eyebrows as he went into his back pocket and came out with a black bandana.
She was officially intrigued. Who cared what the Scotch tasted like?
Anything that would keep her in Mateo’s company, close and safe, would make her happy.
She allowed him to arrange her so she sat sideways between his spread legs, her hips nestled in the gap.
He tied the bandana around her eyes and darkened the world.
She became hyperaware of him once her sight was gone—the hard strength of the thighs cradling her, the warm pressure of the hand at her back, the whiff of his scent, sharp and potent at such close range.
She flinched when his warm breath tickled her ear.
“Relax. Let me lead you. Trust me.”
She did, without question. Nestling closer to him, she sighed.
He seemed to take that as a sign of acquiescence, because he stroked his hand over her hair before proceeding.
She felt him moving, taking something into his hands.
The sound of a cork being popped from a bottle echoed through the stillness of the night.
“A good Scotch is like a lover. If you treat it properly, it’ll seduce you … slowly.”
Her senses were suddenly overwhelmed by scents, and she realized he was waving the cork under her nose, teasing her with aromas she couldn’t identify at first. But then, she took a few deep breaths and discovered the hidden notes. Fruit. Spices. Chocolate.
“Hmm, that’s nice,” she whispered.
“You always engage with the aromas first,” he said, and she detected the sound of liquid pouring into a glass. “Like foreplay.”
The rim of a glass touched her lower lip, and she opened her mouth slightly, prepared for her first sip. But Mateo simply held the glass against her lip while the scents of the Scotch continued tickling her olfactory senses.
“You always take your first taste neat,” he said, moving the glass along her lip like a caress. “So you can get the full, unfiltered flavor. Sip slow, tiny mouthfuls. Take your time. Let it take you slow.”
He tilted the glass and the liquid hit her lips, slightly warm and silky.
“Hold it in your mouth for a few seconds,” he encouraged as the first sip trickled across her tongue. “It’s not just about the taste, but the sensations too. Savor it.”