24. Luke
24
LUKE
L et’s just get this straight. I’m not the jealous type. I’m not lacking in confidence either. I’m not possessive or domineering—but I do like to know where I stand. That’s only natural.
And since I feel the way I do about Daph, it’s imperative to know what’s what.
To be fair, I didn’t even wonder. I thought everything was right on track—until this guy stepped out of his black Lexus SUV with gold accents and right into our path.
Not a girlfriend.
Even the car gets up my nose. It’s a huge gleaming beast of a vehicle and I swear it exhaled like a bull when he parked right in front of The Carpe Diem Café. The thing looks like a complicated watch—you know the ones that tell you the barometric pressure and the closing prices of the stock market in Tokyo instead of just the time and date. I’m sure it has every possible option. For a moment, I think the driver is some random jerk and that the choice of ride is compensating for something.
But when he greets Daph with an enthusiasm she obviously shares, I hope the big hunk of steel gives it up in the middle of a desert somewhere sometime, just because.
Raphael Rossetti is handsome, apparently as rich as Croesus, and Daph’s so-called friend.
I do not like Rafe.
This is almost purely because Daph seems to adore him. They exchange cheek kisses and a hug that lasts a little too long. They tease each other about what they’re each wearing, admiring and critiquing like BFFs, then finally remember yours truly, waiting on the sidewalk. I think Rafe restrains an urge to toss me his keys, like I’m a carhop, and good thing, too.
He might have gotten them back in his teeth.
They are perfect teeth, so white they must be bleached, so straight he must have had braces as a kid. Maybe since. Daph introduces us and he shakes my hand heartily, his gaze locking with mine for a heartbeat. Was that an assessment or a challenge?
I don’t like it either way.
This is her friend ?
He invited himself? How is that supposed to make his presence better?
Did she dress to impress Rafe or me?
I hate having doubts. I hate feeling like our date has been crashed. I hate that she told me and I didn’t pay attention, and that I feel like a raging bull myself. But I smile and take Daph’s arm, not caring if I look proprietary, well aware that Rafe notices.
The other thing I don’t like is that he’s even here. It’s a first for me to have a woman invite another guy along on a date. Once again, Daph has knocked me sideways and I have no script for this scene. She looks amazing and keeps smiling at me, which is a great way of ensuring that I’m a complete mess of contradictory impulses.
Have I become a jealous monster?
God. I hope not.
But I am scheming to move back to Empire forever, just to be with Daph, and it would ideal if we were in agreement about the future we haven’t discussed yet.
Once again, I have the sense that I messed up and this is my own fault.
So, I try to make nice, perhaps for the first time ever.
For Daph.
Wonder of wonders, I learn when we step into the bistro that Rafe has been worshipping at Merrie’s altar for a long time. She recognizes him and berates him for some imaginary crime, threatening to withhold dessert from him. He pretends to grovel and they both visibly enjoy what must be an established game.
I try to keep from rolling my eyes, and Daph gives me a jab in the ribs with her elbow.
“Be nice,” she whispers, flicking me a dark glance.
“I told you I’m not nice.”
“Aim for polite, then.”
“Even though this is a first?” I ask, barely moving my lips.
She actually looks puzzled. Does she imagine that women routinely bring a plus-one to my supposed-to-be-romantic encounters? How pathetic would that be?
I take the chance to lean close, so close that my lips are touching her ear. She smells divine. At least she shivers, so I’m not out of the game yet. “I have never had anyone bring a date to a date before,” I breathe, and she takes a step back.
“This is not a date.”
“The hell it isn’t. I invited you to join me here for dinner.”
“But it’s business,” she protests. “The culmination of our alliance,” she says with precision and I realize she’s quoting me. She lifts a brow, waiting, and I see that’s where I went wrong.
Delivery is everything.
“Does that mean you think we’re done?”
“Aren’t we? I haven’t seen you all week.”
“Daph, I’ve been trying to plan. I’m not that good at it yet, but I’m working on my next project.” Her features don’t soften. “In Empire,” I murmur and her eyes widen. I nod and finally, she smiles.
She runs a hand down the lapel of my suit. “You mean this is for me?”
“It’s sure as hell not for Rafe,” I mutter and she laughs, the goddess who has my soul in her clutches.
She flicks a look up at me, one that is all mischief, one that sets me on fire. I realize then that her ability to drive me wild is never going to change or diminish.
“I did have hopes for a private celebration afterward,” she confesses in a whisper that makes me want to forget dinner completely.
I slide my arm around her waist, inhaling the scent of her perfume. “You mean this is for me?”
She laughs. “Someone once told me that if you want a specific outcome, you have to be prepared to influence results.”
A lot more than results are influenced by this reminder. I’m guessing that the gorgeous dress isn’t the sum of it, nor even the intoxicating perfume, the way that her nape is bare, the perfect pale lipstick. No, she’s chosen some lingerie to rock my world, and I can’t wait to peel her out of it. In that very moment, she moves and my hand lands on the back of her waist. My thumb discovers a lot of bare skin and it’s like a jolt of white lightning to realize that her dress is backless. Before I can think of a polite (comparatively public) way to proceed, her hands are on my chest and she’s leaning close.
“I thought you were going to leave after tonight,” she whispers.
“Not a chance.” There’s no place in the world for me other than Empire, and that’s because Daph is here. I can see that I need to convince her of that. “I’m staying right here,” I vow and her eyes darken.
“Did hell freeze over and I missed it?”
“No. I changed my mind.” I lean closer. “Knowing you changed my mind.”
“Oh, Luke,” she whispers, leaning against me and giving me a kiss that almost makes me forget where we are. There’s even an evil little flick of her tongue, one that would send my thoughts straight to the gutter if they weren’t already there. Then she looks up at me, eyes dancing. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood. I promise to make it up to you.” And then her hand is in my hair and her mouth is on mine and there is nothing in my universe but the sweetness of Daphne Bradshaw.
I am butter in her hands, in case you aren’t sure.
Until Rafe clears his throat pointedly. “Are we going to sit down, or do you two need a room first?”
“That’ll have to wait,” I say smoothly, keeping my arm around Daph’s waist. “Daph’s starving.” She laughs but her eyes are dark, the way they get when she’s aroused, which is the most distracting sight possible. But Rafe gestures to the bench against the wall, indicating that Daph and I should sit together there, and that suits me just fine. I like having her next to me and she must like it, too, because she presses her thigh against mine.
We’ll have to talk later about how she imagined this wasn’t a date, because it was obvious to me all along. Maybe my communication skills aren’t what they used to be.
It doesn’t matter. All is right in my world, for the moment.
Mackenzie joins us then, and it appears that she’s been fixed up with Rafe. Okay, I’m good with that. She looks wonderful in a little black dress, her long blond hair loose over her shoulders. Simple and elegant.
I prefer the elegant lady beside me, hands down.
I’m surprised to discover that it’s easy to talk with Rafe. He’s entertaining, charming, delighted about every morsel we’re served, and asks just the right number of questions. He and Daph, it seems, have a tradition of sharing food, and the two of them divide and conquer the menu so that no duplicates with be served to our table. Mackenzie and I just sit back and do as we’re told. We’re going to try it all, and Sylvia brings extra cutlery in anticipation.
I don’t miss Patrick’s arrival at the door, though I don’t acknowledge it. I hear Daph take a quick breath, but she pretends it doesn’t matter either. Sylvia seems to get it, as she seats his party on the other side of the bistro, at the furthest possible point from us.
Of course, he’s here. He thinks it’s his town and he doesn’t miss a thing. I notice that he’s with his second wife, the one he married when my mom was pregnant, and the two kids from that happy union. Daph’s hand touches my thigh in a silent sign of support that I appreciate. I give her fingers a quick squeeze, letting her know that I’m okay.
We talk about Toronto, about Empire, about the wine Sylvia has suggested. (It’s from Rhodes Vineyards and is outstanding.) Mackenzie explains more about the vineyard as Rafe asks her good questions. Rafe admires the bistro and demands the story, so I let Daph tell it while I watch them both. He laughs in the right places and razzes me about being fearless after Daph shows him the before pictures of the diner on her phone.
Okay, so maybe I don’t hate him.
Maybe I could even like him.
The vibe between the two of them is so mellow that they could be siblings. There’s no sexual tension and I wonder how I missed that.
Testosterone, alas, is not always a friend.
The starters come and Rafe whips out his phone.
“Yes, he is that person,” Daph whispers with affection and he grins, even as Mackenzie looks on with indulgence.
Rafe and I find ourselves in violent agreement about the curried lentil soup and the spring rolls, and share a lack of enthusiasm for the arugula salad with roasted figs and crumbled chèvre—which Daph loves. Mackenzie is a fan of dumplings she’s ordered and I see Phil’s influence in the mix of ingredients. Merrie has taken inspiration from his filling combinations and his mad skills in folding dumplings, and made them her own.
For the mains, I’ve chosen the tortellini with butternut squash and a cream sauce, while Daph has gone traditional with grilled lamb chops, gratin and grilled spring vegetables. The asparagus is in season, and Merrie has made the most of it, rubbing it with olive oil and salt then grilling it. I have some as a garnish on my plate and it’s included in Daph’s vegetables.
Rafe has chosen the mock porchetta with risotto, which looks and smells so terrific that I could consider eating meat again. Mackenzie has a stuffed supreme of chicken on a bed of all rice that is absolutely great. (Her asparagus is inside the chicken breast with some cheese.) Their sharing tradition makes a lot of sense and also breaks the ice—by the time the mains are done, we’ve ordered a second bottle of wine and are chatting like we’ve known each other forever.
Sylvia appears and whispers to Mackenzie that the foursome at the back in urban black have chosen the tasting flight from Rhodes Vineyards. She asks if Mackenzie might take a moment to give them vintner’s notes. Mackenzie excuses herself and heads across the bistro to do that.
Daph goes to the ladies’ room as Sylvia uncorks the second bottle.
Rafe takes an appreciative taste from the new bottle, rolls it around in his mouth, then nods approval to Sylvia. He looks like a contented lion, or an emperor savoring the perks of his position. “So, you and Daphne,” he says, fixing me with a look over the top of his glass.
“Daph and me,” I agree.
He purses his lips. “For how long?”
“Here through forever is my plan, but ladies’ choice.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips and he nods before raising his glass again.
“You and Daph?” I ask and he almost chokes.
Then Rafe laughs, a huge belly laugh that can’t have been put on. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I don’t understand. “But you’ve known each other for years.”
“Exactly!” He shakes his head.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Stupendous.” He kisses his fingertips in a chef’s kiss. “Elegant, brilliant, loyal. I love her to the moon and back, but not like that. God, no.”
His emphasis is a bit insulting. How could anyone take a pass on Daph? “Why not?”
Rafe frowns then, considering this. “It was never there. I’m not sure why. I thought once that maybe things just needed a little encouragement, but I was wrong. It was all wrong. I should have trusted my gut from the outset. But Daphne never held that night’s stupidity against me.”
So, something happened. He took a shot and was rebuffed maybe. Fair enough. “Maybe she was curious, too.”
“Maybe. But there’s nothing. There never has been and there never will be.”
He speaks with such conviction that I wonder what I’m missing.
“You’re confused,” Rafe says, helping me out. “You think we’re two of a kind, peas in a pod, that we each should have taken one look at the other and locked in for life.”
“Something like that.”
“But that’s just it. We’re too much the same. Maybe we understand each other a little too well. And maybe the ways that we’re different don’t bring us together.”
“How so?”
“Daphne has opinions and views that she will defend to her last breath. She doesn’t mind a fight for a good cause.” I nod because it’s all true. “She has dreams and goals, and isn’t afraid to pursue what she wants. She’s clever and articulate.”
“And these are bad qualities?”
“They’re great qualities. I have them, too. But the thing is that I don’t want to argue with my partner. I ride to war every day. I suit up and head out to slay dragons each morning. I deal with bullies who play hard. I hold the line and try to fight the good fight, each and every day. I work long hours and I’m compensated accordingly because I’m brilliant at what I do.”
He sips his wine and I think he’s not cocky. He’s just right.
“But here’s the thing,” he continues. “There’s a price and it’s a big one. This job, which I love, wears me out.” I see in his eyes that he’s serious. “So, when I come home, I don’t want to debate anything. I don’t even want any dissenting views. I want someone who wants what I want, just because I want it, someone who will smooth away all the irritations of everyday life so I can just be when I get home.”
He wants a traditional wife. I didn’t think anybody wanted that anymore. “You must want a woman a lot dumber than Daph.”
“I want someone less challenging than Daphne. I want a beautiful, elegant woman who is demure and deferential, ideally one who is petite and blonde.”
I cough that he’s so specific and Rafe smiles.
“I’m allowed to want a partner who suits me, and I’m allowed to have a list of expectations. Whether they’ll ever be met or not is another thing entirely.” He raises his glass. “And there’s nothing saying that the woman in question will be dumb, whenever I find her. She might just be smart enough to recognize a winning situation when she sees one.”
I suppose everyone has their price, but I don’t say it. I join his toast, raising my glass to clink it against his. “I wish you luck,” I say and he chuckles.
“You and my mother. I am informed regularly that time is wasting.” He grins, looking almost diabolical, and I have to think that any guy who listens to his mom has to be okay.
And that’s when Patrick appears beside our table.
The angel of death is making a social call.
I missed his approach because I was listening so intently to Rafe, and that feels like a failure. Hell, everything I do feels like a failure when Patrick is in the room.
“May I?” he murmurs, then slides into Daph’s seat without waiting for a reply. He eyes the wine, then Rafe—who looks both startled and affronted at the interruption—then turns his eagle eye on me.
There will be no introductions. Rafe will have to deal with that.
I’m staring straight back at Patrick, feeling my old defiance rise. He’s looking at me the way he always did, like I’m something he’d like to scrape off the bottom of his shoe, something he despises, something that just keeps coming back despite his efforts to the contrary.
That look is what keeps me coming back, to be honest. I developed an affection for being a thorn in his side at a very young and impressionable age.
“Very nice,” he says, sweeping his gaze over the restaurant. “And delicious, too.”
I nod, waiting for the kill shot. There will be one.
“It’s never going to work, though,” he says with complete confidence. His gaze swivels to meet mine again, as cold and calculating as that of a wolf on the hunt. “Sure, this will be a good opening night. And the week ahead might be good, too. People like novelty. In the summer, the place might do well on weekends, at least, when visitors come into town.” His gaze lingers on Rafe, who is obviously not local. “What happens in November, Luke?” he asks, his voice low and silky. Beelzebub sounded like this when he taunted Faust, I’m sure of it. “What happens in January? How exactly is this fine establishment going to survive our cruel winters in Empire?”
Another man might step up and offer to help. Another man, particularly one as wealthy as Patrick, might invest in the venture himself. But not Patrick. He exists to create lessons out of his own choices for everyone around him. I’ve failed in his view, and he’s going to rub my face in it.
“Perhaps you don’t know that Richard Bradshaw and I made a little wager the day I agreed to sell this place to you” he says, giving me a little nudge.
“I know.”
He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “A year. I gave you a year, but that was far too long. It won’t even take six months for you to admit defeat, because the snow comes early to Empire.” He smiles and I brace myself for whatever he intends to say next. “So, here’s my offer. I’ll buy back this place for half the price you paid me, any time before that year is out.” He taps a fingertip on the table. “But you have to come to me, and you have to ask nicely.”
“Half?”
“Market value. It’s a sad truth that properties lose value in Empire at a steady rate.”
“There’s no chance in hell of that,” I say softly.
“Isn’t there?” Our gazes lock and hold, neither of us giving an inch. Then he clears his throat, nodding toward Daph who is returning. “We’ll see.”
With that, he’s gone, striding back to the table where Candace, Madison and Ethan are waiting. They’re both looking at me as if I’m a Martian come to visit, at least until Patrick reaches the table. He must say something because they become fascinated with their plates. Candace ignores me, which is par for the course. She makes fifty look good but I wonder whether Patrick is messing around on her yet.
“Who the hell was that?” Rafe demands.
“Patrick Cavendish,” I say, then wait a beat. “My father.”
I have the satisfaction of seeing Rafe’s eyes widen so much that they might pop out of his head, then Daph slides into the seat beside me. Her hand is immediately on my thigh and I cover it with mine, giving her fingers a little squeeze.
“What was that about?” she asks quietly, her tone making it clear that she knows it was nothing good.
“He thinks he presented the proverbial offer I can’t refuse,” I say.
“And?” she asks.
I smile, having no doubt that I look a little wolfish myself, and meet Rafe’s gaze. “He’s wrong.” There’s steel in my tone because I may have finally outmanoeuvered Patrick.
The best part is that I actually don’t care what he thinks or what he wants. My plan has exactly zero to do with him, or getting even, or even proving myself. It’s about me and Daph, and finding purpose and charting a future. I can’t wait to tell her all about it.
The music is back.
Why shouldn’t the band be back?
My idea both terrifies and thrills me, still, even though I’ve purchased the theatre from Nate. Scheduling a performance and a comeback is like a chess game, and this one has high stakes. It’s the biggest project I’ve ever undertaken and that’s scary too. Wookie, our most reliable roadie, will arrive tomorrow to walk the theatre and give me his assessment. I trust him completely and am determined to pull this off.
Because it cannot fail. I don’t want to disappoint Daph. I want to tell her everything and solicit her advice, but I want to do it when we’re alone.
For the moment, there is dessert.
Sylvia brings it to the table then and I see a hardness in her eyes that echoes my own. Did Patrick even recognize her? Or did he say some asshole thing to put her in her place? I don’t know and I can’t ask, but I recognize that we’re on the same side. I have an ally in Sylvia and I might need every one of those I can find.
There’s a bread pudding studded with fruit and covered with rum sauce, a mixed berry crumble studded with nuts and topped with homemade ice cream. There is the inevitable crème brulée, not looking inevitable at all with its drizzle of blueberry coulis and garnish of fresh fruit. Rafe has some chocolate confection that looks like sin in a dish.
“Maybe a walk around town after dinner,” he says, then digs in.
I have a much better idea of how to burn off these calories but Rafe doesn’t need to hear about it. Daph slants me a look, proving our thoughts are as one, and I smile slowly. I watch her smile without looking at me and can’t wait to get home again.
Home. When did her place become home? I don’t know, but I recognize truth when I hear it and I like that just fine.