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“I haven’t decided about the show,” she told him, hoping to get rid of him and his strange energy.
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he was looking around the room, his eyes cataloging everything, measuring their worth in a way that had Marie wanting to run around throwing herself in front of her chutneys.
It was amazing how the inherent femininity of the place made Van seem that much more masculine. Tall, rangy, not quite handsome. Commanding in a mysterious sort of way, he was only more so in the pale blue room surrounded by the very real-looking fake grapevine she had wrapped around the rustic wooden pillars and ceiling beams. He reached up and tugged on the grapevine and a piece fell off in his hand.
“Sorry,” he said, wincing, slipping the fake vine into his pocket.
Deep inside Marie’s head things began short-circuiting.
“So Van, we don’t have anything to talk about.” She grew even more annoyed when his silence continued. He bent to examine the labels on her homemade vinaigrette.
“Are people really buying this stuff?” he asked, like he was peering into the underwear rack at a used clothing store.
“Yes, they do.”
“Amazing.” His tone implied he couldn’t believe it.
Marie tried deep yoga breaths, combined with calming thoughts and it did nothing to combat her irritation. “So feel free to show yourself out.” Jodi was beginning to laugh and Marie shrugged at her assistant. What was she supposed to do? “Van…”
“Your place is beautiful, Marie. Absolutely beautiful. I’ve seen pictures, but they don’t do it justice.”
Marie’s mouth fell open. She was so startled that she couldn’t say anything for a few moments. Finally, when she was getting her breath back to respond, he turned to her.
“I came to apologize for my part in the ambush today.” With a sheepish smile he held out a bottle of wine. She shifted her weight to one leg and leaned against the long wooden counter, feeling like the ground had moved under her feet. Van, apologizing? Bearing gifts? Maybe I was wrong….
She turned to Jodi, who was staring at Van like the man had come in on a golden carriage. “Jodi, go ahead and go home,” she murmured.
“You going to be okay?” Jodi asked under her breath as they watched Van turn and bend down in front of the dessert case and Marie took a moment to admire the view. Awful eyebrows, but not too bad from the back.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.
Van straightened and looked up at Marie’s ceiling. “He looks…dangerous,” Jodi breathed.
Marie frankly couldn’t agree more but she rolled her eyes and pushed her assistant toward the door. “You need some sleep. See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Jodi whispered and ran out the door.
He walked over to the dark salad case. “I can leave—after we talk.” He tapped the glass with his finger. “You buy this used? Looks used. Can you turn the light on?”
Unbelievable. The guy was just…unbelievable. Marie straightened and strolled over to the salad case, she rested her arms on it and her head was close to his.
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” she said with a smile that was pretty hard to muster up, “and guess that you have no idea how rude you are being.”
He stood upright, obviously alarmed. “I’m sorry,” he said, wincing. “I am. I am sorry. Marie, I did not mean to come in here and alienate you further. I’ve never been here before. It’s…” He took a deep breath, his hand touched his mouth and then the scar at his lip.
That’s adorable, she thought, knowing that she shouldn’t fall for this little show of regret. “Truce. Honestly.” He put the wine bottle on top of the case and she noted that he had brought some serious ammunition with a hundred-dollar bottle of Shiraz.
“Let me pour you some wine. I can have some of your marinated root salad everyone in the city is raving about and we can talk about AMSF?”
He smiled, sincerely with warmth and it changed everything. His face became something much more than interesting. He became arrestingly handsome.
“Marie?” She realized she had been staring at Van for a few silent moments.
“Sure,” she said with far too much volume, suddenly in overdrive, despite her better sense that told her that sharing a bottle of wine with this guy in her current tired and marginally attracted state would only come to no good. “Why not?”
“Is that a mural?” he asked pointing up at the painting on her ceiling.
“Yes.”
“Are those…?” He tilted his head and squinted.
“Yes, they are cherubs wearing aprons,” she told him on a huffy breath. She almost wished he would go back to rude; she could handle rude Van.
“So?” Van looked around at all the chairs up on the tables and then at her. He raised one of those eyebrows in a silent command/query.
“Go ahead,” she said, gesturing to the chairs. “I’ll grab some glasses.”
“No root salad?” he asked and she couldn’t quite make out the tone in his voice. Laughter?
“No root salad,” she told him. She grabbed two of her red wineglasses and came back to the table. Van had taken down both chairs and from one of the big front pockets of his black chef’s jacket he pulled out a corkscrew. With smooth, deft effort that Marie was somehow compelled to watch, he had the bottle open in moments.
“The photos of you don’t quite do you justice,” he said, seemingly focused on the task at hand. Marie’s eyes narrowed. She should have guessed that Van would be smarmy. Genetics had been kind to her for some reason and most men seemed to believe that the size of her breasts had an inverse relationship to the size of her brain. She waited for some wildly inappropriate comment about her boobs or her eyes or…
“You’re much taller than in the photos.”
She swallowed, her anger lessening as his gaze rested a little too long and a little too warm on her face. There were things he wasn’t saying.
“You look shorter,” she said.
“Let’s allow that to breathe.” Van set the bottle down on the edge of the table with a casual ownership that put her teeth on edge. He crossed his legs with a comfortable masculine grace.
Short and sweet, Marie.
“We don’t have that kind of time, Van.” She grabbed the bottle and poured, expertly, exactly four ounces of wine in each glass.
“Salute.” She tapped her glass to his and then sipped the dark red liquid. It was fantastic, mellow, dark and oaky. The kind of wine she loved. “It’s wonderful.”
“It would be even better in ten minutes,” he snapped, the sharpness of the comment belied by the tone of his voice, like he knew what she was doing. He smiled wickedly at her over the edge of his wineglass, his long fingers holding the delicate stem as he swirled the wine.
Oh my, she thought before she could stop herself.
“Let’s cut to the chase here, Van.” Marie sat back in her chair. She’d drink a glass of wonderful wine and send the pirate chef on his way. She opened her mouth to let him have it.
“You’re a coward,” Van interjected into the silence. It seemed he was bent on cutting to a different chase.
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