“I suppose the property is my favorite part. There is an old willow by the water I’m quite fond of. But mostly, I like the stillness of it all here. The house. The property. It just…is.” I admit, realizing my tongue led me to be more sincere that I would like.
I look around, bashful at my openness. But I am not met with judgement. As I look at these two dinner guests, who are strangers really, only empathy sits at this dinner table. Especially Que, who eyes me with intention. The spell is broken quickly.
“Let’s hear more of your thoughts about the other trees. I bet there is quite a variety here, including a famed oak. Rumor has it, it’s well over five hundred years old. Right, Cher?” And they look at each other in an oddly deceiving way. I find it hard to believe that a tree on the estate would be on anyone’s radar for town gossip. But, this is a strange place.
“Thereisa big, old oak. Massive really. A largelimb broke the other day. It took out one of the other trees near it during the storm last week.” With my declaration of that fact, or maybe it was when the word ‘oak’ came out of my mouth, Que’s moon-colored ring around his iris flashed an iridescent twinkle impossible to miss.
“Imagine that.” Que says, looking at me intensely. Cher breaks the silence by smacking her red lips together. A sure hint to keep the mood light.
We change the topic to Cher’s work at the record shop. It’s a lighter conversation, and I find out she has just moved back to town from an extended vacation. Her record shop being on a bit of a sabbatical until now.
Hungry and sightly tipsy, we make our way to the dinner table, piling food high on our plates. Charm oozes from both of them as if they’ve practiced wooing newcomers their whole lives. And every once in a while, I find Que’s eyes locked on mine, which makes my skin tingle.
I could go without that added reaction, having enough on my plate with Ry’s confusing advances. I don’t want to like it, but he is exceptionally handsome. It would be odd if I didn’t find it at least a little pleasing.
By the time we finish eating, we are feeling quite good from the two bottles of wine that now sit empty, littered across the dining table.
“Oh, shoot. Looks like we are out of wine,” Cher pouts, her mouth making somewhat of a dramatic statement with full lips stained a wine-colored cherry hue.
“I could only find the two bottles upstairs. I’m sure there are more somewhere around here, but I haven’t had the nerve to venture around to look very hard for them.” I say, and I realize the wine is making my lips looser than I would like.
I am loving this company, but something sets me on edge about the way Cher and Que seem to know things about the property and even about my uncle, for that matter. All dinner they’ve beenspilling little facts and secrets like they know more than the average towny.
And then, Que stands with mischief in his eyes.
“Well, shall we?” He holds his hand out to me.
“Shall we what?” I ask a bit confused and off balance by the sudden change of sitting down version of Que, to him towering over me in his full height. He isn’t the tallest man, maybe six foot at best, but charisma oozes off him and must add at least two feet of allure. An allure that he knows most women respond eagerly to.
“Well, we are out of wine, and I imagine there is a wine cellar is this massive estate. So, shall we have a look around?” He says to me in such a casual way, you would think we’ve known each other for years.
“Oh, yes, please!” Cher declares, looking to me, her eyes ecstatic. “I am in need of more libations!” She stands up, but wobbles a bit, obviously feeling the effects of the numerous glasses she has drunk already. I find her choice of words humorous, coming from a time that doesn’t quite fit this one.
“Well, I guess maybe I should sit this one out. I’ll stay here with the brownies while you two look. Please and thank you!” I giggle at how she speaks, or maybe it is from the fact that I too have had more than a few glasses.
Because of this giggle, I almost miss the look Cher directs toward the charming man beside me. It’s an omniscient look that passes between the two of them. And before I can make much of it, I am whisked out of my chair by my arm and dragged toward the basement—feeling pleased that I slipped off my heels under the table before I was stolen out of my seat to look for the lost wine. Otherwise, I would be tripping all over myself even more so than I already am.
Que keeps dragging me forward hand in hand and looks back every once in a while to shoot a mischievous look. I’m feeling overly bubbly and welcoming of his overwhelming presence. His manner having a way of slowlygrowing on me.
That is until we come to the basement door.
“Oh no, I don’t think they would be down there.” I exclaim, knowing my words taste untruthful and are based more in fear than anything else.
“Youdoknow that most wine cellars are in basements. I truly doubt you are that dense,” Que says and crooks his eyebrow at me like he can see through my facade.
“True, but not in Louisiana…In fact, I’m very curious how there is even one here at all. It can’t be safe. Probably flooded…” I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m talking about.
“Ah, yes. But this is a very curious house. Things that shouldn’t be—are. Or so I’ve heard…” After his unsettling remark, Que opens the door.
A stale and musty air blows my hair back, tickles my shoulders, and makes my stomach drop. I tense at the feeling of the old, cool breeze against my skin, but it seems as if Que is feeding off of its energy. He looks taller, bolder, and even more enchanting, if that can even be possible.
Que eyes me then, and oh, that look. Nobody should be the owner of such a look. My stomach falls further, but this time into a scattering of butterflies. And even more so when Que remarks with a lick of his lips and a wink of his eye.
“Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand,” he says, and with that comment, I would follow him to the edge of the world.
I guess it’s decided then, because my legs involuntarily follow his as I’m whisked away by his offer. Weaving my fingers through his in a vice grip, we cautiously move down the steps into what I can only imagine is a very unstable foundation. There are small scones that light the way down, and Que turns each one on with a twist as if he has done it a million times before.
The air gets heavier and earthier the farther we move down the steps. The smell of moss clings to my nostrils, making an impenetrable barrier, so I can smell only that. I attribute it to the depth of thebasement itself, as if we were walking farther and farther into the earth’s core.
