Que’s Oxford clad feet move casually down with one hand in his pant pocket and one holding tightly to my own. Whereas I can barely see in front of me, Que must have super vision because he hasn’t missed a step and seems to know exactly where his foot placement needs to be to carry us all the way down. And down we go. We must have traveled at least thirty steps at this point.Impossible.
At the bottom of the steps, I am left out of breath, still clasping tightly to Que. The floor is cement, making it colder down here as if we were in a century-old crypt. The chills move from the back of my neck and into the center of my shoulder blades. Que must realize this and sweeps his arm around me, guarding me from the chill gracefully dancing around us. Not an ounce of water floods these floors, making my head spin.
“Now this is a basement that definitely holds fine wine,” and he looks down at me with a smug smile that shows the subtlest dimple in his cheek. His hair seems to shine a beaming metallic white glow as if reflecting a full moon that doesn’t exist in these depths.
In fact, the mere lack of light glowing off the scones could not possibly be enough to make him gleam the way he does right now. Even so, I feel a little more comfortable in his presence as he moves us toward a wide and open entry with no door. Beside the entry sits a small table that has a candle sconce having a look that belongs to a few centuries before ours.
“Would you mind lighting this, love?” He asks. It sounds so very enduring and easy coming off his lips, and I can hear a hint of an accent I hadn’t noticed before.
“Oh, sure,” I say absentmindedly, and I pull out the lighter I keep for my cloves. How he assumes I have a lighter floats through my mind. He doesn’t know I smoke, but the memory of a mysterious man outside a bar comes back. That had to be him then, right? And as if he can hear my thoughts, I find him studying myreaction.
“Don’t worry, gem. We all partake in a smoke here and there.” And that’s what he leaves me with as he turns and walks into the doorless room.
The room that I thought would be small and dark is actually massive. Light from the candle bounces off mirrors that are placed in odd places along the walls, giving the entire room an expansive, warm glow.
There are huge shelves stuffed full of bottles around the room and lining the walls. Not one wall is spared. I have never seen so much wine in my life, and from the looks of it, some of these bottles are extremely old and rare.
Que strolls to the back, blows off the bottles sitting there, and grabs two.
“Ah, here we are,” Que says as he pulls them from their respective cubbies. He knows just where to go, as if he’s strolled through this cellar many times before. Placing one in my hand, I see it is indeed the exact bottle we were drinking before.
“Oh, those are the same type…” I look up at him, my eyebrows burrowing together as I try to figure out how he knew those were there, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or just doesn’t care.
“I figured we didn’t need a hangover from mixing any other varieties tonight,” he says. He is standing awfully close, and I can feel his eyes on my neck like he wants to take a bite out of it. I’m not sure I would object if he did.
Speaking of my current reserve. Where I once was standoffish to Que’s type, I’m finding his special kind of smugness a bit captivating. I just can’t shake off this sense that he may know this house better than I do.
And it is not only the wine. I feel it is this place. Every moment in this wine cellar with him harboring a deep curiosity. The longer he is here, the more I feel like he has been here before.
With his free hand, he sweeps one strand of my misplaced hair off my shoulder. The heat left behind by that small action creeps allover the surface of my skin. I do my best to ignore it and look at him, trying to get a hint of the real him.
I see so much emotion from a time past in his eyes. Pain, sadness, all barely being held together by his careless demeanor. It is love he needs. In this moment, I want to perch up on my tiptoes and kiss him. And that is what I do. I give him a quick peck on the top of his nose.
I can see it takes him off guard, because he steps back startled, unconsciously tugging at the bottom of his shirt. It doesn’t take him long to find his casual demeanor again when he swings the wine bottle up to rest on his shoulder.
“Well, if you wanted a kiss, we could have made that a whole of a lot better than just a peck,” he grins, taking my hand as we walk out of the wine cellar room.
I am a bit surprised at myself for that action, but something about him looked so vulnerable—sosad. I wanted to show him a smidge of kindness as opposed to the passion he must constantly receive from women.
“Take what you can get,” I say jokingly. His eyes darken then, and he spins around to face me, pushing me against the cold cellar wall. I gasp at the cold shock of it. The warmth from him softens it a bit.
“What I can take as opposed to what I can get are two entirely different notions. And I enjoy taking a lot more. Be careful with that smart mouth of yours.” His lips curve into a devilish grin, and his eyes dilate with moonlight.Oh.
Fear slices through my body, but it’s fear of myself and what I fear I want him to take. But before I can find out, he pushes off the wall and starts back on his way to the steps. It takes a minute for me to regain my composure, and only then do I head toward him—but not too close.
Even though his words were harsh, his impression wasn’t. Still, I keep my distance. I see there are a few more doorlessrooms, and toward the back there is a larger entry. I walk that way, curiosity getting the best of me.
The smell of damp earth comes full force, assaulting my senses the closer I get. And it is far. I feel like I am walking across the whole of the estate property in this vast basement. Time doesn’t seem to hold value inside these concrete walls. I feel myself lost in it.
Just when I think I’m getting closer to the door, a hand grabs me and pulls me back. It is Que. He looks unhinged and even bigger.How does he keep growing?
“No need for exploring tonight, little gem,” Que says, and I am unapologetically dragged upstairs, back to the dinner table with no answers to the distant room I was about to discover.
Cher is cleaning up the table and seems a bit more sober, which I’m sure she will be happy about come morning.
“What the hell were you two doing? You were gone forever,” she says in a cheerful, singsong voice. “I’ve cleaned up everything and put the leftovers in the kitchen. Que, we must leave. I am feeling absolutely dreadful after all that wine.” If she feels that way, she doesn’t sound it.
“Oh, we just grabbed more wine. How about you take one home?” I chime in, suddenly wanting them to be on their way. “There is more wine down there than I will ever need in this lifetime.”
