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“It all came from the old country,” says one of the twins as he reaches around me to pull out my chair. He gestures toward it invitingly and I maneuver into it, allowing him to nudge it underneath me.
“The old country?”
Stan takes the arm chair at the head of the table, to my left. He perches his elbows on the table and clasps his hands in front of him. He really does look like the patriarch of the family, sitting there at the head of the table as though he's accustomed to commanding things.
“Germany… well, Bavaria actually. Our grandfather had a lot of these things imported once the orchard began to be profitable.”
All of a sudden a deep, thunderous gong blares in the front hallway. It chimes seven times in a row, taking my breath away. No one else seems to be troubled by it.
“That's the grandfather clock,” Stan informs me. “Handmade, in perfect condition. Black Forest clock making is the best in the world, you know.”
I just shrug helplessly. “Actually, I really wouldn't know, but I believe you. My family hasn't ever been true collectors. We’re more travelers. We keep it pretty lightweight.”
“Where have you traveled?” one twin asks.
“Um,” I start as the other twin slides into the seat next to me.
“I'm Tim,” he smiles kindly. “I have a scar on my eyebrow, you see? Here? Tom pushed me into the stream.”
“You fell, you clumsy jerk,” Tom objects.
Tim’s hand drifts up toward his brow, pointing out the bare notch in an otherwise perfect arch of sable colored hair. Somehow it only points out the relative perfection of his rest of his face: the chiseled angles, the stubble, the thick jaw and neck.
“That really does help,” I admit.
“So you've been all over? The world?” Tom continues.
“Mostly just the US,” I shrug. “My mom tends to find documentary subjects in remote areas so we’ve explored the Rockies, the high desert, the Everglades. Places like that.”
“So you’re an adventurer!” Tom winks.
“I guess you could say that,” I shrug, blushing as he smiles at me. It feels good to be admired, I have to admit.
Suddenly the dining room door swings open and two more perfect specimens of manhood stride in. They both seem to be slightly older than me, and fairly good copies of the other three men at the table. They smile at me in welcome, holding enormous platters of steaming food. My stomach tumbles over itself and grumbles in response.
“Vanessa? These are our other brothers, Hank and Charlie, the youngest. Though I bet he is probably a little older than you… How old did you say you are?”
I hesitate to answer, because Hank and Charlie are both unabashedly looking me over, pinning me to my seat with their eyes. They seem to be measuring me up, inspecting me with a sort of brazenness I wouldn't expect.
“Twenty-one… No, twenty-two. I just had a birthday,” I explain in a hoarse voice.
“Excellent! And happy birthday!” Charlie announces. His smile is both knowing and relieved, as though my age is something the brothers had discussed among themselves before I arrived.
He sets his platter down in the middle of the table, allowing a couple of corncobs to spill over one side. It's heaped with sausages, chunks of potato and squash, corn and hunks of steak.
“I hope you like mixed grill,” Hank says politely as he sets his tray down as well and sits at the opposite end of the table from Stan. He seems to squint at me, almost as though slightly suspicious. His smile is pleasant, though, and then the expression is gone. Maybe I didn't really see it after all.
“I told you she wasn’t underage,” Tom smirks at Stan as he mounds his plate with mostly meat. Gleaming chunks tumble over each other as he plucks them from the pile.
“That's enough, Tom,” Stan and scowls.
They exchange looks, and Tom seems to nod his understanding of whatever the meaning was of the look Stan shot him.
“Did I seem to be underage?” I ask uncertainly. “Did we talk about that last night? I mean… I don't remember talking about that…”
Tim leans toward me, his shoulder brushing against mine. I have an instant, vivid flash of memory from being next to him last night, his fingers stroking my panties, his expression intense with concentration.
My belly clenches in response to the fantasy, reminding me just how good that felt. And now here they all are, five handsome men, staring at me expectantly. Five men who could just as easily be wolves in a fairytale. Who could just as easily want to gobble me up.
