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And if I could just be cool and not stare at him, that would be great.
“We have a corkscrew and a guest,” announced Smith, opening the wine and filling up the waiting glasses. “You take this one, Ani.”
“Thank you.” I accepted the drink from the gentle giant and took the seat farthest from the lord of the manor. “Looks like you’re all moved in.”
“Don’t be too impressed,” said Smith. “He paid people to unpack and do all this for him.”
“Well, the house looks great. The furniture is perfect.”
“Yeah. Grace had amazing style,” said Smith with a soft smile.
Garrett’s frown escalated alarmingly at the mention of his deceased wife’s name.
“Buying this place was her idea for their retirement. She actually chose the—”
“That’s enough,” said Garrett.
Smith frowned and grabbed another glass off the cool old silver-and-glass bar cart. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”
“You have a bar cart but no corkscrew?” I asked.
Garrett’s gaze stayed glued to the guitar strings. “I don’t drink wine.”
“Heathen,” mumbled Smith.
“Maybe I should go.” I uncrossed my legs. On a scale of one to ten for awkwardness, tonight was sitting at a solid eleven. “Let you two visit in peace.”
Smith poured his drink in silence. But the look he gave his friend was weighty.
“If you don’t at least drink his fine wine first, you’ll hurt his feelings,” said Garrett, eventually.
“That’s true. I’m much more delicate than I look.” Smith raised his glass. “A toast to new friends.”
Garrett and I both raised our glasses and drank. I tried to savor the experience, but the atmosphere was against me.
“You can really taste the caramel,” enthused Smith. The man might look like a Viking, but apparently he had a fine palate. “And that hint of nuts it’s got going on.”
I smiled and took another sip. “It’s lovely.”
Garrett set aside his glass without comment. “Can I have a beer now?”
“Yes, I will fetch your boorish ass a beer. Don’t know why I bother. You can bring a whore to culture, but you can’t make him drink,” mumbled Smith as he wandered out of the room.
The moment we were alone, I leaned forward and said, “It really is okay if you’d rather I leave.”
“If you go, Smith will lecture me for the rest of the damn night. You have to stay now.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just basking in the warmth of your welcome.” I made myself comfortable in the chair, nursing my glass of wine. And yay me for managing to look at him directly without spontaneously orgasming or blushing or any of that nonsense. “Let me guess, you think I’m going to run to the media and sell them juicy tales about you. Am I right, Garrett?”
His gaze was flat and unfriendly.
“You are sadly predictable, neighbor.”
“I should just start trusting strangers now?”
“Notice the lack of locals stopping by to get a look at the new rock star in town?”
His jaw shifted. “You haven’t told anyone.”
“No. I haven’t. Though I do feel weird withholding it from my friends. But I get that it’s important to you to remain anonymous.”
For a long moment, he just studied me, then he gave me a begrudging, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Hey, everybody’s getting along,” said Smith, returning with a bottle of beer. “That’s great.”
“So great.” I smiled. “And this wine is delicious.”
Which was when a whole lot of commotion entered the room. Nails scrambled for purchase against the polished wooden floor. Then a deep, mighty “woof” was heard. A dog that was approximately the size of a horse bounded into the parlor and rushed straight at Garrett.
“Gene,” said Garrett, holding onto the guitar with one hand while attempting to hold back the dog with the other. “You woke up, huh? How about you don’t . . . okay. That’s enough.”
Once the Great Dane had managed to cover the man’s face in dog spit via his large and long pink tongue, he about-faced to check out the rest of the room. His whole body vibrated with excitement, his tail wagging double time. That’s when he spied me. I could see the adoration come to life in his eyes. The intent for us to be together for all time, or at least tonight, was clear as day.
“Oh no,” was all I managed before he bounded across the room at me. Then, well over a hundred pounds of excited canine made himself at home in my lap. Lucky for both of us, I managed to hold my glass of wine out to the side in time. “Hey there, puppy.”
“Gene. Shit.” Garrett appeared at my side and grabbed hold of the dog’s collar. “C’mon, get down. You’re going to crush her.”
With a huff of disappointment, the dog obeyed. But he didn’t go far. Paws back on the rug, he leaned against my legs and would go no farther. I ran my hand over his head, the short, soft fur like velvet beneath my palm. The doggo was a tactile delight. He was dark gray, apart from the white around his muzzle. And his collar was thick leather in that same sky blue with silver studs. Very cool.
