Darknight(13)

No, if he was going out to get food, I thought maybe I should do what I could to get the table set for us. Otherwise, our dinner could get cold while he was trying to get everything put together. That seemed like a valid reason. I didn’t want admit that I might be trying to help him out in any way.

I already knew where the glasses were, so I pulled out some clean ones. The next cupboard over contained the plates, and a drawer directly underneath held place mats. In the drawer next to that was the silverware. It didn’t take much time for me to get the table set.

When I was getting out the glasses, I’d also seen wine glasses, but I left those inside the cupboard. Connor hadn’t made any mention of having anything stronger than water to drink. Probably just as well. Sharing a bottle with him might have unforeseen consequences…even though I felt like I could use a glass of wine or two after that confrontation with Damon Wilcox.

Once I was done with the table, I went back to the living room and shuffled through the cable channels until I got to the music-only ones. Judging by what he’d been listening to when I woke up this morning, Connor wasn’t exactly a Top-40 kind of guy, and classic rock didn’t feel right, either. But then I found a station with instrumental guitar music, and since we were eating Spanish food, that seemed like a good fit to me. I turned the sound down a little so it wouldn’t be too intrusive, then waited for him to return.

He seemed to be gone a long time. Maybe the restaurant was busy; it was Saturday night, after all. But eventually, almost a half hour after he’d left, he returned carrying several bags of food, and with a wine bottle tucked under one arm.

Obviously he didn’t have the same reservations about drinking wine that I did.

A flicker of surprise passed over his face when he saw the table, but he only said, “Thanks for getting everything ready. That’ll make things go faster.” He set the bottle down on the kitchen counter and then started pulling small white carry-out containers from the bag and transferring their contents to an assortment of plates and bowls.

There really was quite a variety. I couldn’t tell what everything was, but it sure smelled good.

“Can you start taking this stuff to the table while I open the wine?”

I nodded, again wondering at his ability to act so casual when this was anything but a simple dinner date. But I realized I was hungry, and it seemed best to go with the flow for the moment. Better that than starting a silly argument that wouldn’t solve anything and would only let the food get cold.

Carrying everything to the table made me realize how much food Connor had actually brought. This seemed enough for four people, tapas portions or no. But it did keep me busy, and by the time I’d set down the last bowl — filled with an amazing, spicy mushroom dish — he was done opening the wine and had come to the table with the bottle and a pair of oversized red wine glasses.

The easiest thing to do was sit down, put my napkin in my lap, and act perfectly normal. I left the place at the head of the table for Connor and took the spot to his left. That way I was facing out into the apartment. The windows now were two black mirrors, filled by the fast-falling night of midwinter.

“Ever had malbec?” he asked, pouring some for me.

“Yes,” I replied, and allowed myself a small smile at his expression of surprise. “We take wine very seriously in the Verde Valley, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” He tipped an equal amount into his own glass and then set down the bottle. “I just didn’t think you grew malbec grapes there.”

“We don’t. But Grapes — that’s a restaurant in Jerome — serves all kinds of wine from all over the world. I’ve tried pretty much all of them.”

“I’m impressed. When I was your age, most of the girls I knew were more into Jell-O shots or rum and Cokes or maybe mojitos if they were being really sophisticated.”

“‘When I was your age’?” I lifted the glass and sipped; the malbec was good, big and fruity, with a velvety feel on the tongue. “What are you, a whole five years older than I am?”

“Something like that.” He raised his glass to me. “Happy birthday.”

I wished he hadn’t reminded me. Was that the point of this elaborate spread, to try to soften the blow of my being here with him and away from my family and friends on my birthday? I almost told him to go to hell, but for some reason I couldn’t force the words past my lips. It was pretty obvious he was doing his best to make things as easy for me as he could, and equally obvious that, while he’d behave as his brother asked up to a point, he certainly wasn’t going to force me into any intimacies I didn’t want.