Darknight(17)

Hi, Aunt Rachel, I’m captive in Connor Wilcox’s apartment, but it’s okay because he’s taking really good care of me. I’m not sure I even want to come home. Hope everyone is having a wonderful Yule!

Yeah, right.

That night it was pizza and chianti.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you don’t cook,” I told Connor as he set the pizza box down on the dining room table. “You know, I could make something.”

“You could?” he inquired, looking dubious.

“I was raised by Rachel McAllister. She would have thought she was being derelict in her duty if she didn’t teach me how to cook.”

It was true; while I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was as good a cook as she was, I definitely knew my way around a kitchen. And making dinner would at least give me something to focus on. Something complicated that would take up a large chunk of the day. That sounded like a great idea.

He was still looking at me with that one raised eyebrow. It was an expression he appeared to have mastered…and one that only intensified his good looks. I forced in a breath, making myself think of possible dishes to make the following day and not how much I wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the fine, sculpted bones of his face under my fingertips.

I shivered, then said quickly, “How about tamales? We usually make up a big batch around the holidays. That, and some homemade black beans.”

“How big a batch?”

“Well, the recipe I know makes about fifty.”

“Fifty?” He’d turned slightly away from me, and was in the middle of transferring a piece of pizza to his plate when he stopped and gave me a look that told me he thought I’d taken leave of my senses. “Isn’t that a lot for two people?”

“We usually share. You can freeze some, or wrap some up to take to your clan members. Don’t you do anything for Yule?”

Studiously glancing away, he put together a plate of pizza for me before sitting down. “There’s usually a dinner on Christmas Day. Kind of a potluck thing. Damon actually hates it, but it’s a tradition, so it keeps on happening. I just figured I wouldn’t be going this year.”

Because of me, I mentally finished for him. He probably didn’t dare risk taking me out of the house before our bond was complete, but on the other hand, he was just enough of a nice guy that he didn’t want to leave me alone on Christmas. I almost told him he didn’t have to worry about that, but I decided to leave it for now.

“Well, even if you don’t go, you can still provide something for the potluck. Consider it a peace offering from the McAllister clan to the Wilcoxes.”

“Maybe.”

That was all he seemed willing to give me for the moment, so I let it go and concentrated on my pizza and wine. The pizza was decent — nothing gourmet like I’d get at Grapes or at Bocce down in Cottonwood — but it was rich and laden with cheese, so I couldn’t complain too much.

“But it’s okay if I make tamales?”

He sighed, and reached out to take a drink from his glass. “Sure. Give me a list, and I’ll try to get out and go shopping tomorrow morning before the gallery opens.”

His tone was still not all that enthusiastic, but I decided to ignore it for now. Maybe he just wasn’t looking forward to braving the crowds at the supermarket, where everyone would be fighting over the last bags of fresh cranberries and Jell-O mix or something. He’d probably be even less thrilled when he saw some of the specialized items I’d need, but I’d have to risk that.

At least I had a plan.



* * *



Having asked for a pencil and paper the night before, I was able to hand over my shopping list the next morning. The lengthy list of ingredients and tools provoked another raised eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything until he got to the part where I’d drawn another line across the page and written down another, smaller list of more items.

“Duck…port…dark cherries?” he inquired. “That doesn’t sound like any tamale I’ve ever had.”

“It’s not for that,” I replied. “It’s for Christmas Eve. I don’t have to make it, though — maybe I should have asked if you had plans with Damon or something.”

“Damon?” he repeated, and shook his head. “Hardly. Damon’s not exactly the holiday spirit type. Anyway, he doesn’t recognize Christmas as a holiday. He just does the potluck because it’s a family tradition. We do celebrate Yule, of course, although that was sort of…disrupted…this year.”

Because of me. Well, to be more precise, because of their kidnapping of me. I sure wasn’t going to feel guilty for screwing up their Yule celebrations.