Chapter 12
The kitchen was quiet when they walked in, only Henny and Basil still at the table, a dusty bottle of cognac between them.
“We’re killing an hour,” Rafe said, moving into the large room. “Feel like feeding us?”
Henny met his gaze. “Here?”
“Here would be good.” Rafe lifted his chin in the direction of the table. “Is that the ’75?”
“None other. Want a taste?”
“Of course they do.” Basil was already reaching behind him for two more glasses from a massive cabinet painted in Provencal colors. “Eighteen seventy-five was a very good year.” He slid the glasses across the table. “Please, sit. Do you want company?”
“That’s why we’re here.” His friends were safety and comfort and if he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, they’d grab him by the shoulders and pull him back from the edge.
“I figured. You lit a fire under Aleix, I hear.” When something was dodgy, Basil always felt it first, like splinters in the air. A survival technique learned early. “We’ll lock you in for an hour.”
Rafe grinned. “Is nothing private? I suggest you ignore them as much as possible,” he added, smiling at Nicole as he pulled out a yellow wooden chair for her. “We’ve known one another too long.”
“Not a problem. Fiona and I share everything too. That’s what comes from being friends since grade school.”
Henny came to his feet and ran his palm over his close-cropped head as though triggering his action mode. “Any special requests? American food, French, Italian, snacks?”
Rafe looked at Nicole; she shook her head. “Whatever you have that won’t take much time,” he said, sitting next to Nicole. “I’m serious about the hour time limit.”
“Ah, impetuous young love,” Henny mocked, walking to a wall of refrigerators. “It warms the heart and gives new meaning to the word appetite.”
Rafe rolled his eyes, and, pouring them cognac, said under his breath, “I can’t shut him up. I hope you don’t mind.” He flicked his gaze to the cognac level, then across the table to Basil. “This obviously isn’t your first bottle.”
Basil shrugged. “I haven’t been counting.”
“I’m guessing Henny drank more than his share. Is he in any shape to make supper?”
“He can always cook, drunk, high, or sober. You know that. Simon said you’re thinking about Split,” Basil said, Henny’s state of inebriation so common as to be incidental. “A large party or small?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Mireille is in London for a week if you want Henny’s food in Split.”
“You okay with going to Split, Henny?” Rafe called out. Mireille liked her husband home as much as possible, so Henny arranged his schedule around his wife’s.
“I’m free for a week.” Henny’s voice came from the depths of the refrigerator. “Take me anywhere.”
Rafe glanced at Basil. “You?”
“Sure. I never have plans.” Basil gave new meaning to the word introvert; even his poetry and documentary films were supremely esoteric.
“We’ll figure out something then.” Rafe dipped his head and smiled at Nicole. “Henny’s wife’s in London, so we can have company. Unless you have reservations.”
“None.” She smiled. “You decide.”
Rafe leaned in close and kissed her, a quick, cognac-tasting kiss. “Where have you been all my life?” he whispered, his comment innocent of reason, his smile disarming.
“Waiting to be found by you,” she whispered back, aware of how charming and practiced he was and not caring.
Basil didn’t know where to look for a moment. Henny stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, his arms laden with food, his mouth agape. The Rafe they knew was legendarily unromantic.
Immune to his friends’ shock, Rafe slid his chair back, picked Nicole up off her chair, and set her on his lap. “There, that’s better,” he said with a smile. “Want me to feed you?”
“Do fish swim?”
Rafe laughed. “Goddamn. I’m not even going to try to figure this out.”
“Me either. Not for thirty days.”
He lifted his brows. “So no two weeks?”
She shook her head rather than try to put her contradictory feelings into words.
He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, but no way was he going to prolong this discussion with thirty days of red-hot sex on the horizon. “Ready to see what Henny found for us to eat?” Looking up, he smiled at his friend, who quickly shut his mouth. “What? I can’t be affectionate?”