Once she’d covered every blank wall space on all seven floors with her dire warnings of death and destruction, she returned to her office on the first floor to tackle the growing pile of paperwork and answer a few emails. It was no wonder she was behind. When you were busy trying to stop a megalomaniacal wizard bent on world domination—okay, slightly melodramatic, but true nonetheless—you tended to spend more time practicing life-saving spells than pushing papers. Today, however, she was taking a break from practicing magic. In the case of spell casting, all work and no play meant you got burned out, sloppy, and careless, which usually ended up getting you killed.
After a few productive hours in her office, she headed home to clean the house, do laundry, dishes, and all the other little things she’d been neglecting. Not only did straightening the house help her relax, but she was also expecting a guest that evening.
Ever since their unexpectedly short date last Friday, Richard had been calling her every day, leaving apologetic messages and attempting to reschedule a makeup date. While she appreciated his concern and proactive planning, he obviously didn’t know much about interacting with introverts. Pestering was the absolute worst way to get on an introvert’s good side. Every time her phone rang and she saw his number pop up, she silently begged him to go away and leave her alone. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go on another date, or even that she didn’t want to talk to him. It was just a really bad time. Her conflicted feelings about Sebastian, of course, had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.
Finally, out of common decency and politeness, she’d called him back. Unwilling to venture out again with the possibility of being left stranded, she’d decided to invite him to a low-key dinner at her place: lasagna and salad with a healthy dose of chess pie to top it off. While she preferred foods not battered, fried, or drowned in butter, she was still, at heart, a Southerner. Chess pie was basically in her DNA. One of the most simple yet delicious southern desserts, it was the ultimate pantry pie: an adaptable recipe easily made with common ingredients found at home. It was also insanely sweet. While Lily was a purist when it came to hot tea—only heathens took sugar with their tea—she had a definite sweet tooth where dessert was concerned. She liked making chess pie because it was quick and simple, and she didn’t have time to plan anything more elaborate.
While she still felt a nagging discomfort at the thought of Richard in her house, it was a far better compromise than her going to his house where she would be completely vulnerable. The fact that she thought of herself as ‘vulnerable’ around him probably should have raised a red flag or two, but she figured it was normal dating jitters. She didn’t exactly have vast amounts of experience when it came to dating, or men, or relationships in general. This was the very first person she’d ever had a second date with, and definitely the only one who looked, and acted, like a man—a fact that made her delightfully warm every time she thought about it. Her online dating profile had seemed to attract an inordinately large percentage of males who either still lived in their mother’s basement, or hadn’t bothered to learn the basics of English grammar, both of which excluded them from the “man” category in her book.
So her house it was. She studiously ignored her pesky doubts, including Sebastian’s words of warning. It wasn’t like he’d ever taken her advice when it came to Tina. Besides, having Richard over to dinner at her house killed two birds with one stone. Three, actually. It kept her on her home turf where she felt at ease and in control, and it wouldn’t leave her feeling abandoned if he had to leave early. Lastly, she’d decided to broach the topic of Sebastian—getting him out of jail, of course, not her feelings for him. Not that she had feelings for him. At least not feelings that meant anything.
A grain of common sense pointed out that it might not be wise to discuss a murder investigation with an FBI agent without a lawyer present, but if there was any chance he might help, it would be worth it. If the evening went well, and Richard seemed in a generous mood, she would bring it up before he left.
Of course, not being the only resident in her apartment did pose a slight problem, especially since said resident was not her date’s biggest fan.
“Kip, I want you to stay in the bedroom while Richard is here,” she said with as much authority as she could muster while strapped into an apron and up to her elbows in tomato sauce. “I’d like to have dinner with him in peace and quiet without worrying about you causing a scene.” She glared down at the cat who sat at her feet, watching her add the ground beef to the lasagna with an eagle’s eye, ready to “retrieve” any piece foolish enough to attempt an escape.
“I promise not to cause a scene,” he said distractedly, eyes fixed on her hands as they moved back and forth. “Unless, of course, a scene is needed,” he added after a pause, tail-tip twitching.
Lily pursed her lips, finishing with the last layer of noodles, tomato sauce, and cheese before covering the whole dish and sliding it into the oven. Rinsing off her red-splattered extremities, she turned to her cat, hands on hips.
“I shall not require your ‘intervention,’ thank you very much. You will remain in the bedroom, or else. If I catch sight of a single hair or whisker, you’ll be getting that long-overdue bath you’ve been avoiding for weeks now.”
With the ground beef thoroughly tainted with tomato sauce and guarded by the fiery furnace, Sir Kipling had turned his full attention to her. At the mention of a bath, he glared daggers, ears put back in feline displeasure. Lily raised a hand, pointing it toward the bedroom as she banished him with a word.
“Shoo.”
He didn’t budge, but instead raised a back leg over his head to ostentatiously clean his posterior.
“Whatever,” Lily grumbled, knowing a lost battle when she saw one. She turned back to the counter, seeing to a few last preparations before shedding her apron and heading to the bathroom for a shower. Calling over her shoulder, she left the room with a warning. “If you’re not in the bedroom by the time he’s supposed to arrive, I’ll carry you there myself.”
In retrospect, Lily thought as she let streams of hot water wash away the dust and stress, it probably wasn’t wise to telegraph her battle strategy. She wouldn’t be surprised if she emerged from the shower and discovered her cat had disappeared, only to reappear at the least opportune moment. She was inclined to worry but comforted herself with the thought that Richard was a skilled and respected FBI agent. He could handle something as simple as a scheming cat. Probably.
To her great surprise, she found Sir Kipling sleeping—or at least pretending to sleep—on the bedcovers when she re-entered the bedroom wrapped in a towel. She eyed him suspiciously, but he ignored her, so she turned her attention to picking just the right outfit. It needed to be casual, yet attractive. But not too attractive. She wanted to encourage Richard’s interest, not wave a red flag in his face. Not that she owned any flag-waving outfits. Well, there was that one little black dress, but that was for cocktail parties. Her taste in fashion followed a more conservative bent with a vintage twist. She settled on a demure grey cotton dress with white polka dots. Its simple A-line skirt, cap sleeves, and v-neckline were elegant without being fancy. If the v-neck dipped a bit lower than most of her other outfits, well, she would just have to make do.
She finished her hair—a simple twist with plenty of bangs left loose to curl around her face and neck—and makeup just in time. At the sound of her doorbell, she rushed from the bedroom, giving Sir Kipling one last warning glare before shutting the door and hurrying to the front of the apartment. She slowed as she reached it, taking a deep breath and fixing a smile on her face before opening the door in an unhurried fashion.
Richard Grant stood on the doorstep, once again effortlessly handsome in crisp slacks and a button-down shirt. He even wore a tie this time, though Lily wasn’t sure if he was putting forth extra effort due to a guilty conscience, or if he was simply trying to impress her. Either way, it worked. She had to force herself to stop admiring his finely chisel
ed form, instead fixing her eyes on his face as she welcomed him in with a smile. He held another bouquet of roses, which he presented as he stepped across the threshold.
“To make up for the ones we accidentally left in my car,” he said with an apologetic smile.
“They’re lovely,” Lily said, thanking him warmly. They really were quite pretty, if lacking in the fragrance department—one of the pitfalls of greenhouse flowers bred for sturdiness, not scent. Turning, she led him through to the kitchen, motioning him to a chair as she got out a vase for the flowers. With her back turned to him, she didn’t realize he hadn’t taken the proffered seat until a few minutes later after she’d finished arranging them and picked up the whole confection to set it on the dining room table.
To her surprise, and displeasure, he’d wandered back into her living room and was now examining her bookshelves with obvious interest. While she was pleased by his interest in books, she wasn’t thrilled at the thought of him wandering around her house at will. Why did she feel like she had to keep an eye on him?
Shaking her head, she set down the flowers and joined Richard in the living room, watching with interest as he ran reverent fingers over her leather-bound copies of classics like Great Expectations, The Count of Monte Cristo, and the collected works of Rudyard Kipling. His hand stopped when he got to Kipling and he carefully removed the book from the shelf, letting it fall open in his hands.
Lily felt a hot flash of annoyance that he hadn’t asked permission to handle her books, even if he was treating them with the deferential care they deserved. But she was distracted from this when Richard began to read. His voice was surprisingly smooth and melodic, shaping the words with not just feeling, but a familiarity that spoke of deep understanding.
“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too…” he trailed off, brows drawing together in somber contemplation.
Lily took up the recitation. Being an ardent admirer of all things Kipling—as evidenced by her choice in cat names—she knew many of his poems by heart. “If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don’t deal in lies.”
As if her words were a magnet, Richard’s eyes lifted from the page to her face. His normal look of quiet strength had fallen in a moment of thoughtful distraction, and behind it Lily could see doubt and the heavy weight of responsibility. Looking at her, yet seeming not to see her, he continued, heedless of the open book in his hand. “Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, and yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise.” He stopped, breath stilled, as though the words themselves had stolen it.
With a pang of pity, she continued the verse for him. “If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; if you can think—and not make thoughts your aim.”
Her words recalled him, and he looked at her in wonder as if he really saw her for the first time. Joining her, their voices mingled as they stared deep into each other’s eyes.
“If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same; if you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools.”
They stopped, falling silent as one for an extended moment as they searched each other’s face. Finally remembering that she needed to breathe, Lily took in a great gulp of air, breaking the spell. They both laughed as Lily smiled and blushed, feeling silly but oddly not embarrassed.
“You’re very well versed in your Kipling, Miss Singer,” Richard said. “Not that I would have guessed any different,” he added in a rush, smiling sheepishly as he returned the book to its shelf.
“It’s an occupational hazard, I assure you,” she said, surprised at how relaxed she felt. “Of course, If is my favorite poem of all time, so I could probably recite it in my sleep.”
“It’s one of my favorites as well,” Richard agreed, his smile broadening. “It speaks to every person on such a deep level, encapsulating what it truly means to be human, while at the same time giving a fascinating perspective on the idea of manhood and the essence of Britishness during the time of Kipling. It’s an inspiration, a conviction, and an education all in one.”
Lily’s polite smile turned into a wide grin of unabashed admiration. He was speaking her language, and it was divine. How long had she yearned for someone, a companion with whom to share her love of history, literature, and poetry? An intellectual, a lover of knowledge? And here he was, all beautifully packaged and tied up in a gentlemanly bow. It seemed too good to be true. “I couldn’t have put it better myself, Mr. Grant. You obviously care a great deal about the written word, and I can give no higher praise.”
He laughed. “Please, call me Richard. Nothing makes me feel older than being called mister.”
“Sorry,” Lily ducked her head. “It’s rather ingrained. Nothing like a proper southern upbringing to ruin your ability to be casual.”
Richard laughed again, stepping forward to gently take her arm and steer them both into the kitchen. She found she liked making him laugh. It made her feel witty and socially adept. A new feeling, to be sure.
“I’m guessing that getting your hide tanned for not addressing an adult properly will do that to you,” Richard commented, looking down at her with a crooked smile.
“Something like that,” she murmured, once again caught by the depth of those eyes. She hadn’t noticed before, but the hazel of his irises was flecked with the most enchanting green.
A loud beeping made her jump, pulling her arm out of Richard’s grasp as she rushed to the oven and hurriedly removed the lasagna. Thank goodness she’d set an alarm, or else it would have burned. She’d completely forgotten about it, thanks to Richard Grant’s powers of poetry recitation.
She busied herself setting the table, pouring drinks, and serving the food to hide her suddenly resurgent nerves. What if Richard didn’t like pasta? What if he were a vegetarian? What if he preferred sliced tomatoes to grape tomatoes in his salad? She mentally kicked herself for not asking such questions beforehand, despite knowing they were just the product of a worrying mind. She knew she was a good cook, she’d just never fed a man a home-cooked meal before. Sebastian didn’t count. He would eat anything that didn’t move, and some things that did.
“Smells delicious.” Richard smiled encouragingly at her, finally able to catch her eye now that she had nothing else to do but sit and eat.
“Oh—thank you. It’s all very simple fare, of course. I wasn’t sure if you had any food allergies or what type of cuisine you preferred,” she babbled, stabbing distractedly at a leaf of lettuce with her spoon. “I mean, if you had a gluten or dairy allergy, then lasagna would be a terrible choice, but I didn’t think that likely since—”
“It’s perfect,” he said, cutting her off as he laid a reassuring hand on her arm.
She twitched ever so slightly, fighting her traitorous instinct to pull back and instead stubbornly forcing herself to relax and enjoy the warm tingle where his skin touched hers.
It was a brief moment, however, since he soon followed his words with action by digging into the meal with gusto. Lily was quite impressed with how quickly, yet neatly, he put away his food. Not once did she catch him speaking with his mouth full as their conversation moved from poetry, to history, to social science.
Despite her worries, her four-footed harbinger of chaos and snark did not appear, seeming to take her threat of a bath seriously enough to stay in the bedroom. She actually managed to relax and enjoy the meal, getting up to serve Richard seconds and even thirds—where did men put all that food?—before he finally raised a hand, swearing he couldn’t eat another bite.
“Well, that’s a shame,” she said with a smile. “Where are you going to put all the chess pie I made?”
“Chess pie? Mm-mmh! Don’t you know, I have two stomachs. One f
or food and one for dessert.”
Lily laughed, getting up to retrieve the pie from the refrigerator. “Would you like some coffee with your dessert?” she asked over her shoulder.
“The answer to that is always yes. I stop moving and go into a coma if my caffeine levels get too low.”
She thought about pointing out how unhealthy it was to be addicted to caffeine but decided he probably already knew.
“Hey, do you mind if I use the bathroom while you’re getting dessert ready?” Richard asked.
“Of course. It’s at the end of the hall.”
She heard the scrape of his chair as he stood up and headed down the hall while she busied herself with slicing pie and putting on a large pot of water to boil. Opening her tea cabinet, she examined the orderly rows of boxes and bags, trying to choose what to drink with her pie. She decided on an Indian-spiced chai. Not her usual fare, but the creamy blend of honey, milk, black tea, and exotic spices would go well with the simple sweetness of the southern dessert.
Selection made, she began to grind Richard’s coffee while the water boiled. Being largely ignorant when it came to coffee, she’d made a quick search online earlier that week to bring her up to at least 101 level. She didn’t own a coffee machine, but discovered she didn’t need one. Using her pepper mill to grind the beans, she clipped a handkerchief across the mouth of a large mug for the filter and carefully poured the boiled water over her jury-rigged coffeemaker in 30-second increments to keep from scalding the grounds.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies Page 19