Mystery Date

by Crystal Green

  She stopped at a vintage brass-trimmed minibar, inspecting it. “What exactly do you know about me?”

  “We could start with the superficial,” he said. “You’ve got a cooking show, but before that you were a personal gourmet chef who spent some time in Nashville working for a few country-singing stars. One of them gave you enough clout to get that show of yours going.”

  “You’ve done some homework on me.”

  As they talked, Beth strolled out of the room, leading Leigh to the staircase. It was as if the woman was a butler or maid of sorts in an old black-and-white suspense movie—there but not quite there, silent as a shadow in candlelight.

  “Believe it or not, Leigh,” he said, “your life is an open book.”

  Right on Beth’s heels, Leigh climbed the stairs slowly, trailing her hand along the polished wood banister. “Why do you say that? What else do you know about me?”

  Thud, went her boot on a stair. Thud, on another. Just like loud, body-shaking heartbeats.

  “At Cal-U,” he said, “you were a home-economics major. You were on the board for Rodeo Days each year and on the dean’s list, among other honors.”

  “And?”

  His laugh traveled over the air, infiltrating her.

  “And I know everything that’s on your biography page for the show’s website.”

  Leigh almost missed a step as she came to the top of the stairs to a long hallway lit by iron wall sconces and lined with an Oriental rug.

  How much did this man know about her? How deep had his research gone?

  She tried not to think about painful things, like her struggle to love herself her entire life. Or...

  Leigh took a breath. Or like her sister, Hannah, who’d died in a swimming accident before Leigh had even gotten out of high school. Hannah, who always was and would be the perfect child in the eyes of their parents.

  Beth was waiting for her at the end of the hallway, which featured a huge circular stained-glass window. She had a concerned look on her face as she watched Leigh, probably wondering if she was so thrown off-balance by this setup that she was about to flee.

  But Leigh merely gave her a grin, then kept walking toward the window, which depicted a blue rose surrounded by white panels that resembled shards of ice.

  As she surveyed its beauty, she said, “It’s too bad you don’t actually live here, Mystery Man. The furnishings might’ve told me something about you.”

  A drawn-out pause made her chest beat with an anxious rhythm. Was he thinking about telling her his name?

  When his voice came back on the line, it was warmer, as if he did know her beyond a superficial biography.

  “You can call me Callum,” he said. “That should do for now.”

  Callum. Now it was easier to picture a face—a dark-haired man with wild locks and eyes as blue as the stained-glass rose. A guy who belonged in a Gothic mansion—one who matched this voice.

  She went stiff between her legs, her pulse throbbing there. She was truly into this game now, and wondering what the night would bring only pumped her up more.

  Beth had been staring at the blue rose, as if she felt uncomfortable being a part of this private discussion between her friend and her fellow sorority sister.

  But all Leigh could think was Callum. Even if the name he’d given her was fake—which it probably was—she was genuinely hoping the rest of the date could begin now.

  She took the phone from Beth, smiling at her with another clear message.

  I can take it from here.

  Beth didn’t show any emotion, just gave a polite smile and left Leigh alone with her Mystery Man.

  When Beth had gone down the stairs, the front door shutting behind her, Leigh finally spoke.

  “Callum,” she said, “can I start cooking now?”

  * * *

  ADAM DIDN’T GO near Leigh until she told him she was ensconced in the kitchen.

  He was fairly certain she had no idea that he was nearby, in a darkened alcove that overlooked the cooking area from above. He wondered if she would be freaked out to realize he was within such close proximity of her...or if she would be just as stimulated as he was by this next move in the game that had started with her auction basket.

  She had propped the disposable phone on a stand that had been waiting on one of the marble counters along with the high-end cooking accessories he’d had delivered. When Beth had arranged the date, Adam had insisted on stocking up on supplies instead of having Leigh do it, and he hoped he’d gotten everything she needed.

  It looked as if he’d done well, though. She was smiling as she inspected the dry ingredients while standing at the kitchen island under the pots and pans hanging above it.

  The auction basket stood in the center of the island. Even so, everything seemed to revolve around Leigh, not the basket. She was more beautiful than she was on TV, her blond hair shiny and long as it trailed down her back, pinned away from her face with a simple barrette she’d pulled from her jeans pocket. And dressed in those sexy country clothes, she had his imagination running on all cylinders, pushing steam through him until he felt ready to burst in several key places.

  But tonight didn’t feel like a tawdry encounter. It felt good just to look at her, be near her. Somehow, looking made the numbness he’d experienced for over two years go away, even just temporarily.

  Looking at her brought back a time before his life had crashed down all around him, not just once with his dad’s death but twice with his wife’s.

  Leigh seemed content to play along with his setup as she washed her hands, then dried them.

  He spoke into his own disposable cell phone and leaned back against a wall, not moving, never giving himself away.

  “How about you open up that honey wine that’s still in the fridge?”

  She glanced at the phone, and for a moment he felt a little envious that it was getting all the attention, not “Callum,” the name he’d given her. It’d been his paternal grandfather’s name and safe enough that it wouldn’t provide a strong connection if she should pop it into a computer to do some research on him.

  “That wine’s for after dinner,” she said, moving over to the fridge and taking out a bottle of Chardonnay. “But I like a nip or two of the drier stuff while I’m cooking, so don’t mind if I do.”

  “You don’t drink on your show.”

  “Producer’s choice. They don’t want to encourage reckless cooking.”

  She smiled as she poured herself a glass, then lifted it in a toast.

  “To you, wherever you are.”

  She tipped her glass to all four corners of the room, and when she got to where he was hidden, he went even stiller than before, as if she had somehow discovered him.

  But that was ridiculous. And it was heart-poundingly exciting to feel as if he’d almost gotten caught.

  She took a sip, then set down the glass, reaching for one of her honey jars and unscrewing the lid. He knew that she was going to give him his money’s worth with some corn bread, a salad, balsamic honey–glazed lamb chops, spicy honey-roasted cauliflower and, ultimately, a honeycomb cake.

  An impetuous thought kicked him: What would she do if he appeared down there by her side to eat dinner with her?

  The notion made his chest feel as if it had closed right up. He wouldn’t be showing himself. He liked this so-called date as it was—flirting, seduction by shadow, no responsibilities in the end, just as if he were on the computer having yet another virtual encounter.

  Maybe, as Beth said, he was warped.

  Leigh had turned on the oven and was now greasing a pan for the bread.

  “So what’s with you and Beth?” she said, a lilt in her voice.

  She was flirting with him. He couldn’t be wrong about that, because little by littl
e, as she had taken a tour of this house, he’d sensed her warming up to his voice.

  “Beth is a friend—” he started to say.

  “I know, I know.” She put the bread pan aside and cleaned her hands. “Friends and professional associates. But she’s a beautiful woman, too. Don’t you ever...?”

  His shields went up at the mere suggestion of a romantic relationship with anyone. “No. Never.”

  Leigh’s posture stiffened.

  Recovering, he said, “First, Beth is like a big sister to me. Second, she’s not into my type.”

  Leigh seized on that. “What type is that?”

  He smiled at her perseverance. “Men.”

  Leigh’s mouth formed an O. But then she went right back to cooking, measuring flour in a cup and dumping it into the bowl. “That’s funny, because when Beth showed up at the auction and bid on my basket, everyone thought...you know...that she was bidding on me.”

  “Under any other circumstances, that could’ve been the case. But she considers herself unlucky in love and hasn’t been serious about anyone for a while. There’s just too much work to do for me, she says. Supposedly, the hours she puts in make it hard to find a meaningful relationship.”

  “You sound like quite a taskmaster.”

  “I’m not the one who keeps her at her desk overtime. She’s a workaholic.”

  By now Leigh had poured the cornmeal into the bowl. “You met her back in college? When you were a Phi Rho Mu brother and she was a Tau Epsilon Gamma sister?”

  Leigh sure wasn’t shy about digging for information, no matter how many brick walls she ran into.

  “We crossed paths briefly at Cal-U.” He wasn’t going to tell Leigh that Beth had been born and raised in a town near his and that he’d met her only once at a party during pledging but had found her résumé online later.

  That had been five years ago, just after he’d gotten married.

  After adding sugar and baking powder to the bowl, Leigh asked, “What were you like in school?”

  “You really think I’m going to answer that?”

  “I had to give it a shot.” She laughed and made a well in the center of the dry ingredients. Every move captured his attention, enchanting him, especially with that country-girl blouse she was wearing—the one that gave him a tempting peek of cleavage and tanned stomach.

  “Do you have black hair?” she asked. “Because that’s how I’m picturing you. A very Callum-like dark Irish guy, like Riley Donahue but a bit more roguish. Remember Riley? Nice guy, ag-business major?”

  “I heard through the grapevine that he’s engaged to Danielle Hughes.”

  “See, you were around the university when I was.”

  He didn’t confirm or deny. “You’ve got the color of my hair right, at least. I’ll give you that much.”

  “Good. Sounds like I’m finally getting somewhere.”

  Her happiness made him want to give her more, but he would no doubt regret giving her too much.

  She was on a roll, though. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I invite women over to rental houses and watch them cook. It’s a fetish.”

  She really laughed at that, and he realized that she was sincerely enjoying herself.

  And him. And this date. She wasn’t afraid of either one. In fact, he was bringing joy to a woman when he hadn’t done so for a long, long time, and he was doing it with only his voice.

  But, again, this whole thing was temporary, and he had to keep that in mind.

  After her laugh trailed off, a seemingly endless pause reigned. Was it because she realized that he’d used the word fetish? She’d given him a similar hesitation earlier when he’d laid that opening line on her—a thinly veiled allusion to coming.

  But he’d only been testing her when she’d entered the house, seeing how much she was going to take from him. He’d probably been doing the same thing just now, too. Hell, he’d even been doing it during the house tour when he had told her what he knew about her. He could’ve pushed her further by mentioning her deceased sister, but he hadn’t wanted to bring up any ghosts like Hannah. And certainly not his wife, Carla.

  Was he trying to unnerve Leigh, getting her to leave before she could decide to do so on her own?

  But she was still here, stirring heavy cream, vegetable oil, honey and eggs into that bowl.

  She said, “You know what’s funny about this date?”

  Besides everything? “What?”

  “It’s not that you’re talking to me on a phone or that you’re playing around with me by not showing yourself. It’s a cat-and-mouse game, and believe it or not, I get that.”

  “So what’s so funny?”

  She poured the batter into the pan. “Do you ever think that it’s easier to talk to someone you can’t see?”

  He narrowed his gaze, hoping she’d go on.

  She didn’t disappoint. “A few years ago there was a vendor I used for my produce. We used to talk on the phone all the time for business. But then our talks started to get...”

  “Suggestive?” It was almost a whisper.

  “Yeah. But only mildly.” She stopped pouring and looked at the phone, as if it truly were him. “Our talking never went anywhere, and all I knew of him was his voice. But somehow I felt like he knew a part of me that no one else did, just because nobody else had ever made me feel like he did before, merely by chatting with me.”

  “How did he make you feel?”

  She thought about it for a moment, then said, “As if I might be able to suggest something to him that I would never say in person, if that makes any sense. I never did that, though. After he shut down his business, I never talked to him again.”

  As she put the pan in the oven, he thought he saw a yearning on her face that was so acute he wanted to make it go away.

  It was at that moment he knew there were a lot of stories Leigh could tell him, a lot of mysteries about her that he’d like to solve.

  Had he fallen in love—or lust—at first sight with her back in college at that party? Or maybe he was a fool who could indulge that lost sentimental part of him only here, in the near darkness.

  Either way, he wanted more.

  “When do you need to leave town?” he asked without thinking.

  She’d been wiping off the counter, and she stopped. “I’m on hiatus from my show....”

  As she let the words hang, he got the feeling that she just might be open to coming back for a second date if the rest of the night went well...if he didn’t put any pressure on her and they merely had dinner, with him still at a distance, still playing the game.

  And if he gave her something to come back for.

  * * *

  THIS WAS DEFINITELY a date that would go down in the Singlehood Hall of Fame.

  After Leigh had finished preparing the rest of the dinner, she had expected Callum to come-out-come-out-wherever-he-was.

  But...no.

  He had asked her to set aside his meal in the oven for later and to fix a plate for herself so she could take it to the dining room, where a long mahogany table was already set.

  Low light from a chandelier toasted the room as she sat down with her plate and her glass of wine. She placed the phone on another stand that was waiting at a setting next to hers.

  What was Callum’s agenda? Yeah, she knew he must have planned some sort of scenario, but surely it couldn’t last all night. Or maybe he was gauging how far he could take this. She’d seen that movie 9½ Weeks, and she knew that there were men out there who didn’t do paint-by-number relationships or dates.

  Was he one of them?

  Another delicious shiver danced over her skin. What did it say about her that she wanted to see how far he would push this thing? And why did she want to start push
ing it herself?

  She leaned back in her chair, holding the wine in front of her as the aroma of all her honeyed dishes tickled her senses. She glanced around the room, wondering where he was, feeling the voyeuristic thrill of this game once again. It wasn’t all that different from being on TV, knowing people would be watching you, never being able to see their expressions.

  Let’s see.... There was a darkened second story mezzanine rimming the room. Was he up there? Somewhere?

  “Is there a peephole or something that you’re using?” she asked.

  “No.” His laugh filled the phone speaker. “You make me sound like a bad man in a horror movie, Leigh.”

  “Bad in what way?”

  Their conversations so far hadn’t crossed any boundaries, but she knew that she’d just put out an invitation to do some testing.

  “I’m not sure I should answer that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure how much bad you can take. You were always a nice girl, weren’t you?”

  “Isn’t that why you bid on my basket?”

  He chuckled again, and she decided that it was really time to push back.

  Putting down her wine, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she idly picked up a piece of bread. She’d set a bowl of honey nearby, and she dipped into it, letting the thick liquid drip.

  “What kind of girl,” she said, her pulse tripping, “offers up the kind of basket I did to a total stranger?”

  “Ah, but that was the genius of your basket. It was innocent, but...”

  He trailed off when she took the bread and held it a few inches above her mouth, drizzling honey into it. Some of the liquid meandered over her lips, and she licked at it, then took a tiny nibble of bread.

  Her chin was sticky with the stuff, too, but she let it stay there for now.

  “You were saying?” she asked, barely recognizing her husky tone.

  But she was delighting in the freedom of this night, being the only person in this room, with him far enough away that she wouldn’t have to see his face and know whether or not she was acting like a complete and utter fool.

  Somehow she got the feeling that she didn’t look like an idiot at all—that he was enjoying the show.