Twisted Strands

by Lilia Moon

  I reach forward and swing one of the tassels, which just switches Trouble’s attention to my fingers instead. I grin and swing it up so it lands on his head, and ponder what a life at least temporarily set down in Crawford Bay might need. I’ve contemplated life transitions before, and I had some tinkering in mind before I got in my truck to drive up here, but that mostly involved a funky condo somewhere in Seattle and a handful of riggers to mentor.

  This is a whole different kind of tinkering.

  Trouble manages to catch one of my fingers, which means one of us isn’t paying attention. I extricate myself with most of my skin attached, although he probably deserves his pound of flesh for being dragged out in the canoe. I rock us a little again, but he’s immune now. He just sticks a paw through the hammock to chase at the tassels I’ve set to swinging.

  Adaptability. Or as Liane said about her dandelion tattoo, bloom where you land. It’s advice I hand out to my corporate clients all the time, but if what I know to be true in the boardroom holds here as well, blooming is ten percent dreams and pretty visualizations, and ninety percent rubber down on the road getting things done.

  I grin as Trouble deftly rolls himself under the hammock and hangs on with his claws while he bats a disobedient tassel into submission. One kitten, already embracing the weird turn his life took this morning.

  It’s time for the guy sitting here with him to do that too. I look out at the mirror-calm lake, remnants of the morning mists finally burning away. It’s about the last place in the world I ever expected to be contemplating growing roots, but that’s okay. I want a rich life, not a predictable one.

  I scoop up my small orange companion. “Come on, dude. Enough thinking. Let’s go talk to a few people and see what wheels we can put in motion.” Or get ready for the road, anyhow.

  Ignition will need to wait until after dinner with an orchid.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Matteo

  I step out of my truck, a little disconcerted. India stopped by the house to pick up Trouble and give me directions—and she told me to dress up. Which means I currently feel like an urban fish very much out of his water as I park in front of a roadside sign for some place called the Cabbage Patch, as well as the cafe I’ve come to find.

  A closer look and it turns out that the Cabbage Patch is actually a pottery shop, but still. I dressed for a night out in a place that doesn’t look or feel at all like this one. Which normally wouldn’t bother me, but knowing Liane is inside waiting for me is turning up the dial on all the little things.

  I step through the door of the Black Salt Cafe and readjust my impressions, fast. It’s not fancy, but I’m not the only person dressed up, and the plates on a waitress’s arm that go by my nose could have been airlifted from New York or San Francisco.

  The hostess heads my way with a cheerful grin. “Hi, you must be Matteo. Liane’s waiting for you on the patio outside.”

  New York and San Francisco don’t run to staff who know my name—or outdoor patios bigger than a postage stamp. This one isn’t large either, but it’s full of greenery, small lights, simple metal tables, and people who look really happy to be here. Not that I can blame them. The food looks stupendous.

  One more dumb assumption, into the trashcan.

  The hostess heads me toward a back corner cast in enticing shadows, and my heartbeat speeds up. The food isn’t the point of tonight, although obviously it’s going to make for really fantastic accompaniment. The main act is waiting back in that gloom, and it’s been almost twenty-four hours since I’ve laid eyes on her.

  I duck around a hanging basket of fronds, and then I see her. Sitting at a table, eyes bright and full of nerves, framed by hair that has turned into some sort of magical waterfall. She smiles when she sees me, and stands up—which is when I get the full effect of the rest of what she’s put together for tonight.

  I step in, trying to find words that can do her justice, and fail miserably. “You’re beautiful.” And not the ordinary kind of dinner-date beautiful. Her dress is silky and shimmers in the fairy lights and does things to her curves that make my cock whimper—and I’m pretty sure it’s purple, which is a statement with so many layers I’m going to need to spend all night taking them off her.

  I want to start by sitting down and tugging her into my lap, but the last vestiges of the scene awareness I’ve trained for twenty years are noticing something else. All the looks being cast our way. The drop in the ambient noise that landed the moment I showed up and hasn’t picked back up again.

  This isn’t some swanky, anonymous, big-city tapas bar. It’s the cafe down the road from where she lives, which means this place is probably jam-packed with friends and neighbors.

  I need to leave her feet on the ground.

  Or so I think until I look at them, anyhow. I close my eyes and swallow, my throat suddenly in desperate need of a tall glass of something cold and wet. I lean in and pitch my words for her ears only. “If you wanted me to sit here hard and aching for the rest of the night, those were an excellent choice.”

  I can see the blush rising up her skin, even in the dim lighting. “My friend Jenna picked them out.”

  I grin and tug us both towards chairs. “Does she like chocolate?”

  Liane blinks.

  I chuckle as I rearrange the chairs so we’re mostly facing the rest of the patio and close enough that I can touch my sexy orchid without causing scandal. “I was thinking I might send her a truck load.”

  It takes Liane a second, and then her laugh bubbles up from her gorgeous bare toes. “Oh, no. She’s in deep trouble for making me wear these. Don’t you dare send her rewards.”

  Nobody is making this woman do anything. There are some nerves riding in her eyes, mostly the good kind, but there’s also a glow coming from way down deep. Maybe not quite as far down as the sexy heels held on by narrow strips of leather and intricately tied rope, but close.

  And the shoes are very intricately tied. I stare for another second, and then it’s all I can do not to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off into the night. Two mini karadas run up her lower legs, holding on her footwear.

  She huffs out a laugh. “Just so you know, I’m in a lot more awe of your skills now than I was before I had to get these darn things on.”

  I reach for her hand so that I don’t start fondling her legs instead. “I’ll be happy to help you in future.”

  Her breath stutters—and just like that we land in the deep.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Liane

  Future. It’s a word I meant to ask him about tonight, but now that it’s landed, I have no idea what to say.

  His thumb strokes my palm gently. Not walking the word back. Not jolting at my reaction.

  I try to convince the parts of me that have just tensed up to relax. “There’s no dinner menu tonight, just tapas. I hope that’s okay.”

  He leans over, his breath warm against my ear. “It’s fine. Wonderful, in fact. What I saw on the way in looks amazing.”

  I scrunch my eyes shut and tell him the truth. “I wanted you to see that we have something like this here in the middle of nowhere.” That’s not all of the truth, because I moved here from a city that loves its food and the Black Salt Cafe very nicely took over the job of feeding my soul, but tonight is about showing him my most vulnerable parts.

  I want to be my orchid with him, and not just when he’s tied me up and surprised it out of me. Even if that means wearing a dress to my favorite restaurant, which I’m sure the entire east shore will know about by morning.

  He strokes the bare skin of my shoulder, right over my dandelion tattoo. Then he waves at Renee, who is standing in the shadows with small plates on her arms, clearly not wanting to interrupt an intimate moment. “Let’s see what the middle of nowhere can manage to feed us, shall we?”

  Renee, who clearly catches the end of that comment, laughs. “We’re proud of the fact that most of the ingredients in our tapas are grown within a hu
ndred miles of Crawford Bay.” She tips her chin at the plates lined up on her arm. “Would you like the rundown, or do you just want to pick something that looks good and give it a try?”

  She could list every ingredient on every plate, right down to the salt and where it came from, but I’m steeped in something right now that doesn’t want a lot of words.

  Matteo squeezes my shoulder and smiles at her. “Why don’t you give us what you would pick to eat tonight?”

  Renee looks like Santa just fell down her chimney. Naked, sexy Santa. She studies the plates on her arm for a moment and lifts off two. Then she winks at Matteo. “I’ve got you covered, sweetie. Let me know when it’s time to switch to desserts, and save room for those. The kitchen is on fire tonight, literally.”

  That means crème brûlée, which is good enough to make me drool for a week. However, the plates in front of me will do until the flaming desserts arrive. I recognize polenta chips, and scoop up some of whatever’s on the plate beside them and offer it to Matteo.

  His slow smile is lethal. “We’re going there, are we? Do I get to feed you, too?”

  Guh. I wave the chip in front of his face. He needs to eat that and stop trying to melt my brain. He’s far too good at it, and my orchid wants him to see all her petals tonight, including the ones that like to tend and nurture.

  He touches his hand to mine, moving the chip toward his mouth, and holds it there as he somehow disappears the food and still manages to lick my fingers. Thoroughly.

  I spent a lot of today reminding myself I’m more than one kind of flower, but in this moment, I feel entirely purple and glorious and more than a little ephemeral.

  Renee sighs as she puts two more plates on our table and flutters her eyelashes at me. “If he’s got a brother, I call dibs, okay?”

  I manage a laugh. “Trina might not be too happy about that.” Her partner is back in the kitchen with the flame torch, so that’s not an idle worry.

  Matteo chuckles. “No brothers, sorry. I have a couple of available cousins, though.”

  She beams at him. “For that, you get extra crème brûlée.”

  I scowl. “It better not be from my share.”

  Renee winks at him. “Liane’s a lovely, generous person who will totally give you the shirt off her back and the last huckleberries in the patch, but do not get between her and flaming custard.”

  The part of me that got a little too lost in ephemeral for a moment settles. This is the life I know. The one where the tapas server teases you over polenta chips and tempura veggies. I pick up a broccoli covered in crispy gold tendrils of batter and pop it in my mouth. Orchids need to eat to keep their energy up and their wits about them, especially when their dinner guests have magic tongues.

  Matteo picks up my fingers and licks them again, to Renee’s delighted chortles as she walks off.

  I can’t even find it in me to offer up mock indignation. I lean into his side. “You’re totally ruining my reputation. I hope you know that.”

  He chuckles and deftly picks up another bite of tempura with chopsticks I didn’t know we had. “Given the people I’ve met here so far, they’ll probably still speak to you in the morning.”

  They’ll be lined up to speak to me in the morning—and I don’t know what to tell them. I wrap my fingers around his on the chopsticks. “What are we, Matteo?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Matteo

  I’m not the only one who knows how to tip over a canoe. I tread water for a minute in the deep we’ve landed in for a second time. I don’t mind being here, but I want to take care. Her orchid is a lot tougher than she thinks it is, but I want to put my feet down carefully, all the same.

  Except I can’t, because this part isn’t about roots. It’s about seeing how we navigate when our feet aren’t planted. “I talked to Xander down at the gallery today. He’s got some rooms in the building next door. I could use those as an office for a while if I want them.”

  Her head flies up off my shoulder, a thousand questions in her eyes.

  I might as well show her all of it—the broad outlines, at least. “I also called a few clients and lined up several months’ worth of projects that could be easily handled remotely. Longer-term coaching of teams I’ve already worked with.”

  Her eyes are almost as big as the plates we’re eating from.

  I move my feet as delicately as size elevens can travel. “They’ve been asking me to do it for years. I didn’t want to be tied down.”

  Amusement flickers through her shock. And wariness. “Interesting choice of words.”

  It absolutely is. I lean in and kiss her nose. “I’m trying on roots. Of a career-oriented sort, and if it sounds appealing to you, of some other kinds as well.”

  She blinks slowly, at least a dozen times.

  “It’s not pressure.” I keep touching her, which breaks all of my consent rules, but Matteo Ignatius, guy who just untied a whole bunch of his self-imposed ropes, needs this. “Xander has an apartment above the office I can have too. I’ll learn how to cook and get some work done and try skinny-dipping in the lake, and maybe you’ll want to hang out with me sometimes. And we’ll see how that feels, day by day.” Growing, season by season. Farming, of the relationship sort.

  I hope.

  She’s gaping at me, but there are some other emotions starting to seep in. “You can’t cook?”

  The chuckles break out before I can stop them. “Of all the things I just said, that’s the one that caught your attention?”

  She offers me a wry grin. “No. It’s just the only one I’ve processed so far.” She picks up something that looks like a miniaturized onion ring and pops it in her mouth, looking at me expectantly.

  Right. “I can boil water. Barely.” I reach over to her plate and steal one of her tempura bites. “I’m sure I could eat here three times a day and survive, but I’ve heard cooking is a fun challenge. Maybe I’ll see if Bee will teach me how to fry chicken.”

  Liane chokes on her onion ring and gulps down half a glass of water, which is tricky given how hard she’s laughing. “Her price for that recipe is sexual favors. Just so you know.”

  I manage to keep a straight face. Mostly. “Noted.”

  She stares at me a while longer, and I have to remind myself that interesting is something I crave in my life. I can wait for her to think this through. “You can say no. None of this has to happen, and if it does, I’m not asking any more of you than you want to give.”

  She picks up another onion ring and nibbles on it contemplatively. “Why?”

  Sometimes the best way to do complicated is one wrap of the rope at a time. “The normal next steps for two people like us would probably be for me to take you out on a few dates and see where this thing is going. That’s complicated if we live in two different countries. This makes it easier. None of this is meant as strings. I’m just creating space for something I’d like to explore.” For something I’d like to grow. Dirt for my surprised urban flower.

  She breathes in, and when she exhales, it’s clear that she’s sorted something out. She eyes me, and I know we’re at that place where the tug is either going to unravel everything or create art. “So let me get this straight. You’re changing your entire life and your business to come hang out in Crawford Bay, population five hundred and fifty-six people.”

  I’m pretty sure that population count includes all the cats and possibly a few stray deer. “Yes.”

  She’s blinking again. And shaking her head. And grinning at me like I’m totally nuts and she really likes me anyhow. “And you did all that before you checked to see whether I want to keep hanging out with you or not?”

  I nod slowly, but the need to be the crazy guy grinning back at her is huge. “The order mattered to me. Being a tourist in your life works for a week. It doesn’t work for longer than that.”

  She laughs softly, and in that sound is every kind of desire I’ve ever heard. “The water is really cold, just so you know. Even the
locals think so. We just lie to the tourists.”

  It takes me a minute to remember my throwaway line about skinny-dipping in the lake. “I know somewhere I can go to get warm.”

  She leans in and stops, her face an inch from mine, and closes her eyes.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Liane

  I feel weightless. Absolutely blown away by what he’s just done. Or readied himself to do, anyhow. I didn’t miss the part where he’s also willing to go away if I need him to.

  I let my lips touch his. So very lightly. An answer, and a promise, or the beginnings of one. I reach for the silver drawstring bag that was all Jenna would permit me as accessories for the amazing purple dress. It’s bulging at the seams, and there’s only one thing in it. A thing that seems so very small in comparison to uprooting a life, but I know that it isn’t. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

  He grins, and I can see the boy he once was—but he does as I ask.

  I open the bag and pull out the neat coils of rope from inside. There’s only about twenty feet of it, but I spun every strand. Today. On my porch this morning, watching the oyster-shell light on the lake as the sun rose at my back. On the walk to my boathouse and my studio, spinning as I stood in the places where my purest forms of happiness reside. In a stiff breeze as I waited for the ferry and in a wind that wreaked havoc with my spindle as the ferry trudged across the lake. I even managed to spin a few feet between my knees on the drive into Nelson as Brittany chatted ten miles a minute about everything and nothing.

  Rope spun from the fiber of my life.