Completely Smitten

by Kristine Grayson

  “Yeah,” Vari said. “I think we’re losing her because she believes this place is haunted.”

  “She says she’s staying on the weekends.”

  His smile was small. “That won’t last.”

  Ariel’s heart was still pounding, as if she’d just come off a twenty-six-mile course. “Is there that much wrong here then?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong here, but people do see things. Tell me about the light.”

  “It flashes, like sheet lightning, and then it’s gone. Only this time….” She didn’t want to finish that sentence. He thought she was crazy enough.

  “Yes?”

  “I thought I caught a glimpse of someplace else.”

  He raised his eyebrows. That was when she realized his fedora was missing. His outfit looked incomplete without it, but he looked a little more human, as if he could make a mistake or two. She liked him better this way.

  “What kind of place?”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t going to go that far. “It was just a sense-impression.”

  He studied her for a moment. It seemed as if those blue eyes could see all the way through her.

  “You punched out,” he said after a moment.

  “Yes.” Her throat was suddenly dry. “Wasn’t I supposed to?”

  “I promised you that we’d talk after you got off work.”

  She had thought he had forgotten that. Was that why he was here? Had he followed her into the break room, snuck up on her so silently that she hadn’t even heard the door open and close?

  She grabbed a chair and was pulling it out when he shook his head.

  “There’s a deli across the street. Let’s go there.” He grabbed his raincoat from the coat hanger, reaching up as if it were the most natural thing in the world—which it probably was for him—and letting the hanger swing awkwardly.

  She resisted the urge to catch it. Instead, she took her own coat off the hanger, grabbed her purse, and slung it over her shoulder.

  “I’ll follow you,” she said.

  He led her to the back exit. The main room of the restaurant was dark. The neon art on the walls flared softly. Someone had lit all the candles on the tables, giving the place a modern, elegant, and intimate air.

  Up front, she could make out a man standing at the maître d’s post. Sofia had told her that good maître d’s were so hard to find that Blackstone had put theirs on salary.

  Lucky man.

  Vari pushed open the exit door, turned up his collar, and stepped out into the rain. He hadn’t put on his hat and didn’t seem to notice that it was missing.

  She followed, the cool air caressing her face, startling away some of her exhaustion. Vari went to the light and crossed the street, not waiting for her. She had to struggle to keep up.

  The deli was of a kind that only existed in the Northwest. No ethnic foods, no unpronounceable dishes. The salads were all recognizable, from the standard iceberg lettuce fare to the potato and various pasta salads. There were a few dishes that could be heated, and a sandwich bar that had nothing more exotic than turkey and beef.

  The coffee bar was more elaborate than the sandwich bar, offering more choices—and some of those were unpronounceable. There was also a wall of desserts, all of them too large and sumptuous.

  She ordered a turkey sandwich and a brownie, along with an iced tea, and was surprised when Vari paid for it before she had a chance to whip out her wallet.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I can get it.”

  “I know you can.” His voice was gruff, and seemed to grow gruffer whenever he did a kindness. She had noticed that in Emerald Aviation.

  He ordered a large blueberry muffin and one of those unpronounceable coffees. By the time he’d paid for everything, their order was ready.

  She bussed one of the plastic tables and wished for a rag to wipe it off, but couldn’t find one. So she grabbed a handful of napkins and knocked someone else’s crumbs to the floor.

  Vari set the tray down and they divided up their food. She took a bite of the sandwich. Her stomach growled as she did so, and she realized that part of her exhaustion had been hunger. She hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast—and that had been half an English muffin and an orange.

  “I promised you we’d talk about Darius,” he said and took a deep breath, as if the topic made him nervous.

  “I’m sorry that I was so pushy. I just want to thank him—”

  Vari put up a small hand. It was callused and scarred, as if he had done a lot of hard labor. “Save it. We both know that if a thank-you was all you wanted, you’d’ve given up by now.”

  His bluntness made her gasp. She felt heat rush to her cheeks all over again. “I’m not like that—”

  “Not usually, I’m sure.” He took another deep breath. He was like a drowning man who couldn’t get enough air.

  He glanced out the window at the dark, rainy, twilight street. She followed his gaze. Cars went by, headlights flaring. Quixotic’s neon sign reflected on pools of water covering the sidewalk.

  Finally, Vari let out a sigh, as if he had resigned himself to this conversation. He pushed away the untouched blueberry muffin and cradled his tall cup of fancy coffee.

  “I’ve known Darius…” his gaze met hers and she felt a shiver run through her. “…his whole life. I guess it’s fair to say that. You can say ‘I told you so’ now.”

  She sipped her iced tea, not trusting herself to say anything.

  “He’s…prone to disappearing.”

  She got the sense that Vari was choosing his words carefully.

  “And he’s been involved in some…shady things.”

  She gripped her own glass tightly. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me about him?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you because no one is supposed to know he exists.” Vari grabbed a bit of muffin, picking the top layer off, but not eating it.

  “What do you mean? Is he some kind of criminal?”

  Vari kept his head down, but he smiled. The smile was both sad and reflective. “Yes.”

  She couldn’t believe it. The man she had met? The man who had rescued her? The man who had kissed her with such tenderness? How could he be some kind of criminal?

  “What did he do?” she asked.

  Vari closed his eyes as if the subject pained him. “He ruined a lot of lives.”

  “How?” she asked, unable to believe him.

  Vari got that same sad smile again, shook his head, and opened his eyes. They looked past her, as if lost in memory. “It’s too complicated to explain. Let’s just say he’s very good at manipulating people’s emotions.”

  She felt her breath catch.

  Vari looked at her this time, and she got an odd sense that he was very vulnerable. She hadn’t thought of this brash man as vulnerable before.

  “Including yours?” she asked.

  He seemed startled by the question. “I suppose you could say I’ve been a victim of Dar’s actions for a very long time.”

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me that?”

  He picked at the muffin again. “You thought he was some kind of hero. That’s rare. I didn’t want to spoil it.”

  “Giving me his address wouldn’t spoil it. I would just send him some kind of thank-you—”

  “Would you?” Vari asked. “Really? Was that what you wanted? Because I think you wanted a lot more.”

  The heat in her cheeks got worse. “I thought, maybe, there was a bit of interest, but I can live without that. I mean, I’m an adult.”

  “See?” Vari looked away from her. “He manipulated you too.”

  “How can you say that? You weren’t there.”

  “A lot of people believe that Darius is incapable of the softer emotions—love. Even friendship.”

  She frowned. “Do you believe that?”

  He broke the entire muffin in half. “Sometimes.”

  His voice was soft. She got a sense he never opened up like that to anyone. />
  “So you’re not telling me to protect me?” she asked.

  “And me.” He grabbed the butter and slathered some of it on the half of the muffin he hadn’t ruined. “If he hurt you, I don’t want to be the one responsible.”

  “How would you be responsible?”

  “If I let him near you.” He took a bite of the muffin, then set it down. “Besides, he’s gone now.”

  “Gone?”

  Vari nodded. “I have no idea when he’ll be back.”

  “And you wouldn’t tell me if he did come back, right?” She sounded bitter and she knew it. She tried to sound calmer, but his matter-of-fact tone was destroying any hope she had. In some ways, Darius had been her focus since she’d come out of the mountains, his kindness all she’d had to hold on to, his kiss what she dreamed about at night. Without that, what would she have?

  “You know, there was an Ariel Summers who was a world-ranked triathelete,” Vari said, not answering her question. “Is that you?”

  She blinked at him in surprise.

  He lifted his cup toward her in a mock toast. “Just because I’m short and ugly doesn’t mean I can’t dream a little. Triathlon is the ultimate sport. Ironman tests endurance like nothing else. And I remember watching an Ariel Summers surprise the world in Australia a few years ago.”

  The turkey sandwich had lost its flavor. She set it on the plate, resisting the urge to stand up and leave. “Yeah,” she said, and it cost her more than she thought it would. “I used to be a triathlete.”

  “Used to?” He leaned his chair back on two legs. She got the sense that he was calmer now that they weren’t discussing Darius. “I can’t believe than an ankle injury would ruin a triathlete’s career.”

  “That happened after.”

  “What did?” He was watching her, as if she were a test subject, but for what she couldn’t tell.

  “The ankle injury. I was done before that.”

  “Why?”

  “I tore my rotator cuff.” And in this rainy weather, her shoulder was constantly sore.

  “I thought things like that heal,” he said.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “but they run the risk of permanent disability. And I couldn’t seem to get my strength back up. The swim was always the worst part of my tri-career. The shoulder injury sort of sealed my fate. And then the ankle…”

  She shook her head, not willing to go on. The ankle had been the last straw. She felt as if she had been betrayed by her entire body.

  “What about the ankle?” He brought his chair back down on all four legs, his expression avid.

  She shrugged. “It was just one more thing.”

  “But it’s healed, right?”

  “Enough to wait tables.”

  “What about running?” he asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Is the ankle healed enough for that?”

  “I suppose. The doctors said it would be fine.”

  “So why aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Running.”

  “Why should I? I can’t race any more.”

  “There’re marathons,” he said. “And bike races. You don’t have to be a triathlete to compete.”

  She touched the sour dough bread on top of her sandwich. The bread was flaky and light, very good. But she still didn’t want it.

  How could she explain to him that marathons were nothing? She excelled at much more than that. She swam 2.5 miles, then biked 120 miles and then ran a marathon all in one day. That was what she thought competition was. To break it down into a single tiny piece was silly. It wasn’t competition at all.

  He tilted his head. “You have an opinion you’re not sharing.”

  She picked up her sandwich and took another bite. It was good and she was still hungry. She ate a bit more, savoring the way the sharp cheddar blended with the smoked turkey.

  “You think it’s too easy to run a marathon.” He gave her a half grin. “You see it as part of a race and not the entire race.”

  She shrugged, amazed that he could see through her that well, this man who obviously didn’t run marathons or race.

  “What about extreme marathons?”

  She knew about them, but they were part of another sport, something she didn’t do and didn’t care to do. When she had been racing, she had been very focused on her sport. She hadn’t had time for the others.

  “What about them?” she asked.

  “You think twenty-six-point-two miles is an easy length to run in an afternoon,” he said. “It’s not a challenge for you.”

  “I’ve done it,” she said. “More times than I care to think about.”

  “So what about 100 miles?”

  “Running?” she asked.

  He nodded. “They’ve been doing those races for years now. It’s been the subject of some controversy in the sports field. Is that pushing the human body too hard? Too far? Rather like the early days of Ironman, when everyone was considered a nut.”

  She stared at him. How did he know all this?

  “In fact, it’s like the early days of marathoning before everyone and his dog decided to try it. In those days, marathoners were considered fringe. Remember?” Then he shook his head. “Of course you don’t remember. You’re a baby.”

  She felt a flash of anger. “And how old are you, oh ancient one?”

  His gaze met hers, and she saw a challenge in it. “Two thousand, eight hundred and one years old.”

  She let out a puff of air. “I didn’t ask how old you felt.”

  “Isn’t that the truest judge of age?” he asked.

  She shook her head, unable to believe the way this conversation had gone.

  “So what about it?” he asked.

  “What about what?”

  “Extreme marathoning.” He put his elbows on the table and studied her. “One hundred miles in one day. Could you do that?”

  She felt a surge of anger, followed by a feeling she hadn’t had in almost two years. “I can do anything I put my mind to.”

  “You know that for a fact?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “So you don’t have to run a hundred miles in one day to know you can do it.”

  “That’s right,” she said, finishing the sandwich and grabbing the brownie plate. “I know I can do it.”

  He leaned back and studied her. “But can you win?”

  Her gaze met his, and she frowned. She hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “Because,” he said softly. “I sponsor athletes, and I’m looking for a greyhound. Someone who can train and try this new sport, test its limits. I’m willing to bet one has just fallen into my lap. Are you game?”

  Her hands were shaking. She hadn’t thought about returning to sports. Not at all, and she wasn’t exactly sure why. Suddenly she had an offer of a sponsorship and something to train for.

  “Why are you doing this? So that I won’t nag you any more about Darius?”

  His eyes glinted. “If I sponsor you, you won’t have time to nag.”

  She stared at him. How long had it been since she’d had purpose? She’d tried to make the hike her purpose and that had failed. Then she lost her management job—her attempt at a real life, as most people called it—and all she had left were her fantasies.

  They weren’t taking her very far.

  But she didn’t know this man, and the few times he had talked with her, he had been rude to her. Suddenly he was offering her a life on a silver platter.

  It made her nervous.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  His smile was wide and real, and she got the odd sense that he was relieved. “Thank you,” he said, as if she had done him a favor.

  “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

  “But you’re going to think about it,” he said. “That’s more than enough for me.”

  She frowned at him. “You
act as if this matters to you.”

  “It does,” he said softly. “It matters to me more than I can say.”

  She studied him for a moment, and saw the light behind his eyes close. He wasn’t going to tell her any more. She wasn’t sure she wanted to stay here. He made her nervous. Not just because he was strange—he was—but because he made her feel warm and attractive and crazy all at the same time.

  “I should be heading home,” she said. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.” He made no move from the chair.

  She gathered her coat, and left him. As she stepped outside the deli, she glanced through the rain-streaked window. His back was to her, and he was hunched forward, as if protecting himself from the world.

  What an odd, lonely little man. Then she shook her head. Oh, no. She wasn’t going trade her fascination with a Greek god for someone like Andrew Vari. She’d find something else first.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe she should think about running again.

  After all, she had nothing else.

  FOURTEEN

  DARIUS SAT IN the deli for a long time, staring at the mutilated muffin. His large double tall had grown cold, but he didn’t have enough energy to get up and buy himself a new one.

  Ariel had left, a bounce in her step that hadn’t been there before. He hoped the bounce would stay.

  He couldn’t believe what he had just done. He had told her parts of the truth to take her attention away from her precious Darius, and he had tried to redirect her back to sports.

  He’d planned, as he left Cupid, to talk to her about marathoning. It was an accepted sport. The top athletes were well known. There was some good prize money and there were good endorsement deals.

  But he’d seen that contempt in her gaze and knew that marathons wouldn’t hold her. She thought they were for wimps. He shook his head. They weren’t, but she had been one of the top female Ironman athletes in the world. She ran marathons for practice. No wonder she had looked at him that way.

  He had only seen her weak and broken, as in the mountains, or listless and lost, as she had been here. He had only seen hints of the woman she really was, the one who had enough physical strength to be a distance athlete in three different sports, and the one who had enough mental toughness to compete in all three on the very same day.