by LJ Vickery
Solina padded to the door and pulled it open. The snowy mountain of Wiley stood outside, wine bottle in hand. Very thoughtful. Had he planned to warm her up with a libation before they went out? The surprise was on him. She was already warm, and they weren’t going anywhere.
“Come in, Wiley,” she blustered, stepping back from the few flakes that wound around him to land on her entry mat. “I’ll take your coat.”
He took a few paces forward, stomping in her tiny foyer before allowing his eyes to travel from the top of her head to the pink on her toes. “Wow, Solina, you look…” He gestured with one hand while searching for a word, “good.” He dipped his head and held out the wine, a blush on his cheeks.
Solina nearly swooned. Wasn’t he just the cutest thing, all tongue-tied?
He tried again. “I, uh, thought we could have a little of this before we hit the road.” He lifted his head and sniffed while holding out the wine. “But I smell...”
She flashed him a big smile and took the bottle. “Actually, we’ll be eating in tonight.” She placed the wine on a small table and held her hands out for his coat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I figured since the weather is lousy, we’ll be cozier here.”
His eyebrows went up as he stumbled to answer. “Yeah, sure. I like in. Shit. I mean… Your cooking smells great, so what’s not to want?”
Gosh, he was adorable. She liked this shy side of Wiley, enjoying the amount of space his enormous body took up in her tiny foyer even more. She hoped he wouldn’t feel too claustrophobic once he made it the rest of the way in. And yes, it was time to let him see her living space. She’d always kept her small front hallway clean, as devoid of belongings as possible, just so the mailman or occasional customer looking for her didn’t freak out, but the living room was another matter.
She hung his coat in the hall closet while he took off his boots…his very large boots that took up half the mat. Solina swallowed and wondered if anything about him was small.
“Well, come on in. I’ll give you the ten-cent tour. It’s only a five-room cottage, so don’t expect much.” Nervously, she grabbed the wine and led him into her living room, watching out of the corner of her eye as he entered and took it all in.
He shook his head. “Jeez, Solina. You weren’t kidding when you said you like to have your belongings around.” He didn’t sound like he was judging her, just curious. He walked to her bookshelves and gazed at an antique blowtorch. “And I certainly didn’t know you meant really cool stuff.” He picked up and admired the piece, then looked at her doorstop collection two shelves over. “Wow. Those are awesome, too.” He placed the torch back on the shelf to lift a cast-iron Boston terrier. “You’re a real antique collector, aren’t you?”
Solina wasn’t quite sure what to say. Flabbergasted would be a good way to describe how she felt at Wiley’s easy acceptance.
“Uh, some would say that,” she allowed cautiously. “But others like to call it junk.”
“Junk? They’re crazy.” He shook his head and let his gaze travel around the room. “I could be here for weeks and never run out of stuff to look at.”
Solina blinked and bit her lip. Appreciation? She hadn’t expected it, but Solina suddenly glowed over Wiley’s take on her knick-knacks. She’d never quite thought of them that way before. Her heart warmed, and the nerves she’d set abuzz hours before began to settle.
Tentatively, she offered up a little more. “All my rooms have their own…collections.” She hesitated over the word. She’d always thought of her finds as such, but no one had ever agreed with her. Of course, no one had actually visited this house since she moved in. Wiley might not have been so forgiving of her previous home.
He put down the dog and raised his head to take another appreciative sniff, which swelled his chest to even larger proportions. “And what smells so damned good?”
“Come see,” she said, her smile more assured now that they started talking about food. “Through that door.” She indicated he should go first.
He took a few steps toward the entry when Ostrich chose that moment to make an appearance at the kitchen threshold. “Whoa… Hello.” Wiley took an abrupt step back. “And who’s this?”
No way. Wiley is afraid of cats? Wouldn’t there have been several on his ranch growing up?
Solina ignored his apparent trepidation and slipped between him and Ostrich, crouching down to scratch the feline’s neck. “This is my roommate,” she quipped lightly. “He’s not what you’d call overly friendly, but he’s not ornery, either. Just more of an independent soul. He won’t bite or scratch.”
Wiley cleared his throat and approached tentatively. “Does he have a name?”
“Of course. His name’s Ostrich.”
Wiley gave a snort. “I hate to tell you, but he doesn’t look like one.”
“I know,” she agreed, giving a small snicker. “But from the moment I got him home, he insisted on burying his head under every nearby pillow or blanket to take a nap. Hence, Ostrich.”
“I get it.” Wiley nodded. “Head in the sand and all that.” He didn’t appear amused as much as concerned. “So, where does he sleep?”
“Not with me,” she assured him. “He’s much too autonomous for that.”
Wiley’s breath left him in a controlled whoosh and his shoulders relaxed. He edged toward her. “So he just, uh…hangs out?”
“Pretty much.” Solina shrugged. “Do you want to pet him?” She couldn’t resist teasing.
“No thanks. I’ll pass.”
“So do you want to tell me why you’re scared of cats?” Solina couldn’t let this one go. It comforted her to know the strong man before her had a fear.
He huffed. “That obvious, huh?”
She nodded, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Not even close to the covert operator you’re supposed to be.”
“Fine. I’ll explain while we eat. But you can’t tell the guys.”
And she wouldn’t. She could tell this one wasn’t a funny story like the cop/snowbank tale. This was a personal, monster-in-the-closet story. She had her own, and they were nothing to share.
“I won’t tell,” she promised.
Ostrich slunk away from the door.
“Now, come with me while I get things ready.”
They walked into the kitchen and he stood still, taking it all in. She waited for his reaction.
“Again, so many personal possessions,” he gaped. “But what really makes me love this room are the colors. It’s so bright.”
Solina knew it wasn’t everybody’s taste. Her penchant for yellows, pinks, greens, and purples were indicative of her Indian roots. She attempted to explain. “If you’ve ever heard of the Holi Festival of Colours―”
He cut her off. “I have.” He grinned. “I’ve seen documentaries about all the brightly colored powders being used to celebrate.”
The way he accepted her vagaries lifted her spirits even higher. “That’s right. And although I didn’t experience it too many times, the few I did witness made a lasting impression.” She pointed to her equally colorful, decorated kitchen table. “Why don’t you have a seat while I get us some appetizers?”
Solina tamped down the delight in her heart of Wiley’s endorsement of things without any accompanying judgment. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she almost danced to the refrigerator to pull out some prepared items. When she joined Wiley back at the already set table, he picked up and examined one of the wafers she’d cooked earlier.
“What’s this?”
“It’s the base for these.” She waved a hand over a bunch of tiny bowls she’d just set down. “Once it’s put together, it’s called papdi chaat, an Indian appetizer. Here. I’ll show you.” She picked up the first wafer. “First, I cover it with yogurt.” She demonstrated by dipping. “Then top it with potatoes, chickpeas, onion and tomatoes.” Her hands did all the steps deftly. “Next, I drizzle it with both tamarind and mint-coriander chutney, then sprinkle with red chi
li powder, cumin and salt, placing a few coriander leaves on top. Ta-da.” She handed it to Wiley. “Try it.”
Clearly trusting her, Wiley popped it into his mouth. “Mmph,” he intoned, chewing and groaning appreciatively at the same time. He swallowed. “God, that’s good.” He reached for another she prepared.
“I’m glad you like it,” she replied, happiness bubbling in her chest. She hadn’t wowed anyone with her cooking since college, and that wasn’t nearly as gratifying. Everyone knew starving students would eat anything.
“Let me ask you something.” He swallowed his second. “If you spent such a short time in India, why do you cook Indian food?”
She shrugged. “My parents were both raised in India, so all our cooks, no matter where we lived, were either Indian or required to make traditional meals. Since I didn’t do anything extracurricular after school, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen learning the recipes. I do cook things from other cultures. It’s just that I have the ones from childhood down pat.”
“Trust me. I’m not complaining,” he said, joining her in one more appetizer. “I’m just seriously curious about what you’ll put on the table next.”
They made small talk, enjoying the delicious offerings until they’d almost disappeared. It felt good, comfortable.
Solina eventually got up and whisked away the remains of the small starter to bring over a bowl of rice she’d kept warm. Next, she ladled their main meal out of a pot and into a serving dish while Wiley opened the wine.
“Oh. Smell that!” he exclaimed, pouring them each a glass. “Is that lamb?”
“It is. I probably should have asked if it was okay. A lot of people think lamb is too gamey. Do you hate it?”
“Hell no.” Wiley licked his full upper lip. Solina followed the progress of his tongue, hoping she’d see more of that later. “I ate a lot of things while deployed. Lamb isn’t foreign to my palate at all.”
Solina sighed her relief. “Good. This is called rogan josh,” she informed him. “Lamb with red chilis and a bunch of other stuff—onions, garlic, cream and spices, including garam masala—”
“What’s garam masala?” he interrupted, looking appreciatively into the bowl as she placed it onto the table.
“It’s kind of like what you’d call curry.”
“Mmm… I love it already.”
She spooned a large helping of rice onto his plate and covered it with the steaming lamb before doing the same with hers. “Now we eat,” she informed him joyfully.
He didn’t wait to be told twice. He dug right in. If the next few minutes were any indication, he really enjoyed her cooking. She waited until he slowed down to reintroduce his trepidation around cats.
“So, you were going to tell me why Ostrich spooks you,” she prodded gently.
“Huh,” he puffed. “I knew you wouldn’t forget. Not that it’s a huge deal.” He waved his fork in a dismissive manner, but Solina waited. “Fine then.” He picked up his glass and took a healthy swig of his wine. “We had a barn full of them when I was little, and most of them were not…friendly, I guess you could say. Actually, they could be downright nasty with people. My dad fed them enough to keep them happy, but not enough that they got too fat and lazy to hunt mice, which they did very well.” His eyes filled with a horrified sort of amusement. “One day after chores, I fell asleep in the loft of the barn. When I woke up, half a dozen of those mice lay mere inches from my eyes, all in various stages of dismemberment. I ran screaming from the barn and never trusted another cat again, even though my elisi tried to assure me that the felines were just paying homage to me.”
Solina thought about the number of mornings a decapitated mouse lay as an offering on her favorite chair, but judiciously didn’t mention it. “Your grandmother was probably right, you know. Cats have an unusual way of showing affection.”
“Well, their tribute was lost on me,” he chuckled. “And I’m not so much scared of cats as I am indifferent. I guess I’m a horse and dog person.”
He launched into a lengthy story about his American Quarter Horse, Peyak―Cherokee for “One”―that he’d left behind in Oklahoma when he joined the army. Solina knew love when she heard it. But if he loved his horse so much, what was he doing living in a Brookline brownstone in the city? One would think he’d be in the boonies, surrounded by livestock…minus the cats, of course.
She didn’t have time to speculate before he launched into a particularly amusing tale of skinny-dipping, which involved a snake, and the time he’d filled a friend’s lunchbox with mud.
Solina cautiously reciprocated with the story of the green dye she and her roommate had used on their faces on Saint Patrick’s Day, which hadn’t come off for a month, and the time they thought it would be fun to fill their room to the brim with balloons, which they had subsequently popped, bringing Public Safety running.
Wiley seemed amused, chuckling in all the right places, clearly enjoying his food while they swapped tales.
Eventually, he sat back and wiped his mouth on a bright orange cloth napkin. “I can hardly wait to find out what you have for dessert. I remember eating something Indian once that looked kind of like a glazed donut, but I can’t remember the name.”
“Balushahi,” Solina acknowledged, trying not to grin. “Better than a donut, but that’s not what I made.”
“Something else with a name I can’t pronounce?” he teased.
Solina smiled and stood, heading to a covered plate on the counter. With much fanfare, she whisked off the towel.
“Brownies!” His whole face lit up, making Solina laugh.
“With vanilla ice cream, if you want,” she added.
“Oh, I want, all right.” He smacked his lips. “Don’t get me wrong. The Balu-whatever-you-called-it would have been fine, but I’m happy for a little domestic flavor amidst the Indian fare.”
Solina sat back down, satisfied. That was exactly what he’d get with her if things went according to plan for the rest of the evening.
Chapter Twelve
Wiley didn’t know what he said to make Solina appear so smug, but she almost looked like the proverbial cat that had disemboweled the mouse. It was probably from his praise for the fantastic meal she’d served. And she deserved kudos. When he bit into the chewy brownie, which dripped with half-melted vanilla ice cream―where had she learned that microwave trick?―his eyeballs almost rolled back in his head.
Good. So good.
“I have to know… How much of a glutton would I be if I had a couple of these?”
A crease appeared between her brows. “If you eat that much, you won’t be too full, will you?”
Too full? There could only be one answer. “Hell no.” He savored another bite. “Other than Prez, who’s a human garbage disposal, I’m the one who filches off everybody’s plate when it looks like they won’t finish.”
He got the laugh he wanted before she slid the dessert across the table to him. “Knock yourself out,” she snickered. “But not literally. I thought we’d watch a movie later.”
That sounded good. Wiley wouldn’t admit it, but his full belly did make him kind of sleepy. He wondered what would happen if he fell asleep on Solina’s couch. Would she wake him up and kick him out, cover him with a blanket and let him snore, or urge him into her bedroom to spend the night? He’d peeked into her private sanctum and liked what he saw. Organized clutter on a dressing table, two bureaus, several bookcases, and an extra-large bedside table. And all that surrounded his main focus. Her bed.
Queen-sized with a white iron headboard and footboard, just distressed enough that he knew it had to be old. Little gold balls decorated places where the iron swirls ended, giving the whole thing a slightly exotic look.
Frame aside, what he liked most was the quilt covering her mattress. Not something most guys would be well-versed in, but growing up, Wiley’s mother and her group of friends used to stitch all the time, while he watched and played beneath quilting frames for hours. He immediately r
ecognized the pattern as “Log Cabin”. But this one was intricate and brightly hued with all the primary colors, outlined in black. It looked hand-stitched to Wiley, reminding him of home.
He hoped Beauty would invite him to spend the night beneath it as she curled up against his side. No sex. That wasn’t the plan. But a lot of closeness. Wiley looked forward to receiving more of her intoxicating kisses.
Taking another bite, he mumbled, “So, what movie did you have in mind? Romance? Horror?”
She stuck out her tongue. “Bleh. Two of my least favorite genres.”
He swallowed. “Seriously?” That puzzled him. “I would have thought you’d at least go for romance.” He’d noticed a bunch of suspicious-looking novels on her bookcases.
She quirked up one corner of her mouth. “I do occasionally…when I find one where the heroine isn’t a wimp. But Hollywood…and Bollywood, for that matter…can’t come to grips with strong females in romances. Most are needy, ditzy or scheming.”
Wiley hadn’t thought about that. He’d never been a fan of love stories, so he couldn’t agree or disagree. Still, he could call her out on it. “But you read romance novels.” He pointed his fork toward her living room. “I saw some.”
“You did.” A blush worked up her cheeks. “And that’s because, these days, romance writers make kick-ass heroines. They’re never needy, they know what they want and, most of the time, they do a pretty good job of getting themselves out of trouble with only a little help from the heroes.”
Wiley snorted. “‘Life imitates art,’” he quoted. “Nothing truer. Just wait, Solina. You’re going to love Bri and Maygan. They’ve both gone through kidnappings and endured serious shit-storms, but they never rolled over without trying to fight back.” Wiley acknowledged to himself that if they had given up, they’d both likely be dead right now.