by Fox, Susan
We clustered in front of the small television as the camera zoomed in on the female anchor of the five o’clock news team.
“There’s been a new development in the fire at Cosmystiques cosmetics plant in Port Coquitlam.” The anchor’s attractive dark-skinned face was replaced on screen with a shot of the smoking ruins of the Cosmystiques building. It was followed by a news clip of Jimmy Lee, chained to a logging truck, arguing with the police. We all groaned as the anchor continued, “Police charged a local activist, Jimmy Lee Wheeler, on charges of arson. Those charges have now been dropped.”
“Dropped?” Grace echoed disbelievingly.
Gabriel held up a silencing hand and turned up the volume.
On screen, police were ushering a stork-like man with a bald head into the back of a police car. The anchor said, “J.A. Luce, President and CEO of Cosmystiques, is now charged with burning his own plant.” The man cast a baleful look at the TV cameras, but didn’t attempt to shield his face from their scrutiny.
When the anchor switched to another story, Gabriel flicked off the television.
“Goddess be praised!” Grace said, hugging Jimmy Lee.
“Apparently there’s a story in the evening paper, too,” Gabriel said. “With more facts about the company’s financial situation and ownership. Plus the fact they were violating environmental regulations and would have had to spend a small fortune to bring themselves into compliance.”
“Miki told you this?” I asked.
He grimaced ruefully. “Seems the newspaper reporter was trying to get me all day, but I’ve had my cell turned off and my home number’s unlisted. Finally he tracked down Miki, so she called to tell me what was going on. This guy’s been looking into Luce, and when he got enough information he gave it to the cops, timing it so his story would come out right after the arrest.”
A man slapped Jimmy Lee on the back. “Hell, man, you’re going to owe that reporter a beer!”
Jimmy Lee grinned at Gabriel. “Looks like I’m not going to need you after all.”
I opened my mouth to protest, to say it was Gabriel who’d put the reporter on the right track.
My lover caught my eye and shook his head.
I shrugged. If he didn’t want the glory, that was his business. I went over to my dad and threw my arms around him. “I’m so relieved.”
“Me too, Izzie.”
Grace said, “Let’s pick up a newspaper then go home and celebrate.” She leaned close to say in my ear, “Isadora, I’d invite you, but I’m guessing you have other plans.”
“Gabriel and I have dinner plans.”
She grinned. “Is that what you call it these days?”
“No, honestly, it’s dinner. He says there’s this Portuguese place and…” I trailed off as her grin grew wider and wider.
“So, everyone’s about ready to leave?” Gabriel said, his tone offering a strong hint.
“You could come along with us for a celebration dinner,” Grace said sweetly.
He glared at her and she laughed, then gave him a quick hug. “You two be good to each other.”
When the door closed behind the last person, I said, “Oh, Gabriel, that’s such good news about Jimmy Lee.”
“Yeah, it’s great news.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me, hard. “God, woman, this afternoon has been torture.”
All right, there would be lots of time to talk about my father later. “Have your batteries recharged?” I asked Gabriel sweetly.
“You tell me.”
He pulled me up against him, but I stepped back, eased down his zipper, and reached inside to grip him. “Recharging nicely, I’d say.”
His phone rang, but he said, “No way. We’re going to bed.”
And so we did. His bedroom was furnished as sparsely as the rest of his apartment, but he did have a queen-sized bed. He flicked aside a striped duvet and tossed me down on navy sheets, then stripped off my clothes. I lay waiting, watching hungrily, as he shucked his own, and came to me.
“Do you know what it did to me,” he murmured against my ear, “looking at you all afternoon and knowing I’d kissed you here?” He trailed kisses down my throat and I quivered at his touch.
“And here.” He circled my nipple with his tongue and teased it between his lips, and sparks of sensation darted through me.
Then he traveled south again, following the path of those sparks. “And here.” His voice was barely audible as he buried his face between my thighs. I squirmed against his probing caress, feeling sensation build. Wanting him, needing him.
He stopped and lifted his head to send me one of those intense looks that turned my insides to liquid fire. “And knowing I was going to do it all over again.”
He dived down again, and plunged his tongue inside me, and I came apart.
Chapter 17
When we finally made it out of bed, we checked the reporter’s story online, then Gabe called him to apologize for being incommunicado, and to thank him. When we headed out for dinner, this time it was Jack Luce’s face, not my father’s, staring up from the glass-fronted box.
“I can’t believe it’s over.” I wrapped my arm around Gabriel’s waist as we strolled toward Commercial Drive. “You saved Jimmy Lee and he doesn’t even realize it.”
He put his arm around my shoulders. “Not me, that reporter. Especially when he found out about the violations of those environmental regs.” He hugged me close. “And don’t forget, you’re the one who first had the idea to focus on Cosmystiques themselves.”
His words reminded me of something. “I was going to see Cassie today.”
“Now you don’t have to.”
“Not about the arson, but I do want to meet her and talk to her about Alyssa.”
“She’ll be out of the hospital in a day or two, and staying at your parents’. I’m looking forward to meeting her. She’s sure got a great kid.”
“Yes, she does.” The kind I’d like to have myself, one day. With Gabriel.
We turned onto Commercial. “The restaurant’s down here a couple of blocks,” he said.
“Am I dressed all right?” I asked, suddenly nervous. When I’d thrown on capris and a T-shirt back in my apartment, I’d been in such a hurry I hadn’t thought about going out for dinner.
“It’s not fancy, just a little neighborhood place. Maria is Portuguese.”
“Maria?” Portuguese Maria? Wait a minute! “Gabriel, is this the woman you mentioned before? The one who was a friend of your mother’s?”
“Yeah.”
Oh, great! No doubt she was old-fashioned, conservative. I should’ve worn a skirt. This was my first introduction to Gabriel’s personal life and I wanted this woman to approve of me.
I pulled away to study Gabriel. A black T-shirt and black jeans. A panther. Damn the man, why did he have to look so good in everything he wore?
But he was my panther. The thought gave me confidence and I snuggled close again.
He gave me a squeeze, then turned me into a restaurant entrance and opened the door. I took a deep breath then stepped through. The room, a tiny rectangle, was appealing with warm yellow walls, posters of Portugal, trailing greenery, and the delicious aroma of garlic and tomatoes.
A stout, gray-haired woman bustled forward. Old-fashioned and conservative? Yes and no, to gauge from her appearance. Her strong features bore no make-up, her hair was in a simple bun, and her dress was ash-gray and plain, but her silver and gold First Nations jewelry was stunning.
I had plenty of time to notice the details because Maria was occupied with hugging Gabriel, pinching his cheek, and babbling enthusiastically with him in Portuguese. I stood and watched.
Finally, she turned to me. She inspected me carefully, eyes bright with curiosity, then she reached out for my hands and squeezed them.
“Maria,” Gabriel said, “may I present Isadora Dean Wheeler. Isadora, this is Maria Russ.”
Russ? It didn’t sound like a Portuguese name. “I’m so pleased
to meet you, Mrs. Russ,” I said, guessing this was a woman who’d take “Ms.” as an insult.
“Isadora.” Her pronunciation rivaled Gabriel’s in turning my name into a thing of beauty. “I am Maria. We will not be formal. You are family now.”
Family? I didn’t dare look at Gabriel.
“In all the years since Gabriel and Diane separated,” Maria said, “all the times he is here—two, three times a week—never has he brought a girl home. And now you.”
Home? The truth sank in. Maria was a surrogate mother to Gabriel.
“And now you,” he echoed.
I turned to him, saw the glow in his eyes, and realized it was his confession of love. Whether he realized it or not.
I wanted to hug him, but it might have made him pause and think about what he’d said, and maybe pull back. Instead, I hugged Maria. “Thank you. I’m honored to be here, and so happy to meet you.”
She squeezed me tightly, then turned to Gabriel and let loose with another tumble of melodious Portuguese.
“What?” I asked him.
He didn’t quite meet my eyes when he replied. “Uh, she says you’re lovely, and exactly what she would have chosen for me.”
“And then I say,” Maria added, staring at him accusingly, “that it is past time he found a good woman and settled down and had more babies.”
“You forgot to translate that part,” I pointed out to him.
“I’m hungry,” he said quickly, his gaze darting from my face to the older woman’s. “Maria, something smells wonderful.”
I rolled my eyes at his avoidance tactic.
“Always smells wonderful in here,” she said. “And you change subject.”
I stifled a giggle, realizing her mind worked the same way mine did.
Then she smiled widely. “Is shrimps you smell. We have very good shrimps tonight, grilled with garlic butter. You will have that, with caldo verde to start.” It was a statement, not a question.
“What’s caldo… ?”
“Caldo verde,” Gabriel said. “Literally, green soup. Made with kale. It’s delicious.” He turned to Maria. “And a bottle of vinho verde.”
“Yes, of course. What else would you drink with shrimps?” She bustled off.
“Vinho verde?” I repeated. “Does that translate to green wine?”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s young white wine, very refreshing.”
“Sounds good.” I studied him. “Maria’s wonderful. She’s the one who helped you after … after your parents died, right?”
He nodded. “I’ve known her since I was seven or so. She and her first husband, Benedito, were from the same town in Portugal as my mom. They came over here, and though my father really didn’t let Mom have friends, she and Maria managed to get together for coffee occasionally. Benedito was a tile layer and did beautiful work. He died in his forties. Heart attack. Maria struggled as a widow with kids, then she met Martin Russ, a Haida from the Queen Charlottes, who was widowed himself, and they got married.”
“I noticed her beautiful jewelry.”
“Martin owns a First Nations arts and crafts store in Gastown. Maria’s always wanted to have a restaurant, and he financed her to start it up. They have four kids: two from her first marriage, one from his, and one together. On any given night, you can figure on one or two of their kids showing up for dinner here, along with their families or whoever they’re dating.”
Gabriel had shown up regularly too, maybe with colleagues or friends, but never—since Diane—with a date. Until me.
To hell with his terror. I smiled at him across the table. “I love you, Gabriel.”
His jaw dropped.
Maria picked that moment to bustle up with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.
Gabriel stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her, then gave himself a shake. “Give it to me. You always get cork in it.”
“No, is my job.”
“It’s not your job to get cork in my wine.” He grabbed the bottle from her. “Let me do it, Maria.”
I sensed this was a family ritual they both enjoyed. Grumbling, she handed over the corkscrew.
He made a lengthy and rather clumsy production of opening the wine.
Maria snorted, and I guessed he was normally more efficient.
God knows where I got the confidence, but when he’d finished and Maria had poured wine into both our glasses, settled the bottle in a cooler, and left us alone, I said, “How do you say it in Portuguese, Gabriel?”
His eyes widened and he cleared his throat. “Say what? Vinho verde?” He raised his glass and sniffed.
I raised mine toward him. “I love you.”
He froze in the act of smelling his wine. Then, very slowly, he lifted his head and met my gaze. “Eu amo-te.”
Those words, in his voice. Directed to me. I wanted to cry with happiness. “That’s beautiful. Say it again.”
His lips curved and his eyes started to sparkle. “You’re a witch, you know that?”
“What do you mean?” I asked with pretend innocence.
He raised his glass and clicked it against mine. “Fuck. I guess it means I love you. To the extent I even know what those words mean. But you’re teaching me, Isadora. Proving your point that old dogs can learn new tricks.”
My eyes misted and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“So, yeah,” he went on. “I’ll say those words in Portuguese. Eu amo-te. In Italian, it’s ti amo. Then there’s plain old English. I love you, Isadora.” He reached for my hand and his grip was firm. “I’ve never said those words to anyone before.”
“N-never?”
He closed his eyes, then shook his head. “I lied. My mother.”
I wrapped both my hands around his and blinked back tears. “I love you, Gabriel. Teach me how to say it in your languages.”
He nodded. “You taught me how to feel love. Yes, I’ll teach you how to say it. Portuguese first. Eu amo-te.”
“Eu amo-te,” I repeated, my voice shaky. The mist in my eyes had turned to tears, ready to overflow.
“Caldo verde now, romance later,” Maria said, plunking bowls of soup down in front of us. “Then babies.”
“I think that’s a good order,” I said, choking back the tears and trying not to laugh at Gabriel’s stunned expression.
“Eat your soup,” Maria ordered, then bustled away.
Deciding to take mercy on Gabriel—after all, if I had my way I’d have the rest of our lives to torment him—I tasted the soup. “You’re right. This is delicious. I wonder if she’d part with the recipe.”
“Nope. But she’ll feed it to you any time you come in.”
He reached for his wine glass and took another drink. I watched his hand, so long-fingered, with that unique combination of grace and strength that was Gabriel.
“Will you play the guitar for me?” I asked.
He frowned, clearly not following my train of thought. “The guitar?”
“I was looking at your hands.”
He glanced down at them, still frowning. “My hands? What?”
One day I’d tell him how sexy those hands were. “You do play, right?”
“Sure. Often before I go to bed. It’s a way of relaxing, mellowing out.”
“Folk songs?”
“Mostly Portuguese ones. Sometimes in a group we’ll get going on old folk songs, protest songs.”
“Richard says you have a good voice.”
“He does?” He frowned. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“When he was out with Caroline and Eric, he remembered how you’d play the guitar. How you and Diane sang with him. It was a warm memory. He’s softening, Gabriel.”
“And now I have to tell him about us,” he said glumly. “If anything’s guaranteed to harden him again…”
“Once he gets over his first negative reaction, he’ll think about it,” I said, praying it would be true.
“Sure hope so.”
“You’re real
ly worried about talking to him.”
“Scared shitless,” he confessed. Then he gave a rueful shrug. “But maybe that’s an improvement over the way things used to be. Before Friday night, I can’t remember the last time Richard and I really talked. I felt like I’d lost him and I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“You once said you hate doing things you’re not good at.”
“Yeah. So I didn’t try. Now, at least I’m trying. And he was too, last night.”
Maria bustled up. “How is soup? Good, yes?”
“Very good,” I told her as she topped up our wine glasses.
When she hurried away to greet new customers, Gabriel said wryly, “At least someone approves.”
“Janice approves. She thinks you’re hot.”
He kinked an eyebrow. “The lady has good taste.”
“And you have a big ego.” I sent him a teasing grin. “Though I’m not saying she’s wrong.” I thought about my friend and shook my head. “Poor Jan’s had bad luck with relationships. She’s just starting out a new one, and I sure hope it works. Her parents won’t approve—Martin is Cree, younger, way less educated—but he’s a wonderful man. He works as an assistant at the clinic and he’s studying to be a vet.”
Gabriel was watching me closely, and I broke off. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do. I like Janice. I look forward to knowing her better.”
“We could double-date.”
He grimaced. “God, Isadora, it sounds so high school.” Then he shrugged. “But sure. Think they’d like to try Portuguese food?” Then he snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute, Martin is the guy you told me about, right? The one who turned his life around, partly thanks to the Multicultural Center?”
When I nodded, he said, “I’ve been thinking about that idea you had, about involving some of the success stories in the fundraising. Martin would be perfect. Do you figure he’d be willing to come along to lunch with a donor who’s looking to get more involved at the hands-on level?”
“He’d be flattered to be asked. But Gabriel, he’s quite shy. This donor isn’t too high-powered?”
“I’m not sure I’m the best to judge that.” There was an I know something you don’t know teasing note in his voice.