Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes, Maria Swan [best short novels of all time .TXT] 📗

“They? Who is they? You went to a birthday party?”

“Birthday party? No, no. You know...Adam and Eve...” I stopped myself. What the hell was I saying? Me and my stupid nicknames. “Sorry, they are the two detectives. They worked Miss Fortune’s sad case.” The look on his face told me loud and clear he had no clue what I was talking about. So I started from my arrival at The Nest and brought him up to speed. Okay, I skipped the part about Bob Clarke’s blabbermouth and seeing his car parked on the driveway of the widow across the street.

“My poor, poor Fiat, we need to get you some food. What would you like?” he asked with a straight face. Did he intend to cook? In my kitchen? I cleared my throat and worked up the nerve to ask. He seemed puzzled. “I didn’t assume you being the type who cooks much. Why? What do you have handy?”

“Brenda’s house key? I always eat at her place. Unless I eat out.”

“Well, Brenda is down at the ranch, what’s close by? I already had dinner, but I’ll be happy—”

“Nope, I’m not setting foot outside the door. Look at me. I’m a mess. And I’m not getting back in my shoes either.”

“You’re perfect”—very close to my ear, causing the hair on the back of my neck to do a standup routine. “I could offer to carry you to a restaurant. But really, let’s get something delivered. Any ideas?”

I had lots of ideas, but none I could say out loud. Having Tristan Dumont sitting next to me, on my couch, was driving me crazy while the fact that he wasn’t acting sexually sent mixed messages to my already overloaded brain. Did he not like me? Was he turned off by my messy house? My bare feet? Or maybe because I didn’t have a Christmas tree like he did? Nah, he was a married man, a gentleman. Nothing had changed,  He didn’t even try to hold on to my hand. And I wasn’t going to make any overture. No siree. Maybe my need to eat outranked my need for sex? Nah.

He called the restaurant I suggested and placed my food order. God, that sounded awful. He wasn’t hired help. Here I sat, next to the man who monopolized my every dream, his wife miles away and no Celine to interrupt us, and all we did was talk.

“You know, Fiat, you seem to have interesting nicknames for everyone—Adam and Eve, Double Wide, Gold Buttons. Out of curiosity, what’s my nickname?”

Ouch.

“Hey, you started it. You called me Fiat from day one.”

“Touché,” he said and waited. His eyes on me.

Cheeks on fire, I confessed. “Red bandana.” Then I hid my face in my hands.

“That’s it? Red Bandana? That’s not bad. Wait, I remember. I wore a bandana that time when we ran into each other on the trail.”

I nodded and peeked at him in between my fingers, and that made him smile even more. I still couldn’t figure out what brought him to my door minutes after I got home, unless he’d been sitting in his car, watching the house.

“Your aunt called me.” Ah, a mind reader. “She was very concerned about you and also needed a list of items from her pantry. She texted you the list.”

“She did?”

“Fiat, do you ever check your phone?” That puzzled smile again.

I nodded, time to change subject, “About the book. Do you like it?”

“The book? Oh, you mean the very interesting package I found after you ran out without giving me a chance to stop you?”

“I had to.”

“You had to what?”

“Run out. Dior needed to pee.” The minute I blurted that out I regretted it.

To my delight, Tristan started to laugh. Laugh? Roar. “Fiat, Fiat.” He stroked my arm while laughing. “Have you ever thought about writing fiction?” I pretended to pout, and he hugged me, and somehow we both managed to keep lust out of the equation. But instead of disappointed I felt loved. In the real sense, like when in the movie, lovers call each other soulmates. I wished to sear the moment in my heart forever. Tristan’s cell chimed. Food delivery was around the corner. He walked out to meet the driver while I wondered how the evening would end.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Tristan stopped at the front door, handed me the food in the paper bag from one of my favorite restaurants. Our eyes met, held. “Hope the food is how you wanted. Please make sure to check Brenda’s list. I’ll be back in the morning around ten to pick you up, and we’ll drive to the ranch. Okay?”

Puff, end of the romantic nanosecond. “Ranch? You mean your ranch in Tucson? But I can’t. I must talk to Sunny and what about the stuff I left at The Nest? And—”

He put a finger on my lips. “Shhs, don’t think about it. Not tonight. Enjoy your dinner and get some sleep. I’ll talk to Sunny, and let Brenda know you’re fine. But her pantry list is your responsibility. Good night, Fiat. See you in the morning. Call me if you need...if you want to talk. I need to rush home and check out the book.”

A devilish glint dancing in his eyes, he kissed my forehead then the tip of my nose, lingering for a moment. I sensed his sigh as he walked away and disappeared down the dark driveway. I stood still, watching the shadow my own body cast against the light spilling from the open door.

I knew he wasn’t coming back. “Get some sleep,” he said. As if. A night wouldn’t be enough for me to sort the avalanche of emotions I had gathered through the long day. And to top it all off, I would be driving to Tucson with Tristan. That brought back memories of our previous trip when we were both nearly killed by that runaway truck.

What was so important that everyone was gathered down there?