Blue Moon (20 page)

"Leave it open,” Libby called over the mixer's grinding.

Above the main space was another with cupboard-like doors. He twisted the knobs to pull these open. On one side of the white-painted space was a collection of unmatched coffee cups, some juice glasses and a variety of tumblers. On the other side were wine glasses and goblets in a rainbow of colors. He picked the pale pink ones, all frail stems and etched glass, because they were in front, and because they looked like what he needed. He carried them over to the table with the same care he'd give to a bomb and set them down slowly, then grabbed a pair of tumblers and plates from the hutch and set in their places.

She nodded approvingly at the wine glasses. “I was hoping you'd get those. I washed them and put them in front just for this occasion.” She handed him the corkscrew and shrugged.

"They're pretty,” he said, looking from wine bottle to corkscrew, trying to figure out how to apply one to the other. He'd never actually opened a bottle of wine.

"It's really sweet of you to help me,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

He smiled at her fondly. She blushed, and he wondered why.

Libby suddenly remembered the smallest possible box of condoms she'd bought on today's special grocery trip. It'd been very mortifying, and she wondered how she was going to introduce the subject.

Oh, Alex, by the way, I bought these things. Do you like them?

She took the plates off the table and put them by the stove and transferred one each of the four chicken breasts she'd cooked onto them. Maybe he'd brought his own condoms. She wasn't sure if she liked that idea or not. On one hand, she admired preparedness and optimism. On the other, she disliked the thought he expected her to be easy.

Dumb Libby, she thought, shaking her head.

He took the plates from her, his hands brushing hers. She started, then watched his retreating back. With trembling hands, she went to the hutch to get bowls for the potatoes and the corn.

Those and some butter and gravy, and the table was set. Alex pulled her chair out for her, and she prayed, reaching to take a napkin from the pineapple-shaped holder, that she would not now commence to slop all over herself.

They ate, mostly in silence, save for Alex's semi-constant reassurances that the meal was the best he'd ever had. She smiled and forced herself to drink wine, which she hated. It looked like a good brand, but she disliked anything bitter.

Afterwards, he insisted on cleaning up. He told her about his landlady, and about her daughter.

"Was it pretty serious?” she asked, drying a plate. She decided that a man with soapy hands was incredibly sexy.

"We talked about marriage, but ... I don't think we ever really loved each other. When you spend days and days with someone, pretty much living with them, of course you think marriage. When we decided not to, neither one of us was all that upset."

"Sounds a bit cold,” she murmured.

"I guess.” He nudged her. “I'm glad I didn't marry her. I would have been heartbroken if I'd been married when I met you."

She smiled a little. He dried his hands and put an arm around her. He kissed her forehead, and whispered, “You make me feel things I never thought I would. Things I thought either didn't exist or weren't for me. Don't take what I had before as an indication of what might happen with us."

She smiled brightly up at him. “Do you really think so?"

He nodded, serious. “I do."

She put her hand on his stomach, kneading his shirt and bunching it in her hands. He doubted she even knew she was doing it.

"That'd be nice,” she whispered. “To have something different, better."

He kissed her, putting gentleness over passion, trying to show her that he felt very deeply for her without scaring her away. She responded, pulling him closer.

They parted, breathing a little harder.

"Let's get this done,” he said, plunging his hands back into the water.

"Yes,” she said, a little dreamily. “Then we can have dessert."

"I hope so,” he said, giving her a slight leer. She blushed and elbowed him lightly.

Before long he pulled the drain and dried his hands. She was fishing around in a drawer, and she pulled out a pair of small forks.

"Now, we can have dessert,” she said.

He took the forks and set them on the counter. Taking both her hands, he pulled her out to the living room.

"Later,” he said. “I want my dinner to settle first. If that's all right."

"Sure.” She smiled.

They sat on the couch; he had an arm across the back and slouched a little, looking relaxed. Libby forced herself to relax, too, leaning almost in the crook of his arm.

They were silent for a few moments; then she couldn't stand it anymore.

"You know, I have a TV on a cart. I could bring it out, and we could watch a movie."

"Maybe."

He looked at her pin. He'd thought the eye was a sapphire, but now it was white. Maybe an opal chip—or a trick of light.

She followed his line of sight and touched the pin absently. “You like it?"

"It's very unusual."

"It was a gift,” she said. “It's precious to me."

"What would you do if I kissed you again?"

"I don't know.” She giggled. “Maybe you should try."

He placed his mouth against hers very gently. After a space, she turned toward him.

The pin touched him, burning his skin through the fabric of his shirt. He pulled away to speak but couldn't find words.

The telephone rang in her bedroom.

"Excuse me."

Alex nodded, trying to comprehend the new thoughts that flooded his head.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?"

"He's handsome, Elizabeth."

She shuddered at Sabin's voice.

"When I left him all wrapped up for you on the train tracks, I had a different message in mind entirely."

She tried to think of what to do.

"Does the poor fool know you're still married?"

She hung up the phone, sighing.

"I see,” she said, and turned away.

Alex looked up from a book when she returned to the living room. His face fell.

"Bad news?"

"No, not really. Wasn't even for me.” She smiled, trying to be cheery.

He gave her a wry grin. “You're going to send me home now, aren't you?"

She didn't want him to go, now more than ever. She didn't want to be alone in that house. She thought of her bedroom with its clean, new sheets, of the bright blue box that had caused her so much mortification, wrapped demurely in a white handkerchief, ready if needed. She thought of the rose on the pillow, and the candles.

"I'm afraid so,” she said.

Alex let himself into his hotel room. First, a shower, because a shower would be comforting, and he wasn't paying the water bill, so he could take one as many times a day as he wanted.

A woman sat on his bed. She had short blond hair and huge blue eyes in a pixie-like face. She wore a tailored black suit; the skirt ended just above the knee. She was very beautiful.

He felt like he'd just stepped into a really low-budget noir detective flick.

"Alex Kincaid?"

"Yeah."

She tilted her head, studying him, but he looked around for the heavy who'd give him a couple of bruises once the blonde was done talking.

She smirked, but wasn't amused. “I know your type. You're worse than any of them. You go around, like, ‘Oh, poor nerdy me, can't get a girl,’ and when you get her you treat her just as bad as any man."

"Wait a second..."

"Stay the fuck away from my sister,” she snarled.

"Look, whoever you are, I'm not dating anyone who has a sister."

"Libby does. And I'm her."

"Libby never told me that."

"We're not close.” She took out a pack of cigarettes, beat them against her palm before extracting one. “And I'd appreciate it if you kept this little tete-á-tete between us. She wouldn't appreciate it, knowing you'd entertained me in your room, knowing that I'd interfered.” She smiled as she lit her cigarette. “I don't think she'd even believe it."

"You're not going to stop me. I really like being around her.” He surveyed her. “You don't even look like family. Some strange woman breaks into my room, tells me to stop dating her sister, and I'm supposed to believe her?"

"I can see what you're getting at, but let me tell you something. Libby's had enough problems, and she doesn't need you to add to them. If you hurt her, I'm going to kill you. You believe that? Because I will. I have a whole hell of a lot of money, enough to get the keys to your room, enough to have several brawny men do whatever I ask them to.” She stood up and poked one sharp manicured nail into his chest. “We both know you have your share of troubles, and I don't want them to touch my sister. So stay away from her, okay?"

"No,” Alex said, and grabbed her wrist.

"Ow! Let go!"

"Don't be dumb, I'm not holding you that hard.” He pulled her to the door and threw her out. He locked the door behind her, listening to her swear as she straightened herself up.

We both know you've had your share of troubles, she'd said. Alex sighed. Well, maybe he'd just let this incident pass and not tell anyone, especially one very sweet but paranoid romance author.

Zorovin was sitting on Sierra's porch when she got home.

"I'm sorry I'm late,” she said as she fumbled for her keys.

"Are you?"

"Late? Yeah, well, I said I'd be here a half an hour ago."

He shook his head. “Sorry."

"Oh.” She thought for a moment. “No, not really, because I stopped to do something important."

He shrugged. “Then I would not be sorry."

She unlocked the door then straightened and looked at him. “I should have said that I am sorry to have kept you waiting. And I am."

He nodded at her gravely. “I accept that."

She smiled and went inside. “I checked up on that guy Sabin wanted to know about."

"Ah,” he said, closing the door and locking it. “Well worth any wait. What did you find out?"

"He's nothing special,” Sierra said. “I think Sabin's just pissed at him.” Zorovin arched an eyebrow, and she blushed. “I mean, angry with him because he's dating a girl Sabin used to have the hots for."

"What about this girl?” Zorovin asked, sounding interested. “Perhaps she's a way to get to Sabin."

"No,” Sierra said hastily, then smiled. “Looked into her a long time ago."

"Uh-huh,” he said, mimicking the skepticism that accompanied the expression when she used it perfectly.

She grabbed the phone. “Trust me.” She smiled again, and this time he smiled back.

"Whatever you say."

"Cool! Now, do you like pizza?"

He muttered, “I'd eat the mice I heard in your walls last night if I could catch them,” and she grinned, figuring he was telling her he was hungry.

She looked at Zorovin. She'd grilled him a steak yesterday and made salad. He'd eaten everything without flinching.

"Is there anything you won't eat?"

He thought. “I am not greatly enamored of fish."

"Oh, that's fine.” She pushed four on the speed dial.

"Puccini's Pizza. May I take your order?"

"Polly? It's Sierra Morgan."

"Hello, Mrs. Morgan! We're just wondering if you were going to order tonight."

She blushed. “Well, I thought I'd have something a little different tonight. Go all out and get a large with everything but the pineapple and anchovies, I think, and breadsticks?"

"And no ham?” Polly said.

"That's right. And breadsticks."

When she hung up, Zorovin was staring at her. Although she figured that (if he was telling the truth) he had no idea what had just gone on, she still felt embarrassed.

"Well. Nippy day."

Zorovin nodded.

"I think I'll start a fire."

He followed her to the fireplace. He watched her while she set up the logs and tinder.

"Perhaps I might help?” he suggested.

"Sure,” she said. Now that all the work is done.

He knelt and tapped on the log. Fire blossomed along it, a hot, nearly white flame.

"Dragon bones,” he said. “My people's bones are made of fire. Even reforming into this shell cannot change that. They say that the dragons of the north are the coldest creatures in the world, but how can they be, when they have bones of flame?"

"Are all dragons like that?"

"No. Dragons are made of elements, wind and fire and clay make me what I am. The magic of God is what gives me a living form. My wife was made of sand and water. Each of her scales was full of glitter. She gave me a son with bones of lightning then went back to her own land.” He stared at the flames, pensive; then, he shook it off, became impassive again. “The point is that I can use fire no matter how far away magic is, because I am fire. My son should be the same way."

"Should we look for a storm, then?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I had absolutely no luck today, and I have no idea where to go."

She chewed her lip. There didn't seem to be a decent reply to that. “Maybe we'll think of something...” She gave a bright smile, and excused herself.

She washed her hands then was drawn to her project, critiquing her work as she looked over the curve of the boat, measured the placement of every feather. So close...?

She let her mind drift, only to be brought back to reality by the doorbell ringing.

"I'll wait while you check your order over, Mrs. Morgan,” Joe the delivery guy said. He pocketed the money without looking.

"Yeah, I did order a little something different tonight."

"I was surprised, but Polly insisted."

"It smells great. Everything looks fine, Joe. Thank you."

Zorovin, standing behind her, arched an eyebrow. “You do this often, even for a human, don't you?"

She thrust the boxes into his hands so she could lock the door. “Trust me, it's cheaper than hiring a cook."

"Indeed. Let me tell you this story I know, about a king and his cooks."