I have some of that peach cobbler, or are you going to keep guarding it from me?”
“I’m not guarding it from you, although I’m not entirely convinced you deserve it. Hopefully the ice cream isn’t all melted.”
It isn’t melted. We get our desserts and are headed out of the kitchen when Damian gives me a sidelong look. “Damon Salvatore?”
“What? You know who that is, don’t you?”
“Why would I? Who is it?” His expression is perfectly blank.
With a gasp, I elbow him hard in the arm. “And you claim to be an expert on women! You don’t even know who Damon Salvatore is. Ha! I’ll have to report you to your boss for a woeful lapse in expertise.”
He obviously knows I’m teasing because he chuckles as we walk into the living room where the others are hanging out with their mostly finished desserts.
“So you aren’t going to tell me?” he asks.
“No,” I say with a sniff. “I’m not.”
We head over to an empty love seat and have gotten halfway through our cobbler when there’s a rustle from across the room. Sam’s husband, Hunter, has finally arrived. He’s big and bearded with a beautiful, artistic tattoo all down one arm.
He’s not at all whom I would have expected to marry into this particular family.
Sam has gotten up to greet him, and she leads him over to the love seat where we’re sitting. “This is Melody,” she says as I greet him with my normal introductory wave.
Damian has stood up too. When Sam introduces him, he extends a hand to Hunter, saying, “Hello.” Then he slants a decidedly sly look in my direction as he adds, “Brother.”
Hunter evidently doesn’t think anything is strange about the greeting. He says hello and shakes his hand.
But something about the words and the way Damian says them triggers a recognition inside me. Something I know. Remember.
I hear the words again. Notice that Damian is giving me a sidelong, laughing look, as if he’s waiting.
Then I realize why I know those words.
I gasp in indignation as I realize he knew all along.
I can’t say anything until Sam and Hunter have headed into the kitchen to get some dessert. Then I give Damian a scowl and a little shove. “You asshole,” I hiss at him. “You knew who he was all along!”
Damian laughs uninhibitedly. “Of course I know. You think I worked the job I had for years and don’t know who Damon Salvatore is? I’ve watched every episode of that show.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were having so much fun getting one over on me. I didn’t want to ruin your fun.”
“Asshole!”
He pulls me into a laughing hug. I’m not a hugging person, but it feels exactly right.
DAMIAN AND I LEAVE by nine since we have a late flight back to Atlanta. The flight is only an hour, and the mood is quiet and comfortable between us. When we arrive, he offers to drive my car back to the condo so I can close my eyes and let my mind drift for a while.
Things feel better between us now. I replay every word and detail of our conversation in the kitchen. Over and over again.
And I’m hung up on one thing in particular. One thing that feels significant.
I’m too confused to say anything about it, to ask the questions I need answers to. So when we get home, we bring our stuff in and say good night before going to our separate rooms.
He doesn’t make a move on me tonight. Of course he doesn’t. I told him very clearly not to.
He won’t make a move on me again.
But I can’t help remembering something he said.
I take a short bath, hoping it will relax me, and then change into a champagne-colored silk gown and get ready for bed. I even get under the covers and turn out the lights. But I can’t sleep.
My eyes keep popping open.
I finally can’t stand it anymore. I climb out of bed and walk barefoot down the hall until I reach the closed door of Damian’s room.
I knock on it four times and wait.
It flies open in just a minute, revealing Damian wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a question on his face. “Clarke? Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” My eyes drift down to his underwear, but I force them back up.
“No. You didn’t. What’s wrong?”
Now that the moment is here, I have no choice but to blurt it out. “Did you