Completely Smitten (20 page)

“Show-off,” Darius muttered. Then he glanced at the DVDs. He wished he’d known Blackstone was going to study them. He’d have left out his guy flicks. The romantic comedies were there for research. A matchmaker always needed new tricks for ways to unite couples.

Even if the female half of one of those couples was a woman he cared about more than he was willing to say.

Twelve

Ariel’s ankle ached. Acting as lunchtime hostess in a fancy restaurant was harder than she had expected. And she wasn’t even the hostess in charge. She was the junior hostess, just learning her duties.

Hostess in Charge or HiC, as she jokingly had called herself, was Sofia Harney, a fiftyish woman who bore a striking resemblance to Sophia Loren. She was tall, big-boned, and big-busted, but surprisingly fit all the same. Her long brown hair was streaked with gray and she wore huge glasses over heavily made-up eyes.

She had a broad laugh and more energy than Ariel could ever hope for. And all the regulars seemed to know and love her.

“Can’t believe you’re retiring, Sofia,” more than one regular said as she led him to his table.

“I’m not retired,” she would say in response. “I’m moving to the weekends. At my age, you shouldn’t have to work full-time.”

Sofia’s change to weekends, and the fact that the other junior hostess had quit before Ariel started, meant that Ariel would eventually become the HiC.

“I think any healthy twenty-year-old should learn the value of hard work,” said the man currently in front of Sofia. She laughed, just like she had at every variation of this remark she had received all day.

“So do I,” she said. “Which is why I’m training young Ariel here.”

Ariel smiled, just like she was supposed to, even though she didn’t want them to think she was too young for the job or only twenty. She didn’t know why her age seemed important here, but it did. She found herself actually wishing for a few more years—or at least the wisdom those years could allow her to claim.

Sofia sat the man and his party at the table where the tourist had had his heart attack the day before. The tourist was doing surprisingly well, the hospital had told her when she called first thing that morning on Blackstone’s behalf. In fact, the nurse had told her, he was doing better than any heart attack patient they had ever had.

“I’m beginning to think we should clone him,” she had said.

Ariel straightened the menus behind the maitre d’s stand and looked out the door. The restaurant was gaining its midafternoon quiet. She was looking forward to it. She needed to sit down. Even though she had splurged and bought herself special shoes that would give her ankle good support, her feet hurt. She should have known better than to wear new shoes on the first day of the job.

“You look bushed,” Sofia said as she approached.

“You don’t,” Ariel said, “and you did all the work.”

Sofia gave her that lovely smile. “Go. Sit. After I finish here, I’ll teach you the mysterious art of the cash register.”

Finishing here was making certain that the all-important reservation log was up-to-date. New customers who had never been to Quixotic before were called to remind them about their reservation. The restaurant was so busy that if a customer was a no-show, after an hour, his table was given away.

Sofia said she spent a good part of the early afternoon on the phone, confirming reservations and making new ones. Indeed, the phone had started to ring at one-thirty, just like Sofia had predicted it would.

The afternoon bartender was stacking the bar’s dishwasher. He smiled at her as she sat down.

“First rule of Quixotic,” he said. “Never look like you’re just resting.”

Ariel started to stand and he waved her back down.

“All I meant was that you have to drink something if you sit here. What’ll it be?”

“I don’t suppose I can have a gin and tonic.”

“Sure you can,” he said, “but I don’t advise it. You still have an hour or more.”

She smiled, liking his easy affability. Everyone seemed content with their jobs here, and it didn’t seem like an affectation. A few had talked softly about the building and how uncomfortable it made them—seems some people thought it was haunted—but everyone loved the restaurant and, as a rule, they liked Blackstone.

She had been warned, though, that he could be cold if something didn’t go his way. Not angry, not violent. Cold, as if a withdrawal of his famous charm was enough to make people uncomfortable.

Andrew Vari hadn’t shown up yet, which Sofia said was odd. He normally came in around eleven. But apparently he had left work early the day before and hadn’t returned. The entire staff thought that was unusual.

The staff didn’t have the same opinion of him that they had of Blackstone. They called him the Enforcer, saying he was the one who had all the terrible jobs. He hired and fired, and had called employees in for dressings down on several occasions.

No one disliked him, so far as she could tell, but no one felt close to him either. A lot of the staff went out of their way to avoid him, considering him odd.

If his treatment of her had been any indication, she could understand why they were leery. He had been one of the rudest people she had ever met.

The bartender held up an empty glass. “First rule of Quixotic,” he reminded her.

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry. I’m tired and I’m not even done.”

“First days’ll do that to you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I suppose.” That and lack of exercise. She’d been worrying too much and not taking care of herself. Time to change that. Even her body was saying so.

He turned the glass so that it caught the light. “Um …”

“Seven-Up,” she said.

He grinned. “I took you for a diet kinda girl.”

“Nope,” she said. “I like my sugar pure and unadulterated.”

He laughed, and as he did, the main door opened. Ariel slid off the stool, the habit of attending to the door already engrained. She couldn’t see who was coming through the glass, though, until he had stepped inside.

It was Andrew Vari.

He wore a dark gray pinstripe suit, a red tie tucked into his vest, and a single red rose in the buttonhole on his lapel. Over his shoulders he had casually slung a black raincoat, and on his head, he wore a fedora with a red hat band. The fedora was tilted rakishly to one side.

The entire look gave him a presence that more than compensated for his height. He looked like he had stepped off a movie set.

“How was lunch?” he asked Sofia, and he clearly wasn’t talking about the food.

She smiled at him. “Good afternoon to you too, Mr. Vari. Got out of bed a little late today?”

“Just because you’re going to reduce your time at the restaurant, my dear, doesn’t mean you can ask impertinent questions,” he said, walking toward the maitre d’s desk.

“It’s too late to change now,” Sofia said.

Vari looked at her sideways, and Ariel held her breath. His eyes were blue. She had never noticed that before. They were the deep clear blue of an afternoon sky, and they were striking. She hadn’t expected to find any part of him attractive.

“You know,” he said to Sofia, “most people here respect me and would never speak to me that way.”

Sofia shrugged. “They’re just afraid of men who wear clothing as if it were a costume.”

He stepped away from the desk and extended his hands down his suit. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

Ariel didn’t move. She stood beside her chair, wishing she could disappear behind the bar. She still wasn’t sure how to talk with him. She’d thought about it all night and had come up with nothing. She didn’t want to apologize, exactly, but she didn’t want to upset him either.

“Nothing’s wrong with your outfit,” Sofia was saying. “That’s the problem. It’s too precise. By two in the afternoon, most men would be a little rumpled. Their flower would have wilted—”

“Watch it,” Vari said. “Most men hate public discussion of wilting.”

“—or the creases in their trousers would have been ruined. Or they would be wearing the wrong color socks. Let me see your socks, Andrew.”

He frowned at her. “My socks are personal.”

“Andrew.”

Ariel let out a silent breath. It was clear this was a game to them, a ritual that they both seemed to enjoy. The bartender leaned forward, his bar rag in his hand. He was smiling.

“Sofia, employees aren’t supposed to harass the boss.”

“You’re not the boss,” she said. “Blackstone is.”

It almost seemed like Vari winced, but the movement was so quick that Ariel wasn’t sure she had seen it.

“So I can harass you all I want.”

“If that’s the case,” Vari said, “then I’ll have to talk with him. There are laws against sock inquiries these days.”

“But they’re misdemeanors,” Sofia said. “Let’s see the socks.”

Vari sighed and raised his trousers. His shoes were perfect, black leather with a single tassel. But his socks were an unexpected treat.

They were bright red, like the tie, the flower, and the hat band.

“Oh.” Sofia’s voice trilled downward in disappointment. “I was hoping for green.”

“Green would be wrong,” he said with complete seriousness.

“But green would prove that you’re not wearing a costume.”

“Green would prove that I’m color-blind, which I’m clearly not. You hate that I dress better than you do.”

Sofia smiled. “I suspect you have a fashion coordinator on the payroll and I want you to share.”

Vari smiled too, and the look was a revelation. His battered face had a warmth to it that Ariel had only glimpsed at the airport. She felt that shock of recognition again, as if she had spent a lot of time with this man at some point in her life.

Sofia had turned toward her. “Andrew,” she said, her tone suddenly tentative, “apparently you haven’t been introduced to Ariel Summers. She’s our new—”

“Daytime hostess; I know.” He faced her and bowed slightly, as if he were meeting a duchess. “Miss Summers.”

No one had called her “miss” in years. “Mr. Vari.”

He rose to his full height. He didn’t even come up to her shoulder. “I see that your ankle is better.”

Her mouth was dry. “Yes.

“

“Is it strong enough for you to spend all day on it?”

The bartender was peering at her as if she had grown a second head, and even Sofia’s smile had disappeared. Blackstone had come out of the kitchen. Ariel could see him out of the corner of her eye, making his way through the tables toward the front.

Was he coming to protect her? Or to defend his position in hiring her without Vari being there?

“Yes,” she said. “It’s strong enough. Thank you for asking.”

She felt like a schoolgirl meeting the principal. One false step and she’d be gone.

Vari’s gaze met hers, and she felt that same flutter again. Something about him drew her forward. She had to struggle to stay where she was.

“Did you ever find your friend Darius?” he asked, and those striking eyes had an odd expression in them. Was it hope? If so, what kind of hope? That she would find Darius for him?

“No,” she said.

“You still think I know him.” That was a statement and not a question. He was standing awkwardly, his hands at his sides. She got the sense of contained energy, as if he felt like he needed to bolt.

Blackstone had reached them. He paused at the edge of the tables and watched, his entire expression wary.

“He knows things about you and your house that no one else should know,” Ariel said.

Vari tilted his fedora back. “You know them.”

“He told me.”

“And then you somehow confirmed that no one else knew them?”

Sofia glanced over her shoulder at Blackstone, as if she were wondering whether or not to step in. He held out a hand, subtly enough to keep her from moving. Vari ignored it, but Ariel saw it all.

“I saw the pictures of your—grandfather?—with Hemingway. I had to do a lot of searching before I found them. Darius knew all about it.”

“Mmm,” Vari said, but he seemed taken aback.

“You look a lot like your grandfather,” Ariel said.

Blackstone raised his chin ever so slightly. He watched Vari as if he were afraid the other man was going to say something wrong.

Vari shrugged.

“You know Darius, don’t you?”

“This is not the place for this discussion,” Vari said.

Ariel felt hope build. “What is?”

“Maybe after work.”

“You just got here. I’m leaving soon.” She sounded demanding and knew it. This man was supposed to be her boss and she was acting like she didn’t care.

“You’re not in a great hurry, are you?” There was a slight edge to his voice, as if the Andrew Vari she had met in Idaho were trying to get out, but he wasn’t allowing him to.

She felt very uncomfortable. Everyone was staring and she could feel their concern, although she didn’t think it was for her. It felt like they were closing ranks, like she had become an enemy suddenly, for attacking Andrew Vari.

What was it about this rude little man that inspired that kind of loyalty?

Probably the same thing that drew her to him.

“I used to be in a great hurry,” she said. “But now so much time has passed that it would be silly to say that I am.”

He nodded once, as if he were satisfied with her answer, and then he said, “You look a little pale. Are you sure the ankle is all right?”

She wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Was he trying to get rid of her, or did he actually feel concern? And if he did, why did he? Because she was working there now?

“I’m just tired,” she said. “I haven’t done this kind of work for a while.”

“But she’s very good at it,” Sofia said in a hearty voice that Ariel hadn’t heard from her before.

Vari didn’t even turn around. He continued studying Ariel. “I’m sure she is.”

She flushed. His tone was so ambiguous, she couldn’t tell if he was patronizing her, being serious, or making fun of her, but she couldn’t just let the sentence hang between them.

“Mr. Vari …” she said.

“Yes?” He had that look of expectation on his face again.

“I know you and I got off to a rocky start—”

“I wouldn’t call it rocky,” he said. “Bizarre, strange, stalkeresque, maybe, but not rocky.”