Mistletoe Magic (17 page)

How odd that it would be in this strange place that he would realize he was in love with Melissa Ryan.

Why was he looking at her so strangely? Melissa wondered. Did Rafe hate this place so much? He looked away uneasily, making her cringe. Obviously her ruse to make him think she was having a good time had worked.

“Rafe, I want you to know I don’t—” But Melissa’s confession of the fact was interrupted by the grand finale.

“Here’s the act you’ve been waiting for folks, Tinkerbell’s reggae version of a popular forties movie that takes place in the Caribbean—
The Wizardess of Foz
!”

The music made conversation impossible, so Melissa settled in as a saronged Dorothy cried in a Jamaican accent, “Ahh, look, Toto, here it is—the red coral road.”

Stuffed toy dog in arm, Dorothy reggaed down an imaginary path toward the island of Foz, joined by other characters along the way. Clarence played a sun-loving Cowardly Lion complete with dark glasses, beach towel, and rum punch glass, and Terry played a spindly-legged Scarecrow challenging everyone to a limbo contest. Although the act was as offbeat as the others had been, Melissa truly began to enjoy herself, easily laughing at the antics of her friends and humming along to the musical numbers done with a reggae beat, backed by a steel drum band.

“Somewhere, out in the ocean…away from the city…

There’s an island I heard of…once in a ditty.

Somewhere, out in the ocean…seagulls fly.

Gulls fly over the islands…why, oh why, can’t I?”

When the act ended Melissa stood with the rest of the crowd, wildly applauding her friends. “Weren’t they great?” she asked Rafe with genuine pleasure.

He, too, stood and applauded, though she judged it to be with far less enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t have figured Clarence would want to associate himself with this kind of production at his age,” Rafe commented.

Was that another criticism, Melissa wondered, or was she being too sensitive? About to suggest they have a drink with her friends, she changed her mind. Even though he didn’t voice them on the way home, she was sure of Rafe’s negative thoughts about the evening. There was a strangely charged atmosphere around him. Had he come to some unpleasant conclusions concerning her?

Stop it, Melissa scolded herself, realizing she was borrowing trouble. Was she determined to spoil the remainder of the night? Maybe she was being fatalistic, but she viewed the evening as the start of the end of their relationship even though she’d finally been able to admit she loved Rafe. How ironic she’d done so to the son rather than the father.

Sadly remembering her futile talk with Hank, Melissa reminded herself that was why her mood was so negative. And yet, added to the boy’s refusal to admit any wrongdoing, there was Rafe’s own blindness about his kids. Could she make him open his eyes? Would she be happy making him face something he didn’t want to see? She’d never be happy in their relationship unless he did.

Then there was this disaster of a date, probably another of her shortcomings by his “mature” standards. Why couldn’t they have taken the bizarre club in the spirit of fun instead of carefully walking through disconnected scenarios grunting pleasantries at each other as if they were strangers thrown together under unfortunate circumstances? Was that his fault or hers? She was being supportive of her friends. Did Rafe disapprove of them as well as her apartment, furniture, and jobs?

Melissa hadn’t yet told him about the teaching position in Pennsylvania. Would he congratulate her? Ask her to turn down the offer? If she said she wasn’t going to take it, would he see it as proof of her not wanting the responsibility of a full-time job? Melissa didn’t have the heart to bring up the subject.

“I think I’m finally getting used to all these stairs,” he told her a short while later when they reached her apartment. “I’m hardly huffing and puffing anymore.”

Rafe’s attempt at humor barely touched her as she fumbled with her keys. He seemed strangely anxious—was he going to say good-bye for good?

“Let me.” Taking the keys, he opened the door and turned on the light. “What’s wrong, my sugarplum?” Rafe asked, nuzzling the back of her neck as she bolted the door. “You’ve been so quiet.”

“Oh, Rafe, about this evening…”

“Shh. Not all our dates can be perfect. What’s important is that we spent the time together.” He turned her around, and, pressing her against the door, kissed her tenderly. “I want to spend all the time I can with the woman I love.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“You do? So do I. Love you, I mean.”

“Then let’s go tell each other in a hundred different ways,” he said, lifting her easily and quickly carrying her to her futon, where he set her down only to throw his body over hers. “I’ll bet you didn’t know I had a little fairy dust of my own.”

“Uh uh. I guess you’ll have to demonstrate your magic,” Melissa said with a sigh as he proceeded to do so, touching and stroking her until twinkling lights seemed to surround them. Their lovemaking was tender, unlike their usual joyous, playful unions.

But afterward, while lying in his arms, she realistically considered her situation. When she’d tried to tell him about Hank’s intervention, Rafe had refused to take the accusation seriously. His son had refused to be honest. A less cautious woman might plunge ahead regardless of the consequences, assuming everything would work out for the best. But without Rafe’s cooperation, Melissa knew she’d be miserable, fighting a losing battle. Could she really allow that to happen to herself? To him? To the kids?

Snuggling closer to her lover, Melissa felt this night would hold bittersweet memories, made all the more painful because she was so sure this was one time love wouldn’t conquer all.

Chapter Nine

“I don’t like this place,” Gretta complained peevishly. “I want to go home!”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” Rafe said. “You enjoy eating out and I know you like Italian food. Look here,”—he pointed at the menu—“they’ve got linguine cooked with butter and garlic—one of your favorites.”

“I don’t want it!” the child insisted, kicking her feet against the bottom of the booth’s seat as she leaned against her father.

“I don’t like anything either,” said Hank. “I’m not in the mood—”

“Well, you’d better get in the mood fast,” Rafe told him sternly. “I assured Melissa you both liked to eat Italian food. That’s why she suggested this restaurant for us.”

The two kids quieted then, although Gretta had her lower lip stuck out belligerently as she continued to kick her feet. Hank kept his eyes glued to the menu and didn’t look at Melissa, seated beside him.

She sighed. Although she’d given up trying to win the approval of Rafe’s family, she’d accepted his invitation and suggested a restaurant for tonight anyway, hoping for the best. But Hank had continued to be covertly hostile—he hadn’t looked her in the eye or spoken directly to her since their talk last week—and it seemed he’d finally managed to influence his sister.

On the ride to the restaurant Gretta had refused to give Melissa her usual welcoming hug. Then the child had insisted on riding in the front seat of Rafe’s car and inserting herself between the two adults. Clinging tenaciously to her father, Gretta had merely frowned at Melissa.

The kids seemed determined to reject the cozy, family-style Italian restaurant, and Melissa suspected their objections were based on the fact she’d chosen the place. She could only hope they’d settle down once they had some food in their stomachs.

Rafe told Gretta, “You’re going to have the linguine—”

But he was interrupted by a man who stuck his head around the booth’s corner. “Will you quit the kicking back there? We’re trying to have a quiet meal.” Rafe nodded and scowled at his daughter.

“I gotta go to the bathroom!” Gretta cried.

“Why didn’t you say so before?”

“I didn’t know it till now.”

Melissa said, “I’ll go with her, Rafe. Will you order me some—”

“I don’t want to go with
her
!”

Taken aback at the child’s strident tone and the way Gretta glared at her, Melissa was speechless and hurt. Gretta had never acted this way around her before. Didn’t Rafe notice the change in his daughter’s behavior?

“Someone has to accompany you, Gretta, and I can’t go into the ladies’ room,” Rafe said.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I was just over there and it’s a one-person bathroom,” Hank said. “She can go in and I can stand on guard outside the door.”

“Well, okay. You take her.” Rafe rose to let the child out. “What do you want for dinner, Hank? I’ll order for you.”

“I’ll have the linguine too.”

Rafe shook his head at Melissa. After the waitress had taken their orders and left, he apologized for his kids’ conduct. “I think they must be tired.”

Melissa knew it was more than that. There was no use voicing her suspicions to Rafe, however. She was sure he would find no fault with his children, even if their rejection of his girlfriend led to the end of the love relationship.

“I wish we were sitting side by side,” Rafe said, extending his arm across the red tablecloth to cover her hand with his own.

“So do I.” She gazed sadly into his dark eyes and thought about how their mutual love would make parting bittersweet. Yet she had to take care of herself, emotionally as well as materially. Although her financial difficulties had been more or less resolved with the new promotions job, she’d also been considering the teaching position that she’d been offered. Perhaps it would be easier to leave the city and her problematic relationship at the same time. Would her lover agree?

“Um, Rafe,” she began, wanting to hint at the topic she planned to broach with him later on. “I’ve received a job offer from my old school in Pennsylvania—a full-time teaching position.”

“What?” His brows rose. “You aren’t thinking about accepting it, are you?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“What do you mean you haven’t—”

Suddenly they became aware of a noisy commotion coming from the direction of the kitchen. Rafe swiveled in his seat when he recognized Gretta’s voice.

“No! Leave me alone!”

Then the kitchen door opened and a man in a white cook’s uniform pulled the little girl, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs, into the dining area. An excited hostess, Rafe, Melissa, and the waitress all gathered to find out what was going on. Other diners openly stared.

“She was in the kitchen,” the cook said. “Reaching into a bowl and eating spaghetti with her hands.”

Rafe grabbed his child. “Gretta! Come back to the booth and sit down! Why the he—why were you in the kitchen? Where’s Hank?”

“I don’t know!” Gretta started to cry.

“Damn!” Rafe looked sheepishly at the hostess. “I’m sorry about the trouble. I’ll make sure she stays put now.”

After leaving Melissa with Gretta beside her in the booth, he went off in search of Hank. Gretta sniffled and pulled away from Melissa’s comforting touch. Rafe’s raised voice carried across to them as he accompanied his son from the opposite side of the room. Watching the other diners turn to look again, Melissa was embarrassed.

“You are never to leave your sister alone when I ask you to take care of her. Do you understand? You’re old enough to know better.”

“But I was watching her from the phone, Dad. I just had to make a call to Pete about school.”

“I don’t care! Did you see Gretta go in the kitchen?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think anybody’d hurt her.”

“Well, you were supposed to stand by the door and bring her right back. The next time I give you some responsibility, you’d better live up to it!”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m real sorry.” Hank looked at the floor.

By the time Rafe and his son were seated again and the curious onlookers had returned to their food, the waitress delivered their salads.

Gretta took one look. “Yuk!” She pushed it toward Hank.

Her brother pushed it back, saying, “I don’t want it.”

As Gretta shoved the bowl at Hank again, Rafe intervened. “I’ll eat it. What’s the matter with you kids tonight?”

What an awful dinner! Melissa saw that even Rafe was getting thoroughly annoyed. Although she’d been eating in the kitchen, Gretta seemed to be on an intensive hunger strike at the table. Balling up tiny pieces of Italian bread from her side plate, the child threw them at her brother when Rafe wasn’t looking and then amused herself by playing with the butter. Melissa pretended not to notice. It was up to Rafe to discipline his children, not her. When Gretta’s linguine arrived she was relieved to see the child finally take some interest.

“It’s delicious,” Rafe remarked before he’d hardly taken a bite of his shrimp scampi. Melissa smiled, realizing he was trying to make her feel more at ease.

While Gretta and Hank picked at their food, Melissa ate her sautéed veal and the accompanying pasta. Enjoying the succulent tastes, she began to forget the evening’s problems. Perhaps she and Rafe could go out alone for a while after dinner. Any extra hours they could spend together would be a bonus.

“Mom took us for Mexican food in California,” Hank stated. “Was it good—especially the cheese enchiladas. You really ought to go with us the next time, Dad.”