Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (10 page)

“Yeah,” she beamed. “But I really don’t know much about this stuff.”

“All right.” Stepping toward her, invading her personal space and taking her off guard, he reached past her to grab a bottle from an upper shelf completely out of her reach, one that would have required a step stool and a prayer for her to obtain. “Let me help ya out here.”

“Thank you.” She rocked back on her heels as he brought his long arm dangerously close to her body, almost brushing against her.

“Liberty School Cabernet Sauvignon is a good choice for novices. Not so much beginner drinkers, but to get your feet wet for comparison tasting. It’s got a lot of bang for the buck, too. Not pricey, yet not cheap tasting, either. It’s from California and pairs well with a number of foods.”

“What about what
you
have?” she questioned as she pointed down into his basket, though she preferred to keep staring into his eyes that seemed brighter under the direct light.

“The Cashmere?” He reached into his basket and wielded the thing as if about to do a commercial. “It’s extremely smooth, real good stuff.”

…Like you, huh?

“I find it relaxing. It’s a nice drink before bed.” He placed it carefully back into his basket. It amused her to see such a large man being so watchful with his items, cautious, delicate…

“I like to drink a glass of something before bed every now and again, but I’ve decided lately to try and step out of my comfort zone and try new drinks. So far it hasn’t been going too well. I have trouble sleeping every now and again, too. My mind is always racing.”

…Why did I say that? This man don’t care about that shit. I’m too chatty sometimes. Why do I talk so much when I’m nervous or around a good-looking guy? Wait, I take that back. I don’t act like this around every good-looking man I may run into, just some of them… and why am I now explaining my explanations to my own damn self?! I’m even chatting too much in my own head, arguing with myself like some loon. Next it will be a full, head on argument and a violent fight between me, myself and I, right here in the wine aisle!

“A busy mind is a smart mind.” With those words, he brought her back into his world. His eyes hooded, causing her body temperature to rise like some pre-heated oven. Or was it a hot flash? She no longer cared. “Anyway, we’re both night owls I guess. I stay up late most nights for a bunch of reasons and have to eventually force myself to sleep. Wine sometimes helps, ya know?” He smiled, showing almost perfect teeth. One on the bottom row was slightly crooked, but it only added to his handsomeness, made him appear genuine. “See, when choosing wines, one of the best ways to start learning about them is just to try them out for size. If something catches your eye, get it. Start out with a couple of whites, a couple of reds, real simple, see?”

“Yeah.” Feeling a little silly, she stared into his eyes once more. Another rush of warmth coursed through her, this one a softer sensation, but definitely more lasting. Perhaps that was her preference in wines, too? Just that fast, her thoughts drifted to something low down and dirty, filthy and seedy, as her level of physical attraction elevated like an escalator. The man had a chiseled face, his expression serious, even when he smiled. His eyes were slightly crimped at the ends, the hoods naturally defined, heavy, and the irises an intense shade of green.

His gaze gave him an air of friendliness, while the rest of his face appeared regal and staunch. Such contrasts he was… Hair the shade of rich espresso was brushed away from his broad forehead, and a beard and mustache lined his face, threaded with mere hints of silver.

“That recommendation sounds simple enough,” she finally spoke again as she caught a whiff of the man. He smelled clean, like scrubbing solvents, lemon, and something medicinal and oily, possibly turpentine. One would think such a thing would have been a turn off, or at the least off-putting, but, in her years of restoring furniture, she found it rather comforting.

“What you need to do is get you a good book and read up, then go to some places that let you sample to figure out what you lean towards. Then you’ll have a better idea of what you like and don’t like. There are so many ways to skin this cat, but the possibilities are endless.”

“Sounds right to me. You said that one in your basket there helps you relax, huh?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and squared off with her, looked down at her as if she’d called him closer. She swallowed as they simply gazed at one another… Her looking up at him, him looking down her… The angles of his flawless lips rounded in a grin. “It helps me, and it’s my nightcap of choice. I don’t do it all the time, but this makes a delicious sleep aid every now and again.”

“I need to try that one then.” Reaching past him, she tried in vain to pull the same brand down, this time getting a whiff of his aftershave, too. He quickly stepped in front of her, grabbed the bottle, and placed it delicately in her basket.

“Thank you.”

“Of course…anytime.” They marinated in a moment of stilted silence, and she could almost swear she heard his breathing begin to slow… like some animal trying to quiet its own heartbeat as it searched about on the prowl.

“I have to be at work in a few hours. I need to get some sleep. Instead, I’m here at the grocery store. I have no idea why I do this to myself.” She chuckled. “Thank you for the tips though. I appreciate it. You’ve been really helpful.”

“You’re uh…” He took a step back from her, sliding his hand into his pocket, “…more than welcome.” The goliath allowed her just enough room to maneuver around him.

“You have a good night.” Her voice practically cracked as she turned to walk away.

“You too…”

His face, his voice, his scent etched themselves in her mind. She got several feet between them but before she could leave the aisle once and for all, the man suddenly called out to her.

“Hey!”

Pausing, she looked at him from over her shoulder. He reminded her of some dark tower wedged between the rows of glossy bottles. He commanded attention without even trying.

“Yes?” Her heart beat accelerated as he approached her. His blurry reflection moved on the lustrous floors and each step he took felt like a rumble, a thunderstorm right before torrential rain. Soon he was right beside her again. This time, she picked up the faint odor of cigarettes and mint on his breath.

“So, are you with someone? Married or somethin’?”

“No…”

“Good. One question down, another one to go. You like wine, I like wine… Maybe I could teach you about wine pairing over dinner? Or…” He shrugged. “Maybe we can do something else, I don’t care, whatever you want, but I want to take you out… get to know you. Can I get to know you better?”

She swallowed, then cleared her throat, as if important words needed to be spoken, some carefully constructed ‘let down’, a ‘no thank you but I’m flattered’ speech. Instead, her mouth opened and out flew some utterances she hadn’t planned on saying. “Get to know me? Over dinner?”

“Yeah, you know, that meal after lunch and before dessert.”

She looked down at her shoes and chuckled, partially because she now saw she had on mismatched socks—one navy blue, the other black.

“What’s your name, pretty lady?”

She looked up into his eyes and she lost her breath on the earthiness of his deep, husky voice. “Emerald.”

“That’s nice; unusual, but nice. I really like it. Mine is Sloan… Sloan Steele.”

She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sloan.” He reached out and shook it, his grip powerful but gentle all the same. An awkward silence wove itself between them before they both chuckled, as if they’d just psychically shared a joke.

“So, Emerald.” He cocked his head to the side, showing that easy, lazy smile she was enjoying a bit too much and too soon. “Can I call you to arrange this dinner date I asked you out on?”

“I think so.” She laughed lightly as she pulled out her phone. “Let me get your number, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He set his basket down by his foot and whipped out his cell phone from his pocket.

“You’re not from here, are you?” She scrolled through her contacts list. They exchanged numbers.

“Nah, I’m from Manhattan, lower eastside.”

“The village?”

“Yeah, born and raised there.”

“My brother is out that way.” Hiding a smile, she observed him remove his wallet from his pocket and slide out a business card. He handed it to her.

“Yeah? It’s home,” he said with a shrug, “but I just moved here and so far I like it… nice people, nice place. It’s quieter; I appreciate that.”

“It’s very peaceful here but the Carnival Bizarre happens in a few weeks and it gets totally crazy,” she warned as she took his black and white business card and ran her thumb over the smooth finish.

“Carnival Bizarre?”

“Yeah, it’s this big celebration with—” She paused as she read his card. “
Sloan Steele – Author of “I Like Long Crawls in the Dark
.” I knew your name sounded familiar when you said it, but I didn’t put two and two together! You’ve
got
to be kidding me!” Laughing, she stomped her foot in disbelief.

“You read it?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Hell yes, I read it!” The man burst out laughing, his skin flushed. “That book kept me on the edge of my seat. Now, I won’t kid you…” She put her hand up, getting into a groove as her excitement grew wings and flapped about her. “I just started getting into your type of books. Usually I’d read biographies, but your novel caught my attention for some reason. I saw it on the New York Times Bestsellers list and decided to give it a try, take a stab at something different, just like my wines.”

“Well?” His black brows furrowed ever so slightly, which only made him look that much sexier. “What’d you think?”

“I absolutely loved it!”

“Well hell, thanks. That means even more to me, you know, that it really wasn’t your thing but you gave it a whirl anyway. A real nice lookin’ lady like yourself flipping through my book… just the thought of it, well… it makes me smile, ya know? It’s a big ego boost to picture something like that.”

“You’re definitely from Manhattan. You guys are slick with words and I know you’re just blowing smoke, but whatever.” At this, the man feigned an expression of shock. “Manhattan smoothness should be illegal,” she teased.

Out from his mouth poured deep, raucous laughter, the belly-aching kind. That startled her. A vein protruded at the center of his forehead, driving his sexiness through the roof.

“Yeah, well.” He went serious and stood a bit straighter. “That may be true for some of us, but I meant what I said. I think you’re real nice looking, and you seem interested in some of the stuff I like. So look, my number is on there, and my email address, too.” He pointed down towards the card. “I only give these cards out to people in the special members clubs… can’t have every Tom, Dick, and Harry calling me.”

“Special members, huh? Do I get a silk purple jacket and a hat with your insignia, too?” she joked.

“No, but you do get some wine lessons free of charge if you want them, some dinner and good conversation.”

“Count me in, then.” She rattled off her number to the man. A surge of excitement pulsed through her as she watched him save her contact info.

“Alright, Emerald.” He began to back away, his basket swinging slowly at his side. “I’ll give you a call, all right? You be safe, okay? Crazy people ’round here.” He laughed lightly.

“Oh, I’ll be all right!” she chided as she turned away and perused the wine aisle once more. In actuality, she wanted to simply bask a bit longer in the space that they’d shared.

“Well, call me old fashioned, but I had to say it. People do dumb stuff so just…I’m rambling,” He grinned and waved her off. “But you know what I mean. Have a good night.”

“I will, and thanks, okay? It was nice of you to express your concern, and thanks again for the wine tips, too!”

“Anytime!” After blowing her a kiss, he turned and disappeared from the aisle, leaving her.

Suddenly, she felt alone. She hadn’t felt alone before he’d arrived. She’d been fine—in a bit of a rush, actually. She’d wanted to get home with her cabernet, or perhaps a chardonnay, and pair it with some cheese, fancy crackers, and her coveted chocolate covered raisins. She’d wanted to settle in front of the television for an hour or two, snuggle into her blanket, then doze off before her alarm struck.

Now, all she had was the lingering intermingled scents from his body and her own pomegranate body wash. His deep voice was gone, and so was his all-encompassing, almost overpowering presence. She didn’t want their conversation to end, but it had to, because the seconds warred on and there were jobs to do, homes to drive back to, and tasks to complete.

She never imagined in a million years that one of her weekly trips to the grocery store in the wee hours of the morning, when night still blew its obscure breath across the sky, would result in bumping into someone such as Sloan Steele. The beauty of the man lay in his relaxed vibe, in his naturally funny and charming self, all genuine and not overdone… not the kind that caused suspicion or came across as disingenuous. Even his appearance caused her to stiffen, yet want to relax all at once. He was good-looking, had a natural ruggedness, and she remembered all too well some of the things he’d written in that book… The man definitely had a way with words.

At that moment, she wondered what parts of him had bled into that story? That novel had made her laugh, scream, cry, and feel angry all at once. She’d even left a review for the thing, something she rarely did; she’d loved it just that much. She’d given it four stars out of five, deducting one for a character she despised that never attempted to redeem herself, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that. Laughing at the notion, she stood there reflecting over their encounter. What a small, small world they lived in.

The next moments were spent reading the back of a few soup cans while tapping her foot to a cheesy karaoke version of Milli Vanilli’s, ‘Girl You Know it’s True’. Her mind wandered as she checked out, lining her items in perfect little parallel rows on the dark gray conveyor belt. The memory of him consumed her, made her smile somewhat, float inside herself like an internal vacation on the wings of possibilities. After she paid for her things, she mumbled goodnight to the cashier and walked through the electronic double doors, where she was saluted by a cool breeze that hit her face and blew into her hair. Holding the brown paper bags tight in one hand by the handles, she walked fast and steady to her car, while the man kept happily haunting her thoughts. She kept replaying their conversation in her mind and unashamedly hoped he’d call. Either way, she doubted she’d call him if he didn’t; that wasn’t her style though she confessed to herself she’d be disappointed if he never followed up—and curious as to why not, too.