The Beckoning of Beautiful Things (The Beckoning Series) (2 page)

“It might take some time,” he replied. “Perhaps
you’d honor me with dinner, and let me start my research?”

Her eyes
were pools of honey that he stirred with lazy, languid fingers. The sensation disturbed her. It was like he was reaching inside of her mind, rearranging the gray matter between her ears. She managed to blink. “Where?” Her voice came out strangled and small.

“My place.”

“I don’t know. That doesn’t seem…” She paused, considering him.

“Safe?”

“Right. Dating 101.”

“Smart woman.” He paused. “I have staff if that makes you more comfortable.
We won’t be the only ones there.”

“Staff…”
Of course you do.
“Why would someone with staff drive a produce van?”

He shrugged. “I told you – I’m helping out a friend.”

“And I told you. That sounds fishy.”

He smiled a non-committal smile and said nothing.

“Where do you live?”

“At the top of a hill in Seaview. I’ll send a car.
”

“I have a car.”

He shrugged again. “Live a little. My driver will be at your beck and call. You can leave at any time.”

“Any time?”

“Absolutely. You have my word.”

Her mind raced.
A date with a wealthy man at his place? Is that safe? I don’t know him. He gave me his word. What if this is a trap? What if he…? What if I…?
An overwhelming sense of yes drowned out all her fears. “Alright,” she stated, amending
I’ll phone a friend and let them know where I’m going. That way, if I don’t call at a certain time they’ll know to send the police
.

He let out a deep sigh
as if he expected a different answer. Once more, his gaze tangled with hers. “Until tonight then.”

“Yes, until tonight.”

He reached out a finger and drew it slowly along her face, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “You have paint on your face.”

“It’s gesso – a canvas primer.”

“Ah.”

I like the way he says that word.

He let two fingers trace her cheek.

I like the feel of his touch.
Captivated, she closed her eyes. Once more, images of the Sea of Cortez with its blue-green waters and pale sand beaches came to mind. Her breath moved in and out of her lungs like ocean waves. The wind stirred the tall cedar tree tops, causing a peaceful swish. A green goddess-like apparition in her mind swirled in the clear sea, staring up at her. She frowned at the image. Many of the women in her family saw visions. They handed this trait down from generation to generation.
Maybe he travels a lot. Maybe he has a home in La Paz.

When his hand left her face, her skin felt somehow empty, like a vacant lot remained where a home had once been. Her eyes popped open.

He stood gazing at her, contemplative, and once more reached for her hand. This time she didn’t resist the searing, electric heat that poured along her skin.

He kissed her hand lightly, nodded, turned
, and strode away. “Until tonight, Marissa Engles,” he said as he stepped into his truck.

“Until tonight,” she repeated.
She blinked, coming out of her momentary stupor, and raced around the side of the vehicle. “Hey, what’s your name? What time?”

He laughed.
“Daniel. Seven. I wondered if you’d ask.” He pulled the van out of the driveway and sped away.

Her eyes lingered until he was out of sight.
I have a date.
She smiled, and wandered back to the box of produce. Hefting it to her hip, she made the trek upstairs, her steps light in spite of the heavy container. As she struggled to open the door, the box balanced on her hip, she let out a sigh of exasperation. “Gah! Jason! I forgot! ”
Well, so much for cooking for you tonight, Jason Brown. It was my birthday anyway. This is a gift to me.
He was so much like her best friend’s brother rather than the love of her life, remorse at cancelling never crossed her mind.

She placed the box on the worn countertop next to the sink before
searching the cluttered table of oil paints, brushes, and palettes to find her phone. Marissa tapped Jason’s number and lifted it to her ear. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, baby-doll.”

She rolled her eyes. She hated being called a doll. “Hey, Jason. I’m going to have to reschedule our dinner tonight.”

“That’s c
ool, that’s cool,” he replied.

“I’ll bet you tossed your head when you said that,” she said peevishly
. She rolled her eyes again, glad he wasn’t in front of her. He hated it when she rolled her eyes at him.

“What?”

“You’ve started saying things twice and then tossing your head like a pony. It drives me nuts.”

“
Whatever. And the name’s Harmonia,” he said. “You know that. Why do we have to cancel?”

“I’ve got a date,” she replied. Her ear filled with a sharp silence, as if a vacuum had cleaned the space between them of any debris or lingering thoughts. She waited before responding to the empty space. “
You’ve always encouraged me to go out with other people. You said it was no problem for me to date.”

“And it isn’t,” he responded a little too quickly. “
I just looked forward to our dinner tonight. I’ve got a few new techniques I wanted to try out as a birthday gift to you.”

“Oh?” she said, disinterested.
I don’t care for all your “techniques,” dude. Who do you practice with before you deem them suitable to bring them my way?

“What time is your date?”

“Around seven,” she replied. “Actually, he said he’d send a car over.”

“Send a car, huh?” Jason said in a flat tone.

“That’s what he said.”

“What’s his name?”

“Why?”

“I just wondered.”

“For someone who’s not jealous, you’re sure asking a lot of questions.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he responded. “Sorry, baby-doll.”

She pictured him flashing his quirky, infectious smile, and she relaxed. Jason, Harmonia, whatever he liked to be called, had a killer smile to go with his easy disposition. His bright white teeth were kind of round and almost small-boy size. His cheeks creased with dimples when he smiled, and his curly, surfer blond hair added to his charm. It bobbed around his head as if he were always dancing along a wave on his surfboard.

“Maybe I’ll swing by when I’m done here. I should be ready to go in an hour.”

“Why do you want to stop by?’

“I could show you some of the new techniques as a birthday kick-off.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll need to get ready for my date.”

“It will only take a second.”

She scoffed. “That stimulating, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your new skills. If you can show them to me in a couple seconds, why would I want you to share them with me at all?”

“Good point, good point. Maybe I just want to stop by to say hi.”

“Jason,” she protested.

“My name’s Harmonia.”

“Not to me,” she repeated.
You made it up. While you were high on ‘shrooms. Get a grip.

“Look, I’ll just swing by, say hello, then leave you to your date prep, okay?”

He seemed awfully persistent in wanting to stop by. Her eyes narrowed. “Okay, but just for a moment. Seriously.”
Maybe I could break up with him then. Get it over with.

“Scout’s honor. Later, baby-doll,” he added and hung up.

“Later,
baby-doll
,” she said to the phone.   She tossed it on the mess of art supplies.

She turned her attention to the mouthwatering produce.
Prepare it, first; paint it, second; eat it, third. Or, maybe, eat it as I go.
She smiled and licked her lips. She hefted a firm, shiny cucumber, curving her fingers around it.
I like the way this feels. It’s just the right size and shape.
Her artist’s eye caressed the leafy greens tinged with burgundy, sitting next to the long, stiff, pale leaves of the romaine.
Beautiful!
She fingered a large, papery, delicate leaf of light green butter lettuce, noting its healthy appearance. The leaves were big, full, and fresh. The roots burst from the head, the tendrils still seeking life from the moist dirt clinging to each fiber. She squinted and held out her hand as if she were painting, stroking the air with delicacy.

A carton of bright red strawberries lay nestled in the corner of the box. She took one of the strawberries, flipped up the faucet handle and let the water dribble on the berry. She slowly inched up the
solid, stainless steel handle until the liquid gushed. Holding the plump, ripened fruit under the cool water, she let her fingertips move gently over the stippled surface. Her hand coaxed the water faucet off, and she bit the sweet, succulent berry, savoring the juices that filled her mouth.
Mmm. I think I need more.

When she’d finished her feast of berries, she removed the lettuce, the smooth, waxy, yellow bananas, the glistening apples
, and the pale, greenish-yellow mottled pears. She arranged them along the countertop, eyeing each appreciatively. She regarded them through one eye, then the other.
The apple,
she decided. She ran a fingertip along the lustrous red-streaked surface before picking it up. With deliberate care, she lovingly buffed the skin to a gloss with a clean, soft, cotton cloth, turning it over and over in her hands, taking delight in the firm girth of the Honeycrisp. Seizing a knife from the drawer, she buffed the blade smooth with the same cloth, until her smiling face gleamed in the polished steel. She gripped the knife handle and slowly, deliberately pierced the flesh of the apple. The tip of the steel blade parted the skin and the tiniest bead of moisture seeped from the slit. She licked the sweet droplet, savoring the sugary nectar. She pushed the blade deeper into the flesh. As it gave way, it sprayed her face with tiny beads of juice.

Grabbing a silky piece of satin from the shelf, she arranged the apple slice, the berries and the lettuce leaves between the
pink folds and prepared to apply paint to canvas.

Car tires crunched up her driveway
20 minutes later. She peered out the window. Jason waved from her front stoop. She dropped her brushes in turpentine, turned to the dog, and said, “Stay.” Sober looked at her evenly, sat down, and waited. “I’ll be back. You and Jason don’t get along.”

She
trod out onto the sidewalk and stood before her soon to be ex-lover. “I thought you said you’d be over in an hour.”

“I finished quickly
, and the boss said I could head out. It wasn’t that busy today.”

“
Is it ever that busy? No one ever goes in there but old hippies and drug addicts. That shop is as weird as your house is.”

“Hey, now. I like my house.”

His home, located in a funky, crowded neighborhood right in the heart of West Seattle, was a collection of metal deities, altars, incense, posters of Hindu gods, and other paraphernalia. He got up, meditated, did yoga, chanted, prayed, ate weird food, and then went to work at the funky music store on California Ave. A blast from the past kind of store, just like the guy himself, chock full of vinyl, CDs, and old cassette tapes.

Her home was full of color and clean crisp lines, like the
box of produce sitting in her studio. It was quiet yet quirky, the way she preferred to be. She had modern furniture, a la Scandinavian Designs, bold, bright prints on the wall, and everything was kept sparkling clean. She got up, drank coffee, ate eggs or cereal, and went to work at the Puget Sound Publishing House, working on ads and other graphics for
Seattle’s Finest
, a slick, glossy magazine that realtors used to promote the Pacific Northwest. A copy was always left on the counter of an upscale house for sale. Her house and her life was the antithesis to Jason’s.

“Well?” She tapped her foot impatiently.

“No, it wasn’t really busy but…” He gave her a perplexed look.

“But what? I’ve got things to do.”

“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand.
“You seem pissed about something.”

“I’ve got to
feed the dog.”

“Sober Dude can wait. I can’t.”

A stab of guilt poked at her brain.
He’s not that bad.
She took his hand, and let him pull her into his lap, one leg on either side of his hips. The abrasive concrete stabbed her knees, and she winced. His rigid erection poked through his jeans. “You’re certainly eager,” she said.

“I think it’s hot that you’re going on a date.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, baby-doll. Hot as hell. That’s why I rushed over here.”

She never understood that. Why didn’t he care? Did he care about her at all or was she just a Tantric practice partner? “Okay, so you think it’s hot. I think it’s odd that you think it’s hot, and I’ve got to get ready.”
Come on, tell him we’re through.
She clenched and unclenched her hands. The words stuck in her throat like she’d swallowed a gum ball.