The Place I Belong Page 8

  He raised his hand just a fraction and a waiter materialized at their table. “We’re pouring four excellent wines by the glass this afternoon,” the young man said before reeling off the names, vintages, terroirs, and adjectives describing flavors Hannah never could taste. She was about to ask Adam for his recommendation when her eyes fell on his glass of water and she flushed again. “Um, the first one,” she said, having no idea what she had ordered.

  “A wise choice,” the waiter said. He produced two hand-lettered cards and handed them to Hannah and Adam. “Our cheese selection for the day.”

  Adam scanned the card, his face intent, almost to the point of frowning. “Do you have a Cahill’s Farm cheddar tonight?” The waiter shook his head and leaned down to suggest an alternative. When Ward used to debate over wines with the sommelier, it was to show off. He’d once sent back a perfectly good bottle of wine when they were out with another couple, making Hannah cringe in embarrassment. However, as Adam discussed the various offerings with the waiter, his genuine passion for the cheese shone through.

  “We’ll have your recommendation, as well as the Garrotxa, the Taleggio, and the Ewe’s Blue,” Adam said. “And some chutneys as well.”

  “Chutneys?” Hannah gave her menu back to the waiter, wondering what color wine she’d ordered.

  “They accent the cheeses with a little hint of fruit.” Adam picked up his glass and took a sip. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, baring curves of muscle in his forearms. Evidently stirring large pots of food made for a good workout.

  “About Matt,” Hannah said to distract herself from speculating on what the flex of those muscles would feel like under her fingers. “He seems genuinely sorry for what happened to Trace. He considered your warning about letting the dog out as just another arbitrary rule you decided to make. He didn’t understand the real danger to Trace. So I don’t think you need to worry about it occurring again.”

  Relief crossed Adam’s face. “Thank you. Every time I see that bandage on Trace, I get a punch of guilt right in the chest.”

  “Sorry about that. Those bandages only come in neon colors, so you can’t miss them.”

  His smile was brief and didn’t make it to his eyes. “Tell me more about the pony Matt likes.”

  The waiter appeared with a graceful crystal wine glass and a bottle of white wine. With a flourish he set the glass on the table and poured a mouthful of wine into it. Hannah grabbed the glass, took a swallow of the wine, and nodded. “Great. Thanks.” She waited while the waiter filled her glass with a generous serving before moving it aside so she could talk to Adam.

  He watched with a little crease between his brows. “Are you sure the wine is to your liking?” he asked.

  “It’s fine. Why?”

  He shook his head. She looked from Adam to her wine glass, reminding herself food and wine were his profession, and he probably felt she’d been too hasty in her tasting. She picked up the glass and tried to get the wine to swirl around in it to prove she was paying attention. A drop sloshed over the edge of the glass, so she gave up on that and took a sip, letting the wine roll over her tongue in a deliberate way. Much to her surprise, she noticed how crisp and dry the flavor was. “It’s excellent,” she said, after swallowing.

  He relaxed into his chair. “The pony?”

  Hannah debated how much to tell him about whisper horses. “Do you know Sharon Sydenstricker?”

  “I’ve met her once or twice.”

  “Have you heard about her whisper horse theory?”

  He rubbed his chin. “She makes horses better by whispering to them?”

  “No, people get better by whispering to horses. Not only that.” Hannah took a hurried drink of wine. “There is one particular whisper horse for each person.”

  His eyebrows rose over a skeptical smile. At least he appeared to share her opinion of Sharon’s theory.

  Hannah plowed onward. “Not that I believe this woo-woo stuff, but I know animals can have a therapeutic effect on people. And I think Satchmo might help Matt, as well as Matt helping Satchmo.”

  Adam shifted forward. “It sounds unusual, but I’m willing to try anything.”

  “Then you need to talk to Sharon about setting up a time for Matt to take riding lessons. He was very interested when she offered.”

  “I’ll get in touch with Sharon first thing tomorrow.” His gaze was steady on her face. “I was ready to give up, but you’ve given me a handhold.”

  “I just treated Matt like a grouchy cat.”

  He looked startled, then gave a chuckle that held the deep vibration of a kettledrum. “I can see how that might work.”

  The waiter arrived again, this time with an elegantly arrayed cheese board, a divided condiment dish containing the colorful chutneys, and a basket of bread. He identified the first cheese and started to describe it before interrupting himself. “Mr. Bosch, you know more about these than I do, so I’ll let you handle it from here.”

  “May I?” Adam asked Hannah, picking up the cheese knife.

  She nodded. Her attention was drawn to his hands again as he cut perfectly uniform slivers of cheese and laid them on the bread before topping each one with a different chutney.

  “Mildest first,” he said, placing one of his creations on the small plate in front of her. “The Garrotxa, a goat’s milk cheese from Catalonia.”

  She picked up the bread and took a bite. The taste of sweet fruit, creamy cheese, and crusty bread made her moan in appreciation.

  Her stomach rumbled loudly and he chuckled. “Hunger is the best sauce.” He bit into his own slice, his white teeth flashing. She watched in fascination as he went still, his concentration clearly on the flavors bursting on his tongue.

  He nodded and began to chew. “As good as I remembered,” he said. Noticing her observation, he raised the remainder of the bread in a salute. “It’s not an easy cheese to obtain, so I haven’t tasted it in a while. So far no amount of persuasion or bribery has convinced Brenda to give me the name of her supplier.”

  “Brenda?”

  “The owner here,” Adam said.

  “What do you bribe her with?”

  “The names of my suppliers, of course,” he said, his smooth façade slipping back into place as he gave her one of his practiced smiles. “I’ve also tried chocolate.”

  “That would work on me.” She bit into the other half of the bread and cheese.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice had slid into a seductive purr, and she nearly choked. He put the next selection on her plate. “The Taleggio, from near Lombardy in Italy. It’s a washed-rind cheese made with cow’s milk. I’ve paired it with the quince chutney.”

  He watched her as she sampled it.

  “Mmm, delicious.” She finished it off and licked one of her fingers before she noticed a flicker of hunger in his eyes, one that had nothing to do with food. She dropped her hand to wipe it on the napkin in her lap. “Aren’t you going to eat yours?”

  “I enjoy watching your reaction,” he said.

  What other kinds of reactions might he enjoy watching? She gave herself a mental smack to check her overheated imagination.

  He moved the third cheese to her plate. “Quicke’s cheddar, also from cow’s milk with the mango peach chutney.”

  She waited until his hand was all the way back on his side of the table before she picked up the sample and took a prim bite. She was hungry and the cheese was wonderful, so she wolfed down the rest. “That’s my favorite so far.”

  “You like the bold cheeses then.” He looked impressed. “Now try the Ewe’s blue from New York State.”

  “What’s the chutney?” she asked, catching the aroma as she lifted it to her mouth. “Apple something?”

  He nodded. “Cranberry apple. It has to be strong to counterbalance the blue.”

 
The flavors exploded in her mouth, the sharpness of the cheese making her eyes water slightly. She seized the wine glass and took a swig to wash it down. “Wow! That one’s great.”

  “More?” he asked, his fingers hovering over the cheese board.

  She nodded, still tasting the wallop of the blue cheese. He shifted all the previously constructed samples to her plate. “I’ve made a cheese clock for you,” he said, looking up with a smile. “The mildest cheese is at six o’clock. Then work your way around clockwise to reach the Ewe’s blue.”

  He shifted back to assemble combinations for himself. She waited to eat hers not so much from courtesy but because it was fascinating to watch the confident efficiency with which he handled the food and knife. He had the hands of a working man, the nails trimmed short, the scars visible against his slightly olive skin. Her imagination took off again, conjuring images of those hands on her skin. “Are all those old injuries from knives?” she asked to deflect her thoughts.

  “Knives, graters, grills, oyster shells,” he said, filling his own plate. “Cooking is a hazardous business.”

  “Being a vet has its perils too.” Hannah glanced down at the parallel welts on her hand. “I have these and some tooth marks that will never fade away.” Hannah began progressing around her plate.

  “You’ve been bitten? I got the sense you could soothe any savage beast.”

  “They don’t mean to hurt me. They’re in pain and they lash out to protect themselves.”

  A shadow crossed his face and was gone. “You’re very forgiving.”

  “Of animals.” She savored the cheddar.

  “Not of people?”

  She hadn’t meant to go down that road. Something about his feeding her created a false sense of intimacy. “People should know better,” she said with a shrug.

  He gave her a sharp look but didn’t comment.

  “How’s Trace doing?” she asked as the silence lengthened.

  The furrows between Adam’s brows smoothed out. “I re-bandaged the wound this morning. There was no redness or swelling.”

  “Good to hear.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she made a show of drinking the last of her wine. The waiter materialized almost the minute she set down the empty glass, a bottle at the ready.

  “May I pour another glass?” he asked.

  Hannah already felt a little buzzy, probably from having only a few pieces of bread and cheese to absorb the alcohol, but she nodded just to give herself something to fiddle with.

  “Would you bring us some more bread and some country pâté?” Adam asked before he looked back to her. “You seem hungry.”

  Since she had planned to toss a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner, she didn’t argue with him. Pâté sounded a heck of a lot more appetizing.

  “So, what brought you to Sanctuary?” he asked.

  It was a perfectly normal, friendly question, but it always threw Hannah when someone asked it. The reasons she had come to Sanctuary were so wretched she preferred to shove them into the darkest recesses of her mind. Not that they stayed there all the time, but she was getting better and better at ignoring them. Except when she was asked.

  She used her standard bland, false answer. “I wanted to get back to working with large animals and saw Tim’s job posting.”

  “I noticed your degree is from the University of Pennsylvania.”

  Estelle had insisted on hanging her diploma in the waiting room. The receptionist said all that fancy lettering impressed the clients.

  “Maybe I came here for the same reasons you did,” Hannah said, deciding the best defense was a good offense.

  Adam’s eyes went opaque. “I doubt it.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure whether to bless or curse the timing of the waiter as he placed another bread basket and a tray with a little loaf of pâté on the table. Adam picked up the knife and began slicing pâté, laying it on bread and piling tiny gherkins on top before he glanced up at her. “When would you like to come to The Aerie?”

  “Er, I’m waiting for a special occasion,” Hannah said.

  “There’s no need to wait. You can come again for the special occasion.”

  Hannah snagged one of the pâté tidbits and stuffed it in her mouth, chewing to give herself time to think. She swallowed. “Next month.” She didn’t pick a day, hoping the time would pass by and he would forget. She was sure he was too busy to notice whether she showed up for a free meal or not.

  “Why don’t you—” He stopped with a little shake of his head and nudged the serving tray toward her. “Have another.”

  As she enjoyed another morsel, she remembered the additional piece of information she wanted to share with Adam. “There’s something else you might want to do with Matt.”

  He went still, his gaze fixed on her with the message that she had his full attention.

  “Take him to Disney World to swim with dolphins,” she said.

  “Disney World?” His head jerked back a fraction of an inch. “Isn’t he too old for that?”

  Now that she had to explain her suggestion, she realized what a minefield she’d strayed into. Would mentioning Matt’s mother upset Adam? She had no idea what the dynamic had been between the two parents and whether he would be mourning his dead lover too. “He went to Disney World with his mother and interacted with dolphins from a platform. She promised to take him back when he was old enough to swim with them. It means something to him.”

  He began twisting the stem of his glass with one hand. When he raised his eyes to hers, they were filled with regret. “I don’t think he’d want to go with me.”

  She couldn’t help herself; she reached across the small table and laid her palm over the back of his hand, willing comfort into her touch. “Ask him.”

  His gaze dropped to their hands and an odd smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She didn’t know how to get herself out of this position, so she froze. His smile twisted before he said, “I suppose the worst he can do is say no.”

  He turned his hand under hers so their palms met and wrapped his fingers around hers. “No wonder Trace lets you touch him.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and released it, reaching for the cheese knife.

  She pulled her hand back and seized her glass, gulping the wine to wash away the flare of response his comment had evoked deep in her gut. Instead of dousing it, the wine spread the heat through her body.

  Adam fell back on the only thing that seemed to relax the jumpy veterinarian: food. He arranged more cheese and pâté on her plate. It was something he did well. For some reason she seemed very resistant to the idea of coming to his restaurant. That pricked his pride.

  It also left him feeling in her debt. She’d found out more about Matt in eight hours than he had in four months.

  She plowed through a few more bites of bread and pâté, looking as though she might flee for the door at any moment if he spoke again, so he just gave her an encouraging smile.

  She returned it briefly, tossing a few stray strands of that silky, flaxen hair behind her shoulder. The gold hoops gleaming in her earlobes drew his eye to the tender skin of her neck and he wondered what she would taste like there. She said something and he yanked his thoughts away from their inappropriate path. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I missed that.”

  “I need to go home and let my dogs out,” she repeated. “The dog walker had to do her afternoon visit early today. It’s been an education eating with you though.” She fumbled with her purse.

  “This is my treat,” he said, not sure whether to be insulted or amused. “You took the time to talk with me about my son.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” She started to rise, looking nervous.

  “I’m very sure,” he said, coming to his feet and walking around the table to pull out her chair.

  She stood and sidestepped away from him. “I guess I�
��ll see you when you bring Trace in again. Thanks so much.”

  He started to hold his hand out to shake hers, but she was already walking toward the door.

  Lowering his hand, he sank down into her chair, feeling the lingering warmth of her body heat and catching a faint tangy scent of citrus. He shook his head. It shouldn’t surprise him that the one person who could talk to his son wanted to avoid him. That was the way his life with Matt seemed to go.

  He reached for his water and took a swallow, thinking about the dolphins at Disney World. Matt’s mother had drowned, something he imagined Hannah didn’t know, so it seemed insensitive to offer to take his son swimming. On the other hand, maybe that was the best thing to do so Matt wouldn’t associate the water with her death.

  He let his head rest against the arm chair’s high back. How was he supposed to know the right way to help a child deal with his mother’s death?

  He found himself eyeing Hannah’s half-finished wine, practically tasting the crisp, cool vintage sliding down his throat, blurring the edges of his problems.

  He picked up the glass and carried it to the bar, leaning over to pour it down the drain in the stainless steel sink.

  Hannah took her mail out of the box and opened the front door of her house to be greeted by her animal family with wild enthusiasm. She knelt to let her dogs lick her and her cats rub against her. She’d started adopting them as soon as she’d bought her own condo in Chicago because she couldn’t understand why people wanted to come home to an empty house when they could have this kind of welcome.

  “Okay, guys,” she said, pushing to her feet. “Let me sort through the mail and we’ll take a quick walk before dinner.” The “w” and “d” words sent the dogs into paroxysms of yelping excitement, while the cats leapt onto the back of the couch and looked down on the canine hysteria with disdain.

  She waded through the fray, flipping through the flyers and catalogues until she came to a handwritten envelope with no return address and a Chicago postmark. Frowning, she put it down on the kitchen counter and dropped the other mail in the recycling. There was no one she wanted to communicate with in Chicago, so she considered adding it to the discarded catalogues. Curiosity got the better of her and she ran her finger under the flap to open it.