Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight (28 page)

Holding my little reality check up to my
lips, I clicked it shut and kissed it. Take that, panic
attacks!

Chapter 24
–
Invitation

It was a very pleasant evening: warm and
breezy. We had eaten our dinner outside and just finished clearing
off the table. I was loading the dishes into the dishwasher when
the doorbell rang. Mom and Hoyt were still out on the deck, so I
wiped off my hands and headed around to the front door. I didn’t
recognize the car in the driveway, but it looked like the tags were
from out of state.

I pulled the door open to a vision standing
on the porch, backlit with the glowing sunset. My mind was stuck
because I just couldn’t process what I was seeing. It was a
familiar sight, but totally out of context, and therefore very
confusing. It was incredibly rude to just stand and stare but that
was the best I could do.

When my brain finally rebooted there was
just one question flashing on the screen: What on Earth is HE doing
here?

My visitor—there was no doubt about it, he
was there to visit me—was dressed like he’d stepped out of a Banana
Republic advertisement. I wondered if he would be able to keep
topping himself like this every time I encountered him; it might be
fun to find out. Wearing brown cargo shorts and a red v-neck
t-shirt, his tan skin was darker than I’d ever seen it. He was
handsome casualness incarnate with tousled sandy blonde hair and
comfortable looking leather flip-flops on his feet. Was he heading
to the beach after this? Could I come, too?

He had a big smile for me as he reached up
and took my hands in his.

“Remember me?”

You bet. How could I forget?

He had a way of showing up at just the right
time to prevent that. I had to remind myself that my affections
were already engaged…

“You seem familiar. Have we met?”

Though it came out sounding less smooth and
more like a dumbfounded question than I had intended, I was still
pleased that I’d actually come up with a marginally cool reply! It
balanced out my foolish open-mouthed gawking—sort of.

“Not as many times as I would have liked,”
he said with a wicked grin.

Yikes!

That sounded a lot like flirting to me. Not
so long ago I would have been thrilled out of my mind. I was still
flattered, but not flattened like I would have been before. Still,
that same old sense of adoration I felt for him was stirring awake,
when I had thought it was expired, not dormant.

“It’s nice to see you again, but…what are
you doing here, Gray?”

I was far more composed than I would have
expected me to be.

“Well, I came to visit you, and to extend an
invitation for a job offer,” he said, a little tentatively—it
seemed I was more composed than he’d been expecting me to be as
well.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked, my
manners finally rising to the surface.

“More than anything,” he replied, flashing
another big, pleased looking smile. I couldn’t help myself; I had
to smile back.

He didn’t let go of my hands right away so I
pulled him through the threshold. He released one hand so that I
could shut the door behind him, but he held on to the other one
tightly enough that it would have been very awkward to get free, if
I tried. It was easier on so many levels to just go with it, so we
walked hand in hand back through the kitchen and out to the patio
to join my very surprised folks.

“Mom, Hoyt, this is Grayson. He works for
GGR. He was friends with Grandpa,” I explained.

But, mostly with me.

They rose to greet him and he released me to
shake hands with them both.

“It’s nice to see you again, Grayson. I
didn’t get to meet you…before,” said my mom, trying to be sensitive
to my feelings about the occasion we’d all been together last.

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure seeing you
again, too. I was hoping to have a visit with Ellie this evening.
May I have your permission to take her out for some ice cream?”

He remembered my weakness, well, one of
many, I supposed. But he was also asking my mom like I was five
years old, and that was embarrassing; though she seemed to be
eating it up.

“Well, that sounds very nice. Why don’t you
go to Graeter’s? I bet he’ll like that.”

She was all for the plan, making
suggestions, even. This was truly surreal. In another life I
couldn’t have imagined a happier moment. Now I just felt irritated.
The cosmically bad timing at work here just wasn’t fair. One minute
I had been slopping through dirty dishes, looking forward to
midnight, the next I was going on a date…except Gray wasn’t my
boyfriend, though it was sure adding up to look like he thought he
might be. Plus, my real boyfriend wasn’t going to like this. And
I’d be worrying about that the entire time while he watched us.

“Sure. That sounds nice. We won’t be out too
late,” Gray replied in smooth assurance.

He snagged my hand again and gently, but
irresistibly guided me back through the kitchen, out the front door
and on out to his car, a black Porsche convertible with black
leather interior. He walked me around to my side, only then
releasing my hand as he opened the door for me. I got in after
shooting a wary glance at the house on the cul-de-sac behind us. It
was getting too dark for me to see, but I could feel the eyes, and
the upset.

We drove off to Graeter’s, my very favorite
ice cream shop, about three miles away. It was a short trip in the
car, but I decided that it wasn’t my responsibility to make
conversation. He came to see me. He would have to do the work.
Besides, there was nothing new or exciting or wonderful going on in
my life…that I could talk about. He would probably mistake my
silent petulance for shyness—and that made me feel even more
petulant.

Just like our time together in Iceland, Gray
insisted on ordering for me—without consulting me about what I
wanted—though to my never ending amazement and chagrin, he always
chose correctly. This time he ordered me a scoop of double
chocolate mousse on a sugar cone (which was spot on) and some
butter pecan in a waffle cone for himself.

The store was busy but there were still some
seats to choose from—some inside and a few outside, as well.

With our treats in hand, he followed me
outside, to the most visible table available, an automatic move on
my part to accommodate my ever-present safety detail. Though not
knowing what liberties Gray might take with me, I regretted the
choice instantly and wished I’d opted for a more obscure inside
seat instead, like in the restroom.

“Still a chocoholic, I see,” he said,
grinning with satisfaction as he bit into his ice cream.

“Still a nut, I see,” I answered right back,
with a glance at his cone.

But my smile didn’t feel as happy as his
looked.

Wow. That sounded amazingly
self-possessed.

He laughed once at my joke. It seemed
funnier to him than I’d expected, or intended. I worked on my ice
cream very carefully, wary of the danger of getting dark chocolate
on my face or shirt. These things mattered to me now that I was
always on display, and especially at this moment, which felt very
much like being on a date.

He finally broke into the silence.

“So you’re a high school graduate now.
That’s big.”

“I am…it is, I suppose,” I nodded, careful
to curb my enthusiasm.

“So what’s next?” he asked, and I wondered
if he meant what was next for me, or for us.

“I’m still narrowing my choices. It’s been a
trick finding a school with decent Earth Science studies, and a
good Russian program.”

And a good journalism program.

The Russian bit was something new I’d been
toying with recently. It didn’t hurt that it sounded ambitious.

“A double major. That’s impressive. Still
doing things the hard way, I see,” he said with a wry smile.

Then as my announcement really sunk in, his
expression became inquisitive.

“Russian?”

He was genuinely surprised.

“Vy govorite russkiĭ?” (You speak
Russian?), he asked.

I didn’t realize that he did. It was just
one more reason to be impressed with him.

“Net (no). Pok a ne. (Not yet). But I’m
working on it.”

I looked away, hoping he wouldn’t try to
engage me any further in Russian. The interest I had in the
language greatly outpaced my actual ability to speak it. My skills
were better suited for note passing, with a translation dictionary
in hand.

“That’s an interesting choice. If geology
doesn’t work out for you, then I’m sure the CIA will want to talk
to you,” he said, sounding very amused.

The idea of me as a spy or working in some
dark government program was funny; I had to admit. Then he rolled
something off very quickly, testing my skills.

“Vy ochen’ spetsial’noe, i YA v vas
vlyublen. V samom dele, ya planiruyu imet’ vas kak mozhno
skoryee.”

He smiled angelically at me after saying
this, but made his eyebrows dance up and down in punctuation. This
meant he wasn’t testing me; he was teasing me.

I only understood a few words, I think:
special, plan, and soon. Trying to be cool, I played it off with a
short answer involving the one word I was pretty sure I’d
understood.

Nodding, I replied “Horoshiĭ plan” (Good
plan).

He laughed with feeling and reached out to
tousle my hair. He was definitely teasing me and I had to wonder
what I’d just affirmed.

“So let’s hear about this invitation,” I
said, trying to hurry things along before he could tease me some
more or offer to tutor me in Russian, or espionage.

“Well, you get right to the point. Are you
in a hurry?”

There was the slightest edge of irritation
in his voice, though his handsome features revealed no hint of
affront.

“I’m sorry, no. It’s just that I’m so
surprised to see you, and I’m really curious about what brings you
here. It’s been so long I’d nearly forgotten what you look
like.”

All true.

“Were you trying to remember?”

He seemed enthused by my admission. I
shouldn’t have put it like that.

“I have some nice memories from Iceland. I
didn’t want to forget them,” I replied, shrugging.

True and false.

“I was hoping to make some new memories
together…” he said, wistfully, and my heart jumped a little,
despite myself.

“We’re going to do some survey work in the
Canadian Rockies this summer. It was on the slate for last year,
but….well any way, my dad asked me to come here and invite you
personally. We’ll actually have to work this time, though, no
goofing off; well, not as much.”

He half smiled, with one eyebrow raised—it
was my very favorite expression of his—at least, when I used to
keep track of things like that.

I thought about how important it was that
from now on I be more careful what I wished for. Sometimes I got
what I wanted. It just happened way after the fact, when it wasn’t
what I wanted anymore, and had the potential to ruin the thing that
I wanted currently. I concentrated my thoughts for a moment on
Ash’s incomparable face—comparing.

“Are you up for some back country
hiking?”

Again, it was another fantasy of mine
unfolding way past its expiration date.

“Where are you going, exactly?” I asked.

It was getting harder to hold down the
enthusiasm.

“We’ll fly into Calgary and then head west.
It’s in the vicinity of Lake Louise,” he explained.

“Glacier work?” I asked apprehensively.

Hiking in the cold didn’t sound as good.

“No, we’ll keep to lower elevations. It’s an
initial survey, sponsored by the park service. I’m not really
supposed to talk about it, actually.”

He finished off the last of his waffle cone.
I was a slow eater, still working on the mound of ice cream atop my
sugar cone.

I didn’t know what else to ask if he wasn’t
supposed to talk about it. So I just waited for him to continue
while I ate some more of my ice cream, trying to catch up.

“You haven’t been to that part of Canada,
have you?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“No, I’ve only been as far as Niagara
Falls,” I confirmed.

“Well I’d really like to take you there.
It’s one of the most beautiful places on earth. When we’re not
working I want to show you Lake Louise, and Lake O’Hara, and take
you to dinner at The Fairmont in Banff. What do you say to
that?”

“Gray, I don’t think I can afford to—” he
cut me off.

“You won’t have to pay your own way. It’s
company business, expenses paid,” he said with a disapproving look,
like he thought I should know better.

I did. But he didn’t realize that I wasn’t
speaking in monetary terms. Taking advantage of that
misunderstanding, though, was my only caviling (raising trivial
objections) excuse to say no. Or I could just say I didn’t want to
go—but he’d never buy that, and it wasn’t quite true any way.

“Well, I’ll have to ask my mom.”

Ugh! I hated saying that.

“Would you like me to ask her for you?” he
proposed, with a wicked look in his eyes.

He knew I’d hate that even more.

“Sure. Be certain to explain how many
different planes and helicopters we’ll be riding in; she’ll be very
interested in that.”

My annoyance was turned up full
strength.

Gray picked up a napkin and dipped the edge
in his cup of ice water. Then he leaned forward with it, aiming
toward the corner of my mouth.

Great. How long had he let me go with
chocolate on my face?

Only until he needed to rein me in with a
little embarrassment, while at the same time providing an object
lesson in my dependence upon him.

I held very still as he cleaned the
chocolate off my chin, taking far longer than my dignity could
stand. It never paid to resist him. I remembered that now.