Pinpoint (Point #4) (6 page)

“Thank goodness for security,” Violet grumbles appearing by my side. “This bridesmaid was so drunk she could hardly stand.”

“Did she get into a cab safely?”

“A mortified boyfriend hauled her away. It’s all good.” Violet assesses my work with the party favors. “Perfect, Iris. As always, you save the day.”

“It’s only a party-favor arrangement,” I murmur, cheeks heating. Accepting praise doesn’t come naturally to me because I’m not used to it.

“Sister, sister, I won’t stop telling you that you are a gem until you believe it.”

Nudging Violet with my shoulder, I try to divert her attention. “Do you think there are any extra slices of wedding cake we can steal? Strictly for baking research, of course.”

Violet’s eyes dance with humor. “I like the way you think. Let’s go to the kitchen.” I hobble along Violet’s side past the partygoers who somehow master heels much better than I do. These are the best moments of working with Violet; when the party goes on autopilot and we’re able to sneak moments together.

At a quarter to four, Violet gives me an exhilarated grin from her spot in the back of the Town Car driving us to our apartment. “That was a great party, wasn’t it?”

“Wonderful and exhausting.” A yawn sneaks out, and I cover my mouth to muffle the sound. “Thank goodness Cameron insists on hiring us a car to bring us home after these late ones.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit overprotective? We have a car; it’s not a big deal to drive home,” Violet asks a little anxiously.

“Not a big deal, but it can be dangerous for two young women walking around the city at almost four in the morning. It would be too overprotective if he waited in the wings until the end of the event and drove us home. This, I’m okay with.” Sinking back in the plush leather seat, I kick off the pointy black torture devices covering my feet.

Violet hums a noncommittal sound. “You’re probably right.”

“Definitely right.”

A few minutes later, the driver parks the car at the back entrance to our apartment.

“You okay if I go straight to Cameron’s? I don’t think I’ll come home at all tomorrow.” Violet’s eyes show her concern.

Instinctively, I reach out to her. “I love your concern, Violet, I truly do, but there’s no need to worry. We’ll meet up tomorrow night for that dinner at Tucker’s, right?”

The evening’s adrenaline starts to dissipate, and tiredness makes Violet slump into her seat a bit. “Right. I’ll see you at Tucker’s. Do you want us to pick you up?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “That would be completely out of the way, considering Tucker lives two streets away from Cameron. I’ll drive. No worries. Love you. Sleep well.”

“Love you,” she whispers, signs of fatigue starting to show on her weary smile.

Shoes dangling from my fingertips, I climb out of the car and join the driver at the trunk. I collect the bags of our supplies from the trunk and gingerly make my way inside and then up the stairs. With a thump, all of the bags, my shoes, and my purse meet the hardwood floors. I scurry into the loft, turn on the lights, and then make my way to the window overlooking the alley and wave down at my sister. Only then does she instruct the driver to take her away.

My throat gets tight, and my eyes sting with tears. What a blessing for someone to love you so much that they wait to confirm your well-being. To think, our father’s rules robbed my sister from me for ten years.

Most of the time, I avoid thinking about the time we were separated because it’s too painful. Once Violet declared that she would attend a four-year college away from home, Father took it as an all-out action of defiance. My brave sister didn’t back down, and at eighteen, she left home without looking back. We tried to communicate, talking on the phone until my parents found out. Father demanded that I cut off all communication with Violet and because I was too afraid of the consequences of defying him, we stopped talking. I worried that by maintaining a relationship with my sister, Father would somehow seek to harm her new life.

While Violet was getting her degree, moving to Chicago, and getting married, I finished high school. Under Father’s watchful eye, I lived at home and earned an Associate’s Degree in Business Management. I worked part time at the church, volunteered at the local retirement home, and hung out with John Tyler. Father tried to push John and me together romantically, but try as we might, neither one of us developed anything more than platonic feelings for the other. John Tyler became my best friend by default. He was my only friend.

Then out of the blue, Violet re-emerged. After her firefighter husband had died while on duty, Violet eventually gained the courage to return to Winter. While it took less that one breath’s time for Violet and me to reconnect, Father couldn’t be separated from his grudge against my older sister, and Mother listened to whatever he said.

Seeing my sister again reignited my desire to leave Winter and never look back. If she could chase her dreams, why couldn’t I? It’s sort of like the chicken and the egg; I’m not sure what happened first. Either Violet asked me to work with her, or I told her I wanted to move to Chicago. It doesn’t matter because I ended up moving to the city, and Father disowned me instantaneously. Mother, with her silence, went along with the shun. Because Mother
never
took a stand against Father’s wishes, I wasn’t surprised that she ignored me. Nevertheless, I wanted her to call me back. She’s my mother.

Life in Winter was oppressive. Stifling. There was no light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Still, it’s all I have ever known. It was safe. Chicago is uncharted territory and downright scary—but also, exhilarating and teeming with possibilities. Best of all, I have my sister here.

I make quick work of my nighttime routine, scrubbing off my makeup and brushing my teeth. When I finally climb into bed, it’s nearly four thirty. I pull the covers up underneath my chin, curl onto my side, and tuck my knees close.

Only then does the loneliness filter in.

Shifting back and forth on flat, metallic sandals, I wait for someone to answer the door at Tucker Smithson’s modern townhouse. I spent the majority of the day lounging, catching up on rest, and then baking my thank-you gift. I glance down at my short seafoam-blue dress, hoping it's appropriate for a home dinner party cooked by a world-renowned chef.

Okay. I did something else in my spare time today. Google helped me find out more about Oscar Alexander. One website described him as a wunderkind. The thing is, Oscar is mellow and, although a touch arrogant, the trait isn’t a turn-off. The guy should be prideful; his list of achievements is longer than the world’s largest sheet cake. I’m even more impressed than I was when we first met.

The door swings open with Cameron on the other side. “Hey,” he greets amicably. I step into his open arms for a quick, friendly hug. “Come on in. You’re the last one to get here.”

“Oh, I’m not late, am I?” I ask nervously.

Cameron laughs and slings an arm around my shoulder. “You’re fine, Iris. Even if you were late, I’m not certain a soul on this Earth could get angry with you.”

I smile faintly, allowing him to lead me through the townhouse and into a living room where six other people are milling around, sipping cocktails. No Tucker to be seen. There’s a general greeting; my sister stands to hug and welcome me into the room.

“Do you know where Tucker is? I’d like to give him this,” I say to my sister once I’ve greeted the two other couples, who, thankfully, I have met before. She glances at the colorfully decorated plate in my hands.

She tilts her head in the direction of a hidden room. “Kitchen, harassing Oscar.”

“Be back soon.”

I follow the sizzling sound of a sauté pan and the heavenly scent of garlic and spinach, maybe, into the next room. My feet stall at the top of the room. Oscar moves around the space masterfully. With his focus intense as he plates an appetizer, he looks every part the culinary artist. My breath catches in my throat. He’s Picasso, da Vinci, and Bernini. A master in his element, and it’s breathtaking.

“Are those for me?”

Thank goodness for these flats. Otherwise, I would have stumbled forward when Tucker walks in my direction, grinning broadly. Oscar looks up sharply, and the moment his gaze catches mine, his expression softens. My heart gallops in my chest, and my cheeks go hot. I’m completely flustered. I shove the cookies in Tucker’s direction.

“Kitchen sink cookies. Thank you for inviting me.”

Tucker takes the plate from me and sets it on the marble countertop. Then he pulls me into a hug, lifting my feet off the ground until I squeak. “Damn, you are considerate, Iris.” He drops an affectionate kiss on my forehead when he releases me. “These are my favorite.”

“Kitchen sink?” Oscar says wryly, a smirk playing on his lips. Now, I can’t see his eyes because he’s focusing on the plates before him.

“Yes, that’s the technical name,” I say shyly, looking at Oscar though his attention is elsewhere. I can’t stop myself. In his element, the man is too magnificent. “I throw everything into them except the kitchen sink. Oats, walnuts, banana, chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, butterscotch. They’re pretty darn good if I say so myself.”

“They are amazing. You’re seriously breaking my diet.” Tucker groans in mock annoyance.

“You’ll have to share them with your teammates.”

“Hell, no. These are mine.” Tucker takes the plate and moves it into the pantry away from prying eyes. “Don’t try anything funny, Alexander. There are cameras in here,” Tucker jokes.

“I wouldn’t dare. Eve, would you direct the guests to the dining room?” It’s then I notice the bombshell hanging out near the end of the kitchen island. With platinum hair loose around her shoulders in waves, a tight black pencil skirt cut well above her knee, and a silky white blouse, she’s alluring.

“Sure thing, boss,” Eve says. Even her voice is sexy.

“I’ll help.” Tucker winks at me and follows Eve from the kitchen, eyes stuck on her behind.

“Hold on a second, Iris,” Oscar says when I move to leave.

“Yes?” I hate the tremor in my voice.

Oscar’s full attention is on me. His stare makes me visibly shiver. Brown eyes darken with desire. My mouth goes dry, and my breathing increases.

“Sneak me one of those cookies. I want to sample the goods.” He winks at me suggestively.

Oh, God. My stomach quivers.

“T-tucker won’t like that.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Are we still talking about cookies?” Shoot. I said that out loud.

Oscar whirls to the sizzling stovetop hiding what I’m sure is a smirk. “Who would have thought Aurora had a mischievous side?” I almost don’t hear him through the symphony of sounds as he cooks.

“Oh, I–” No matter how hard I fight, a coherent string of words will not form. Wordlessly, I extract a cookie, find a paper towel, and place it near Oscar. He glances my way again, smiling innocently.

“Thanks.”

Words are still difficult. I nod and turn on my toes, following the sound of voices to the dining room. Everyone is sitting; I notice an empty spot for me next to Tucker, who sits at the head of the table.

“Date, come sit next to me,” he says boisterously.

My stomach plummets. I had no idea this was a date. Nervously, I throw a look at my sister who rolls her eyes. “He’s teasing, Iris. Tucker knows you’re way too good for him.”

Tucker nods with faux humility. “Absolutely. But you’ll pretend to be my date for the night, won’t you, Iris? Take pity on a single guy surrounded by a bunch of boring, wifed-up teammates.”

“Funny how you’re the only one at the table whining while the rest of us have no reason to complain.” Cameron looks at Tucker pointedly. Another server, this one male, unobtrusively offers wine to each of the guests. When the server arrives at my side, I quietly decline the beverage and request mineral water.

“It’s like you’re trying to convince a room full of Scrapers fans to convert to Detroit. Never going to happen,” Tomas adds. His wife, Anna, rewards him with a gooey smile and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “Nothing better than love from a good woman,” Tomas concludes.

Tucker hooks a hand around the arm of the chair I’m sitting in and yanks me to his side. I have to grip the table to steady myself. “All I need is a woman for the night. Right, Ris?” The pungent smell of whiskey permeates from his mouth and against my cheek. I try to hold back my frown. No one had called me Ris before or treated me this intimately.

The mood at the table strains toward wary. Violet knits her brows together, studying Tucker with hard eyes.

“Allow me to start the first course.” It’s not as if he offered to rescue me, but having Oscar interrupt this moment sends a calming wave of relief through me. Eve and the waiter begin placing dishes at each place setting.

Oscars strides across the room to my seat and tugs the chair in front of the original spot. “You’ll want to sit in front of your own seat to eat this one, Iris,” Oscar says. Through lowered lashes, I flash him a look of gratitude. If he sees my response, I’m unsure because his jaw clenches in obvious displeasure. Standing only a few inches away from me, I feel protected. Hopefully, Oscar’s presence will ward off any more flirtation from Tucker.

“This evening, we’re starting with creamy curry, jellied carrots, and coconut orbs.”

A matte, large-lipped black bowl sits on the thatch-workplace mat. I hold back the involuntary gasp at the sight of the dish. The yellow curry is a base for what looks like coconut meringues, and the tiny jellied carrots mimic fish eggs. The presentation is flawless. Glancing to my left, I catch sight of Oscar’s strong, steady hands. The design is precise.

“Please enjoy.” Oscar gives a slight bow and makes his way to the kitchen. What I wouldn’t give for that confidence. He doesn’t even look back to see if we’re enjoying or savoring the meal. He knows the food will undoubtedly wow us.

And wow, it does. When the first bite of the appetizer hits my taste buds, my eyelids fall shut in pleasure.

“Are we ready for Indiana?” This comes from Cameron.

“Fuck, I don’t want to be out in the middle of nowhere,” Tucker groans. “This time between summer and camp is always like a ticking time bomb.”