Tempting Faith (Indigo Love Spectrum) (3 page)

The left side of his mouth lifted in an adorably shy half smile. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I never thought you were stupid,” she said hastily. “What have I ever said or done to make you think that—”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” he said. She started out of the aisle, but he took her by the arm and spun her back. “I’m sorry, Faith. Really. Would you hear me out? That’s kind of why I came here to talk to you.”

She stared at the books in her arms, afraid to look at him for fear her expression would reveal she’d do just about anything he asked. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“That thing last week, what happened at my house,” he began. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and hunched his broad shoulders.

Faith smiled at the uncharacteristic display of nerves.

“That’s not me,” he said. “I’m not like that. I don’t…I would never do that.”

“I know.” She moved closer so he wouldn’t have to speak above a whisper.

Straightening his shoulders, he blew out a long breath of air. He raked his fingers through his hair, and then he did something Faith had never seen. He smiled.

Faith’s heart began to beat so fast it seemed to whir against her ribcage.

It seemed to stop entirely with Alex’s next words.

“Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.

“Sure,” she blurted. “Yes. Absolutely.” She threw her thumb in the direction of the table where her other books, notebook and backpack were spread out. “I have a little more work to do here, but it won’t take long for me to finish up.”

He followed her to her work station and took the chair opposite hers. “How did you know my car is in the shop?” she asked him.

“I figured your dad wouldn’t waste time getting that busted carburetor fixed,” he said. “And I do a little work at Brody’s Auto Body from time to time. Your Bronco was on his work roster this morning.”

“I take ballet lessons across the street from Brody’s,” Faith said. “I’ve never seen you there.”

Resting his left elbow on the table, he propped his chin in his left hand. “I’m usually in the service bay under a car. You’re usually upstairs at Miss Lorraine’s, dancing in front of that big mirror.”

Another blazing blush baked her cheeks as she stared at him.
He watches me dance
. She might not have seen him, but clearly he’d seen her.

Knowing that she’d never be able to decipher her handwriting later, she raced through the last chapter of the book she’d been working from and put her notes away. With her backpack zipped up tight and strapped to her shoulders, she put on Alex’s spare helmet and mounted his Harley behind him. Eager yet hesitant, she slipped her arms around his waist.

Alex started the bike, and the roar of the engine scared Faith into holding him as tight as she could. Framing him between her legs, she pressed her body into his. Alex sat with the bike growling beneath them for a long moment before he revved the Harley and took off down Coal River Road.

“Would you like to grab some dinner?” he asked, pitching his voice below the roar of the engine so she could hear him without yelling.

To cover her shock at his offer, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Sure,” she finally said, managing to sound indifferent.

“We don’t have to,” he said, having had time to reconsider his hasty invitation.

“I’d like to,” she said. “Really.”

“It’s Saturday. You probably already have plans to do something fun.”

“My father always tells me that there’s more to life than fun. Where would you like to go?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

They rode another mile or so in silence before he had to stop for a red light. “Do you want to sit down or get take-out?” she asked.

“What?” He was suddenly very warm, and very aware of her body pressing into his.

“Do you want to go to a drive-thru or sit down in a restaurant?”

“I don’t care.” He was surprisingly nervous. “I don’t know.”

“I know a place,” she said after they had gone another mile or so cruising toward Booger Hollow. “One complaint and I’ll pop you in the windpipe.”

She directed him along winding side streets and a sparsely populated main road until they came to a tall laurel hedge bordering the south side of a grocery store parking lot. Zander parked, and they dismounted. Faith’s legs were quivery from the long ride as they passed through a narrow opening worn in the closely trimmed hedge. The hedge had concealed a tiny building decorated with neon paint and bright lights forming the name Calliope Grill.

“So this is what became of Pee Wee’s Playhouse,” Alex cracked as they approached the small eatery.

Two naked mannequins in the foyer of the building met Alex when he opened the outer glass door for Faith. The mannequins were spray-painted in neon shades of kiwi, canary, tangerine and coral and draped from head to toe with dark-green variegated silk ivy.

“Say hi to Hillary and Laura,” Faith said, holding the inner door for Alex.

“Hello, gorgeous!” called a man standing between the long mirrored chrome grill and the wide pink laminate counter. The grill chef wore a white T-shirt, a pink-speckled apron and a sky blue nylon hairnet. Faith returned his greeting as she led Alex to the counter.

“Who’s this?” the cook asked, smiling widely.

“Alexander Brannon,” Faith said. “Alex, this is Fennel.”

“Fen, to my friends.” He wiped his hands on a chartreuse towel. “Good to meet you.” He extended his hand, at the same time bouncing his eyebrows and bobbing his head toward Alex while mouthing
Boyfriend?

“Stop it,” Faith warned sweetly.

Alex stared up at child-sized mannequins dangling by their ankles from the ivy-covered rafters.

“Is Dill on tonight?” asked Faith.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Fen. “You want a table?”

She nodded.

A full-figured woman in a strapless flesh-colored catsuit guided them through a narrow corridor and into a dining room that was only slightly bigger than the counter area. The walls, floor and ceiling were painted in garish Crayola shades of red, blue, yellow, green, orange and purple.

Four pens, two pencils and six crayons were stuck in the hostess’s unruly nest of upswept hair. She seated them at a silver Formica table that had two red and two peach vinyl chairs. None of the other tables and chairs in the room matched, either.

“Dill decorated the place,” Faith said as Alex pulled her chair. “He says he’s a student of the Helen Keller School of Interior Design.”

Alex took his weathered leather jacket and her light poplin coat and hung them over the back of an empty chair. “How did you find this place?”

“I was driving around one weekend, right after I’d had a big fight with my dad over some stupid thing at school. I got lost. I came in here to ask for directions. I got found, in a way.” She waved at a tall thin man dressed in black. He was carrying a big round tray of food to a table of four. “This place is as out of place in Raleigh County as we are.”

“Faith!” the man squealed. He set the tray on his patrons’ table and skipped over to Faith and Alex. The abandoned diners served themselves, apparently accustomed to such indifferent service.

“Where have you been keeping yourself, sugar lump?” crooned the man in black. “Oh, I just love what you’ve done to your hair.” He energetically ran his fingers through Faith’s curls and leaned over to take a deep whiff of them. “Did you rinse in tea rose or spring rain? I can’t tell. I’ve been here since dawn and I can’t smell a doggone thing except gorgonzola.” He paused to give Alex a wolfish grin.

“Honey lamb, you look better and better every time I see you,” he waxed merrily, cupping Faith’s chin in his slim hand. “You’ve lost a pound or two, yes? No? Angel, I’d die to have your bone structure.”

He sucked in his cheeks. With a grand flourish of his hands and a toss of his head, he did a Gloria Swanson-
Sunset Boulevard
impersonation that made Alex recoil. “Maybe I’ll get implants.” With one hand on his hip and one on the table, the man in black turned his back to Faith and eyed Alex. “And you are…?”

“Dill,” Faith said, easing him around to face both her and Alex, “this is Alex.”

“Alex?” Dill’s tone was deceptively friendly. “Just Alex?”

Alex became increasingly uncomfortable under the judgmental glare of Dill’s grasshopper-green eyes. After a terribly long time, Dill smiled. Alex relaxed. Dill turned his scrutinizing gaze to Faith and said, “Sweetiekins, he is not your type.”

Alex’s jaw dropped.

“Dill, behave,” Faith said. “Alex is just a guy from town. We came here for a nice dinner. That’s all.”

“I’ll return for your orders,” Dill said with a dismissive roll of his eyes. Squaring his narrow shoulders, he switched into the kitchen.

“‘Just a guy from town?’” Alex asked.

Faith cleared her throat and paid unusual attention to unfolding and refolding her napkin.

Alex stuck his face behind a menu. Plastic ants formed a meandering line from the top of one page to the bottom of the next. “You could have said former schoolmate. Or friend. And what did Dill mean by saying that I’m not your type?” He demanded indignantly.

“Dill doesn’t know what my type is. I’m not sure myself.”

“Did I do something to offend him?” He closed the menu and returned it to the Statue of Liberty holder between the Washington Monument salt and pepper shakers.

“He might be jealous.”

“Because I’m here with you?” The thought gave him an unexpected twinge of pride.

“Because I’m here with
you
.”

“Dill is gay?”

“You couldn’t tell? He’s very open about it. I think all the men here are, except Fennel. He hasn’t decided what he is yet. Fen was married for a few years, but he’s dating a UPS deliveryman now. I’m not sure about Pepper, either.”

“Who’s Pepper?”

“She’s the one in the catsuit. She owns the place with Dill and Fen. She’s always here. I don’t think she has time to date anybody, male or female. Does their sexual orientation bother you?”

The diamonds sparkling in her eyes almost made him forget her question. “Not at all,” he answered. “I’m very secure about my sexuality.”

Faith felt anything but secure as she gazed into his eyes. “You have sexuality?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Dill. He had reappeared with a pad and pencil to take their orders.

“I’ll have the quiche special,” Faith said. “Without the attitude, please.”

“That comes with an arugula and radicchio side salad,” said Dill. “Ranch, thousand island, bleu cheese—”

“The basil vinaigrette, please,” said Faith.

“To drink?”

“Water.”

“Colonial or bottled?”

“Bottled,” Faith said.

“Excuse me, but what’s colonial water?” Alex asked.

“Tap,” said Dill.

Alex patted the wad of cash in his pocket. His weekly pay would be a lot lighter after treating Faith to dinner, and there would be serious fallout to deal with when he turned the lighter pay over to his father. Alex pushed all that to the back of his mind and placed his order, determined to enjoy a normal date with Faith. “Buckwheat pancakes with home fries, scrambled eggs, a side of turkey bacon and a large orange juice, please.”

Dill frowned at him.

“And a bran muffin,” Alex added.

Dill continued staring.

“That’s all,” Alex said uncomfortably. “Thanks.”

Dill grabbed his head as if he were in pain. “You’re dinner, Faith. Just Alex is breakfast. Meals should never mix!”

“How dare you discriminate against intermeal eating, Dill,” Pepper chastised as she glided by to seat a group of six.

Dill stopped at Pepper’s table on his way to the kitchen. “Mark my words,” he said loudly, commanding the attention of every diner. “This relationship will never work.” He winked and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alex leaned across the table. “Was that for me or for you?”

* * *

Alex’s bike heralded their arrival at the Wheelers’ five-bedroom house. By the time he had cut the engine in Faith’s wide, circular driveway, Emiline Wheeler was rushing outside. Simple introductions were made; Alex was polite and well-spoken. Faith knew her mother well enough to know that behind her forced smile resided a thousand versions of the same question: What the hell was she doing on the back of Alexander Brannon’s motorcycle?

The longest dinner of her life had followed.

“Are you crazy?” Justus Wheeler had asked, so angry that he hadn’t touched a bite of his favorite dinner, grilled beef tenderloin with asparagus and new potatoes. “Or are you just determined to embarrass me?”

“Jefferson called for you while you were gone,” her mother had cheerily informed her in an attempt to diffuse the argument brewing between daughter and father. “He wants you to join him at the club for tennis after services on Sunday. You like Jefferson, don’t you? He’s such a nice boy.”

“He’s the only other black kid in my class,” Faith had muttered sullenly. “Everyone is always trying to push us together.”

“That Brannon boy has no future!” her father had shouted.

Matching his volume, Faith had fired back with, “He gave me a ride home, that’s all. He didn’t ask me to marry him!”

“Oh, my God,” her mother gasped. “Faith, you’re far too young and you have far too much ahead of you to be thinking about marriage.” She brightened, looking from her husband to her daughter. “You know what would be a good idea?” With father and daughter glaring at each other and ignoring her, she answered her own question. “I think it would be a good idea for us to drive out to Charles Town for a visit. We could take a look at the dance school there, and if you like it, Faith, maybe we can visit the high schools and see which one you like best.”

Faith shot up in her chair. “I’m not switching schools in the middle of a semester! Why on earth would you want me to live in Charles—” Her mother’s logic hit her then. “If you want to send me somewhere with more black people, send me someplace cool, like Harlem or New Orleans. I’m not moving to Charles Town!”

“You’ll live where we tell you to live, little girl!” her father bellowed.