CHAPTER 9
Melinda
“Mely. Dearest, dearest Mely,” Morri says in an obnoxiously knowing tone of voice. “You are giving your entire hand away.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say as I dab a tiny bit of goat cheese on a thin slice of prosciutto before wrapping it around a stalk of lightly blanched asparagus.
“Beef tenderloin, scalloped potatoes, and whatever the hell that is you’re making right now,” he continues—with an airy wave of his hand toward my side dish I’m slaving over—not shutting up. “You are totally obvious. Not to mention the fact you’re cooking this extravagant meal without any countertops. You had to go out and buy a table and cookware just to prepare this one dinner. Obvious, obvious, obvious.”
“This meal has absolutely nothing to do with Lowe coming over for dinner,” I assert staunchly, and I hope it sounds genuine. “It so happens I’m craving a decent meal. I simply can’t do chicken fried one more time.”
“Whatever,” he says with his head swiveling side to side as he tosses a hand up.
“Don’t give me any ‘necktitude’,” I snap at him. “It doesn’t make your words any more powerful.”
“Clearly it does if you’re pointing it out,” he retorts with a snap of his fingers punctuated with a snap of his wrist at shoulder level.
I slam my mouth shut. I can never win a catty girl-battle with Morri. Instead, I tell him, “I consider this to be nothing more than a peace offering. He’s going to be doing work on this house, and I want him to do it well. I can’t afford for him to take out his anger over this whole situation on the renovation.”
And well, that sounded slightly legit even to my own ears. I can almost believe inviting him to dinner has nothing to do with the fact I kind of like Lowe Mancinkus now that he’s not being a jerk.
Oh, and after that kiss. I mean, what’s not to like about the kind of man who shuts a woman up with his lips?
“What’s the real deal behind his totally boorish behavior?” Morri asks, and I’m just thankful he’s not making fun of me and the very non-southern, elegant, and expensive meal I’m making.
I shrug as I wrap another asparagus stalk and lay it out on a paper plate because I don’t have much in the way of dishes. As a matter of fact, I had to drive over to Milner to find goat cheese and prosciutto, which was not a staple Crump’s Grocery carried. Because the kitchen was an absolute disaster with no cabinets and no countertops, since Lowe had removed both, I stopped into the Walmart to purchase a few necessities. Cookware for the meal, a card table with four folding chairs, and various paper plates, utensils, and cups. I didn’t bother with real plates—plastic, ceramic, or otherwise—as I don’t particularly like cooking just for myself so it would have been a wasted expense until I was ready to buy my forever plates for this house. Until that time, most of my meals will continue to be at either Clementine’s or Central Cafe.
Or Sweet Cakes, but I hate to admit I’d eat an entire meal of cupcakes or cookies. Or pastries. Or any other variety of heavenly little morsels Larkin has just calling out to me from across the street.
“Well, clearly this house means something to him,” Morri pushes at me, and that interrupts my thoughts of Larkin’s buttercream frosting and starts me thinking of someone who’s equally as mouthwatering.
“The house has been in his family since it was built by a branch of the Mainers in 1912.” I tell him what little I know of the history. “I kind of get the idea he wasn’t happy it was bought by someone outside of the family.”
“That’s not even that old of a house,” Morri says thoughtfully.
“A little over a hundred years old,” I return. “It’s not exactly modern.”
“But it’s not ancient either.”
“I don’t think age in this instance has to do with “historical” significance to Lowe,” I muse. “I just kind of get that his family is very important to him and letting this house go to someone not related is hard for him.”
“Guess it’s got to be hard watching it slip away,” Morri grudgingly admits. “Watching you make changes to this place.”
“Well, changes are needed for this place to be habitable. It’s been empty for decades. But I’m not going to deviate from the style of this place. It’s too amazing to do that.”
“Ironic,” Morri says as I finish up the last asparagus stalk, laying it prettily on a disposable plate with the word “Chinette” etched into the cardboard center.
“What’s that?” I ask as I peek into the gas oven, which surprisingly worked once I had it serviced and cleaned when I first moved in.
“That this house means something personal to both of you,” he explains. “He’s losing a family connection, but you’re gaining one.”
All true.
And also sad that his loss is my gain.
The knock on the front door causes me to jolt, followed by a strong ripple of excitement that moves up my spine. I feel slightly giddy, and I’m more than a little bothered that one annoying, obnoxious man can make me feel that way. I think I liked Lowe better when I didn’t like him at all, because he’s now throwing me off balance a bit.
“I’ll get it,” Morri says, then strolls quite elegantly out of my kitchen as I wash my hands at the sink.
Within moments, Morri is walking back in with Lowe following casually behind, looking loose and relaxed and oh, man… he can rock a pair of jeans.
He obviously went home and got showered as he’s dressed in dark jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, and a well fit navy-blue t-shirt that he most definitely wasn’t wearing this morning. His hair is slightly wet and he shaved, which I’m not sure if I like better than the stubble, but I like a heck of a lot how strong his jawline is.
“I brought beer and wine,” he says, holding up a bottle of wine in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other.
“We’re having an eighty-dollar cut of beef,” Morri says dryly as he snags the wine bottle. “It calls for wine.”
Lowe just shrugs and walks to the refrigerator, which also thankfully works but it does so with a loud chugging noise. I watch as he makes himself at home by pulling a bottle out of the cardboard carrier before putting the rest inside to chill. With a practiced twist of his hand, he takes the cap off and tosses it in the garbage can, which was also a purchase I’d made today. Previously, I’d just had a plastic bag to collect my throwaway stuff.
After taking a swallow, he leans back against the fridge and gives me a smile. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
I get flustered, smile back, and can’t think of anything witty to say.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Morri rolling his eyes before he turns to Lowe. “She’s making beef tenderloin, scalloped potatoes, and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. It’s a very refined meal.”
Dipping my chin, I raise an eyebrow, giving Morri a warning look. He refuses to return any type of look toward me, instead pinning his gaze on Lowe.
“Refined?” Lowe asks curiously as he tilts his head.
Morri actually lifts his nose slightly in the air and says snootily, “Well… let’s just say a little more civilized than what you’re probably used to. You’d not drink beer with this quality of food.”
If I expect Lowe to be offended by Morri’s haughty city biases, I’d be wrong. Lowe just shakes his head in amusement and tips his bottle toward Morri in a friendly manner. “Well, guess this country boy has a few things to learn. I’ll stick with beer, though.”
Morri just sniffs before turning to me. “Where’s your corkscrew, Mely? I’ll open the wine and let it breathe.”
“I don’t have one,” I tell him over my shoulder as I start setting out the plates and disposable flatware. I do feel slightly odd having this expensive and “refined” meal, as Morri called it, being served so crudely, but it’s actually more fun this way.
“What?” Morri gasps dramatically. I look back to find his darkened skin paled a little that such a tragedy could occur, and I have to bite down hard not to laugh. My eyes cut to Lowe, who’s equally amused, and he couldn’t look any more gorgeous as he smiles over the top of his bottle at Morri’s antics.
With eyes sliding hopefully to Lowe, Morri asks hesitantly. “I suppose you wouldn’t be carrying around a corkscrew?”
Lowe shakes his head. “Sorry. Not a wine kind of dude. Besides, if I need to shank someone, I prefer to carry a pocketknife.”
Morri wrinkles his nose even as his expression turns more morose that he may have to go without. With a last bit of desperation, he asks me, “Mely… we had wine last night. You have to have a corkscrew.”
I shake my head with a laugh, pulling the tinfoil off the tenderloin. “Sorry, babe. Those bottles were twist caps.”
Morri gasps again, his hand going to his heart like this might be the “big one”. “You let me drink wine from a bottle with a twist-off cap?”
“Oh, good God,” I say with a laugh as I turn away from my bestie with such dramatic stage presence as part of his regular job that it always carries over into real conversation. “You’re still alive, you know.”
“I’m not sure how,” Morri mutters, and Lowe laughs.
A resonant, deep tone that’s one-hundred percent man and it gives me pure shivers. I try to shake off the feeling as I rummage through the Walmart bags for a knife to cut the tenderloin. Pushing away some other smaller purchases I hadn’t put away yet—headache medication, sunscreen, and toothpaste—I realize I didn’t get a knife.
My head hangs. “Lowe… um… can we borrow your pocketknife to cut the roast?”
That laugh again.
I turn to face him and his eyes are sparkling as he reaches into his pocket, confidently palming his beer in his other hand. “Sure thing, Mely.”
Shivers again.
Just from the way he says my name.
I’m in so much trouble.
♦
“You’re kidding me?” I ask with rounded eyes after I take another sip of beer straight from the bottle. It’s a local brew Lowe had brought. While I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, and I definitely hadn’t drank it with a beef tenderloin, I was finding it not so bad.
Especially not when dinner conversation had been so much fun, despite Morri being cranky and reserved as he eyed the bottle of red wine that couldn’t be opened.
Lowe shakes his head, the tiny motion causing his dark hair to ripple all around. “Threw her in jail twice.”
He’s talking about his sister, Trixie, the lawyer who defended him last week over the pink paint debacle, and the wily Judge Bowe.
“Why would she provoke him like that?” I ask in awe.
Lowe shrugs. “It’s in the DNA, I guess. I mean… why would I paint your house neon pink?”
Laughing, I tip my beer bottle to him. “In fairness, it was only the window and door casings.”
Lowe’s eyes sparkle with humor, but Morri gives a disgusted groan as he stands up from the table. “I can’t stand how chummy you two have become. It’s enough to drive this tired but well fed and under-imbibed black man to bed.”
I glance at my watch. It’s almost 9:30, and I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. We’re still sitting at the card table, the meal long over with empty paper plates sitting before each of us.
“Good night, Morri,” I say affectionately, even though he’s been a complete boob to Lowe tonight. I can’t quite decide where his ire is coming from, but I’ll talk to him tomorrow.
“G’night, sweet Mely,” he coos back at me as he bends over to kiss me on the top of my head. When he stands, he gives me a fierce look. “And try to stay on your side of the bed tonight. It’s too hot to have you snuggling all up to me.”
Chuckling, I give a nod of my head. “I’ll try.”
“Good girl,” he says sweetly, and then turns to Lowe. Morri looks down at him imperiously. “Good night, Lowe.”
“Night,” Lowe says in that deep voice that’s still laced with mischievous humor because Morri clearly doesn’t like him.
After Morri’s gone, Lowe slides his eyes to me. He’s leaning back in his chair, which he pushed away from the table long ago. His long legs stretched out in front of him, disappearing under the table.
“Gotta say,” he drawls as he rests his empty beer bottle on his stomach. “A little weird you going to bed with one man after having invited another over to dinner.”
My eyebrows draw inward, and I point out seriously. “You do realize he’s gay, right?”
Lowe laughs again, and it’s loose and relaxed. “Yeah… got that, Mely.”
“Not so weird then,” I return with a grin. “Right?”
“Still a little weird. This is the South. The Bible Belt. People will think you’re loose to be sleeping with a man when not married.”
I snort, because I can tell he’s totally teasing me. I’d learned one thing tonight… Lowe Mancinkus is quite worldly despite the fact he lives in a tiny, backwoods town. He has a degree from UNC, a liberal, artsy southern state school located in a very eclectic and diverse town, and he’s well-traveled. He did a semester in Italy and visited many of the European countries while there.
But here he is… a very intelligent man working with his hands in a very small town.
I find it fascinating.
“So, what exactly do you do in your um… carpentry business?” I ask in a stumbling manner because I realize I’m not sure what Lowe does. I know he removed cabinets, linoleum, and wallpaper.
“Mostly custom type of work,” he says. “Although I can build a house from the ground up.”
“Really?” I ask, because how many people can say that in this world?
Lowe nods. “Built my own house. Well, it’s a two-bedroom cabin on the north end of my parents’ farm, but yeah… did one-hundred percent of it.”
“That’s amazing,” I tell him truthfully. Based on the nature of my work, remodeling and interior design, this is something I can appreciate.
“But again, remodeling work like I’m doing here on Mainer House is probably eighty percent of my business,” he says, and then his face immediately gets troubled. “I mean… well, guess it’s not Mainer House anymore.”
“Oh, I fully intend to keep that name,” I reassure him. It’s the Mainer association, after all, that led me to this beautiful piece of my own history.
Lowe’s eyes soften, and he nods his head. “That’s nice.”
“I’m sorry this was so hard on you,” I blurt out, feeling the need to make sure he knows this was never a personal thing.
Lowe shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“How come this house set empty for so long?” I ask, wondering about that little tidbit of history that I was never able to quite figure out from my dealings with the real estate company who had the property listed.
“No one to really live in it,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Everyone in the family has their own homes, and it really needed a lot of work as you well know since it sat empty for so long.”
“The realtor said no one’s lived here since the mid-sixties.”
“My great aunt, Angela Mainer, got the house in a divorce, but she moved to Raleigh to live with her sister when her kids were gone and moved away. It was left to my mom, Catherine, when Angela died in 1981. My parents did some basic upkeep on it and paid taxes, but it was kind of a financial burden so they decided to sell it.”
“I really am sorry,” I say again.
“Not your fault, Mely,” he says kindly. Even through the sadness that this piece of his family’s history is gone, I can tell his grudge isn’t with me anymore.
“Well, I better get going,” Lowe says as he pushes from the table and it startles me. My immediate thought is to call him back, tell him to stay, but that’s stupid. I barely know this guy, and this was just a friendly dinner.
I scramble out of my seat. After he puts his empty beer bottle in the garbage, he heads out of the kitchen and into the foyer as I follow him.
When he reaches the door, his hand grabs the knob but he turns to look at me. “Dinner was really great. Thanks again.”
“I really am sorry about all of this drama between us,” I tell him sheepishly.
Lowe laughs and releases the door. Turning more fully to me, he admits, “It’s been kind of fun… butting heads, right?”
“Little,” I admit.
His eyes move over my face, focus on my lips, and my pulse runs away wildly. Every single, thrilling memory of his kiss last week slams into me, and my knees go absolutely weak.
I’ve never had a man make that happen before.
Lowe’s lips curl upward as if he knows exactly the affect he has on me. I want to punch him for knowing that about me, but I’d rather kiss him, darn it.
Unwittingly, I shuffle forward a few inches. His eyes lock onto mine, and he leans toward me with his mouth slightly parted.
Oh, shit… I hadn’t really planned on another kiss and I’ve got asparagus breath.
“I forgot to tell you, Mely…” Morri’s voice comes down the staircase, deliberately loud and intrusive.
So intrusive that Lowe and I both jerk backward, and I don’t miss the frustration on Lowe’s face before turning to face Morri.
He saunters down the stairs, wearing a black and red silk kimono-type robe with flowing sleeves and a grayish-blue facial mud mask covering his dark skin.
“Forgot to tell me what?” I ask with a sigh.
“I’ve got FedEx scheduled for a delivery tomorrow,” he says as he comes to stand right beside me, completely throwing icy water on the mood that had been bubbling nicely between Lowe and me. “I bought this fabulous red sequined gown online. There’s a drag club in Raleigh a friend suggested, and they have a credible drag show. Thought I’d stay and check it out. Besides, I’ve been drooling over that dress for weeks. There are only a few left in stock, so I decided to go for it.”
“Drag show?” Lowe asks curiously.
“Morri’s an entertainer,” I explain, then turn to back to Morri. “So, you figured you’d go all glammed up to see the show?”
“Well, sweetie,” Morri purrs with a dramatic pull of his arm across his chest so the long sleeve of his robe arcs gracefully. He turns to the staircase, but looks over his shoulder at me. “When in Rome, right? Besides, red is my signature color.”
“Right,” I say with a nod of my head as Morri prances back up the stairs.
“Speaking of Rome,” Lowe says, and I turn back to him with my head tilted. “The Lantern Festival is being held this weekend. You and Morri should come to it.”
“Larkin was telling me about it. It sounds like fun.”
“It is,” he agrees and then grabs the knob again. “You know, we didn’t even get a chance to talk about what you want me to do on the house after I fix the paint.”
“Coffee will be ready at seven AM tomorrow if you want to stop by,” I tell him, throwing out another invitation for him to come socialize with me. I guess at this point I better decide exactly what I’d like him to help me with now.
“Seven AM,” Lowe says with a nod and tip of his head. “Good night, Mely.”
“Night,” I return and then he’s gone.