Page 19 of Curiosity

Instead, Elias himself was waiting at the front door, dark eyes boring into me as I traversed the steps to get to where he was.

“You look incredible.”

I tried my best to temper the giddiness the compliment made me feel, biting the inside of my lip to keep my smile at a level that didn’t make it seem like I’d never had a man tell me I looked good before.

“Thank you,” I said, giving him a little nod. “And thank you for the gift.”

“Don’t. It was selfish,” he said, putting a hand at my waist to guide me inside. “I knew what I wanted to see you in.”

“Surprising – considering the last time you saw me dressed up, you had a problem.”

“Myproblemwas that the first time I saw you outside of your professional attire, I had to share the view with everyone else. This time… it’s just for me.”

I didn’t respond to that because I didn’t know how.

He led me through the house and out to the backyard I’d noticed on my first visit, to a lovely fireside dinner table set up. He pulled out my chair for me, poured my wine, then his, and then… just stared.

“What is it?” I asked, picking up my glass to take a sip out of pure nerves, just to have something to do with my hands.

“Just admiring you. Are you bothered by that?”

“No,” I answered at first, and then shook my head. “Actually… a bit,” I amended. “All of this is very strange.”

“All of what?”

“Your sudden intrusion into my life.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you characterize it —intrusion?”

“Are you offended by that?”

“I’m a hard man to offend about most things.”

“But are you offended bythat,” I insisted. “By me calling your interest in me an intrusion?”

He smirked a bit, as one of his staff walked out carrying covered platters of food. Once there was one in front of both of us, the covers were lifted to reveal a crab cake, a bowl of ceviche accompanied by tiny fresh crostini, and a mixed green salad dressed with a citrusy balsamic I smelled immediately.

A first course catered perfectly to my taste buds.

“Does it appear to your satisfaction?” Elias asked, pulling my attention to him as the server poured mineral water into our glasses.

“It appears to be, yes.”

“Good. I know chefs are notoriously picky.”

“I don’t believe I fall into that stereotype,” I said, picking up my fork to cut through the creamy remoulade topping to take a piece of the crab cake. It was so buttery and flavorful I had to consciously stop myself from letting out an audible moan. “I love eating good food I didn’t have to prepare myself.”

“But that word –good,” he grinned. “That’s very subjective, right?”

“Not as much as people like to make it seem.Lotsof people’s food isjust bad.”

He stopped eating to look at me. “So you don’t think it’s a thing of simply finding the right audience?”

“No. Some things are just objectively terrible. But… you work in the arts, so I’m sure you have a mentality of finding beauty in every piece.”

“Hellno,” he chuckled. “I’ve seen some ugly shit I don’t believeanyoneshould be subjected to having to look at.”

“Really? I figured you artsy people would just say it was… I don’t know, abstract or something.”

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