Page 31 of The Holy Grail
“What?”
“Is this a new shirt?” she repeated, reaching out to grasp the plastic piece where a price tag would have been attached.
“Um … well, yes.”
“Are you one of those people who try and rip the tags off, instead of cutting them off?”
“No, but I was in a bit of a hurry tonight and I couldn’t find any scissors.”
“I can’t decide if that’s flattering, or not,” she teased. When he seemed a little embarrassed by the direction the conversation had taken, she looked him over more closely, thinking his jeans looked pretty new, too. “Did you buy all new clothes for our date?”
“Yes and no. I did need to get some casual things to wear, but I didn’t get themspecificallyfor our date.”
Not sure if she believed him, she asked, “You don’t have a lot of casual clothes?”
Now he seemed downright uncomfortable. “Not really. And the casual clothes I do have are mostly like sweats and T-shirts, and I wasn’t going to wear sweat pants tonight.”
“So, your wardrobe consists mostly of suits and sweats? And not much in between?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why is that?”
“I just … I don’t know why, to be honest.”
“Well, if we’re still going out in a few months, we’ll go clothes shopping together and fill in your wardrobe gaps,” she told him, giving his forearm an exaggerated, comforting pat. “How does that sound?”
“It sounds like good motivation to keep you around. At least for a few months, anyway.”
She nodded in agreement. “I think it would be worth it, because I’m a really good shopper. Not to brag or anything—okay, maybe just a little bit—but I helped my friend, Paige, update her wardrobe from early Soviet Union gulag to chic, 21st century, badass woman in less than three hours … and that included a lot of casual clothes.”
Malcom adopted a thoughtful expression. “She did look fantastic the night we met at the restaurant. I remember thinking she had great taste in clothes.”
“What? You can remember what she was wearing?”
“Of course I can’t. It was fifteen—no wait, make thatsixteen—months ago.”
At the deadpan dig, Jules released a soft chuckle. “I have to say, your mom was right when she said you had a dry sense of humor.”
At the reminder of his mother’s character reference, Malcom inwardly groaned.
“I do have to wonder, though, if she was wrong about your impeccable manners … which I must say aren’t very impeccable tonight,” she continued. Then, at his surprised frown, she added, “You haven’t offered me a tour of your place yet. Or am I supposed to look around on my own?”
While he showed her around the first floor, which was obviously made up of the main living spaces and a large half-bath, she was impressed by the high ceilings, beautiful crown molding, stunning parquet floors, and expansive windows. However, to her confusion, the first three rooms were empty, and were only identifiable because Malcom told her what they were. One was a formal living room (which Jules had always thought had very little function), one was a formal dining room (only marginally more functional), and the last one was potentially a small den (which was the most potentially functional of them all).
There were no pictures or artwork anywhere, nor any knick-knacks scattered around, and all the walls were a neutral, off-white color.
The only room that actually had anything in it was the fourth room. It was obviously the main living room, with a couch, matching loveseat, a coffee table, two end tables, and a floor lamp. There was also a large, flat-screen TV hanging on the wall with a shelving unit underneath, boasting a turntable and an impressive vinyl collection.
To her surprise and delight, a large 24x36 framed and matted movie poster ofThe Godfatherwas hanging on one of the walls. It was a vintage, illustrated version with Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, and even the guy who played Solazzo (Jules couldn’t remember his real name) on it. In the background there was part of a cityscape, and in the foreground was a little depiction of Sonny lying dead on the causeway, his car riddled with bullets, adding a nice touch.
“It’s a beautiful home,” she told him politely, because it was, even if it needed a generous amount of life and personality injected into it. “How long have you lived here?”
“A little over five years. I bought it after my divorce.”
Jules blinked at him, having assumed he’d moved in very recently, not five years ago. It made her unhappy to picture him in this beautiful home, with plain white walls and only one room furnished for so long, but she kept that to herself.
Malcom must have seen her confusion, because he explained, “My ex-wife got our original house and all our furnishings in the divorce settlement.”
