Page 18 of Tuxedos and Tinsel
He nodded. “Fine, fine. Just swallowed wrong.” He composed himself and took a small sip of water.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“So, about the cookies...here or your place?”
He stared at her for a lengthy minute. “We can do them at my place.” He’d already invited her over and it would seem rude to have her bake them here. Or at least that was what he told himself.
They agreed upon and ordered from an Italian restaurant. On the drive to Ian’s house, Maya sat quietly thinking about the invitation to his house. Frankly, she was a little surprised, given the nature of their relationship. Most men didn’t invite women into their homes unless... She quickly struck the thought from her mind. No. They agreed. Just through the holidays. A hand on her thigh interrupted her thoughts.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re quiet. You mentioned not wanting to go out. Is anything wrong?”
“No. Just some work stuff. Nothing I can’t handle.” She hadn’t heard anything from the real estate company since she’d declined their last offer almost two weeks ago, but knew they weren’t going to back off. The thought of losing her dream weighed heavily on her mind. Not wanting to dwell on that prospect, she asked Ian, “What about your job—do things slow down for you over the holidays?”
“Sometimes, but this year we’re hoping to get a project off the ground soon,” Ian answered, turning into a cul-de-sac.
Maya’s complex was located in a nice neighborhood, but Ian’s home was in one of the more expensive areas—immaculate lawns, large stately houses with balconies, two-and three-car garages. He pulled into the third driveway. “Wow, this is fabulous.”
“Thanks.” He got out, retrieved their food from the backseat and then came around to her side.
She stared at the large two-story structure as they headed up the walkway. The house was impressive, even in the dark. He unlocked the door, stepped back for her to enter and touched a light switch. “Very nice,” she said, glancing around the large foyer and into the living room to the right—polished wooden floors, dual staircase, and elegant and expensive furniture.
“Come on back to the kitchen,” Ian said.
“This kitchen is amazing. I’d love to have one this size for all the baking I do.”
He chuckled. “Do you want to bake the cookies now or later?”
“Now is fine. Can you preheat the oven to three hundred and fifty degrees?”
He placed the bags on the kitchen table, set the oven, and got plates and silverware. “Would you like a glass of wine?” Ian pulled out a small cookie sheet and handed it to her.
“Sure.” She arranged the cookies on the sheet and slid the tray into the oven.
He retrieved and opened a bottle of pinot grigio from a small wine cellar containing half a dozen bottles, seated her at the table and took the chair across from her.
They ate in silence for a few minutes and then Maya asked, “What made you go into architecture? I remember you telling me you loved to draw, but was there something else?”
“When I was eight, one of my neighbors’ houses burned down. I was fascinated with the rebuild. Every day, when I came home from school, I would get as close as I could and watch. I wondered how they knew where to place each piece of wood, how they knew which room was which and the sizes...everything.” He smiled as if remembering. “The architect happened to be there one of those afternoons and he, surprisingly and patiently, answered the million and one questions I had, showed me blueprints. Even gave me his card.”
“That is so cool.”
“Yeah. After that, I was always in my room working on some great masterpiece. Told my parents I was going to design the biggest building in Los Angeles.”
Maya laughed. “And have you?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
The timer on the oven went off and Maya removed the cookies, put them on a plate to cool and came back to the table to finish her dinner.
“Do you want something else?” Ian asked when they were done.
“No, thank you. This was some of the best seafood Alfredo I’ve ever had.”
