You Only Live Nine Times, page 13
"I'm hoping to make four friends, actually." Evan’s voice took on a more serious tone as he placed three treats in his palm, offering them to the cats. Homer lunged for his while Vashti took her treat delicately between perfect white teeth.
Even Scarlett had been drawn from her sunny perch by Evan’s arrival, although now she hesitated, looking at the treat in his hand with displeasure. “I don’t eat from human palms like a trained monkey,” Scarlett informed him, casting a withering look at her less-discerning siblings. All Evan heard was a low growl of disapproval, but he seemed to get the message and placed Scarlett’s treat on the ground. She waited until he’d stood up straight again, then approached at a measured, dignified pace to claim it.
"I was wondering," Evan continued, once the treats had been distributed, "if maybe you'd like to—"
The bell above the door interrupted whatever Evan had been about to say. Dahlia Delgado swept in, her teal pantsuit a splash of vivid color against the bookstore's more subdued palette.
"Rachel, mi amor!" Her voice filled the space with its characteristic warmth and energy. "I've had the most wonderful idea, and I couldn't wait to talk it over with you!"
Evan stepped back from the counter, recognizing that the moment for private conversation was gone. "I should head out." His voice was tinged with what Rachel thought might be disappointment. "I have to get down to the Borders in Kendall before rush hour."
"Thanks again for the books," Rachel said, reluctant to see him go. "And the treats."
"My pleasure." Evan hesitated, as if wanting to say more, then simply smiled and nodded. "I'll see you soon."
Dahlia watched him go with a knowing look. "That man is smitten," she observed, once the door had closed behind him. "And he's pretty easy on the eyes."
Rachel felt warmth creep into her cheeks. "He's just good at his job," she said, though her heart wasn't in the denial. "Now, what's this wonderful idea you couldn't wait to share?"
Dahlia beamed as she placed her leather satchel on the counter. "I had brunch with Isabella Stuart yesterday," she began, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. "We were discussing the upcoming Halloween parade, and something she said sparked absolute genius. The Department of Tourism wants to sponsor a special Halloween event here at Title Wave!"
"Here?" Rachel repeated.
"Think about it," Dahlia continued enthusiastically. "A dual event—family-friendly activities during the day for children and parents before the Hibiscus Road trick-or-treating begins. Then it’ll transition into a gathering for adults in the evening, right before the parade starts." She gestured expansively around the bookstore. "Your Halloween decorations are already the talk of Hibiscus Road! The Coacoochee High art students did a magnificent job."
Rachel looked around at the displays she and the students had created. The black-light monsters glowing in the front window, the skeleton lounging in a beach chair with a mystery novel, the carefully crafted paper bats suspended from the ceiling—it had all come together in a way that still took her pleasantly by surprise when she first entered the store every morning.
Nevertheless, a full-scale event sponsored by the Department of Tourism was a significantly more ambitious undertaking. "I'm not sure Title Wave is equipped to handle something that large." She absently stroked Vashti, who had returned to the counter and had her large green eyes fixed on Dahlia.
"Nonsense!" Dahlia dismissed Rachel's concerns with a wave of her bejeweled hand. "After how brilliantly you managed Danny Elliott's book signing, I have complete confidence in you. And speaking of Danny," her smile widened, "I’ve already spoken to him. The Department has a budget for these kinds of things, and he's extremely enthusiastic about providing themed food for both portions of the event."
Rachel raised her eyebrows. "You've already talked to Danny?"
"Just preliminarily," Dahlia assured her. "Nothing's set in stone. But he seemed quite excited by the prospect."
Despite her initial hesitation, Rachel found herself warming to the idea. The Halloween decorations had brought new customers into the shop, and an official event might introduce even more readers to Title Wave.
Aloud she said, "I'd need to get approval from Dorothea."
"Of course, of course," Dahlia readily agreed. "But between you and me, I already mentioned it to her when I ran into her at the Sunday farmers market. She thought it was a marvelous idea."
Rachel laughed. "You've really covered all the bases, haven't you?"
"When you've been in government service as long as I have, you learn to anticipate objections," Dahlia replied with a wink. "So, what do you say? Will Title Wave be Coacoochee’s Halloween hotspot this year?"
"Tommy and I are having dinner at Sabrosa tonight," Rachel said. "I could talk to Danny in person about the details."
"Perfect!" Dahlia clapped her hands together. "I'll messenger over an outline of what we're thinking, and you can discuss the specifics with Danny." She gathered her satchel and tucked it under her arm. "This is going to be wonderful, Rachel. I’m so excited!"
With that, she stood on tiptoes to lean across the counter and buss Rachel’s cheek. Then she disappeared through Title Wave’s door, the merry jingle of the bell an echo of her own perpetual enthusiasm.
Rachel didn’t like to admit how relieved she'd been to get Tommy's phone call, suggesting they have dinner at Sabrosa that night. Tommy had been so elusive since Daisy's memorial that she'd begun to wonder if maybe she'd done something to offend him. But on the phone, he'd sounded almost like his old self—insistent that a night out together was long overdue.
"I know I've been MIA lately." His voice became huskier. "I'm still coming to terms with Daisy being gone.”
Rachel had readily accepted both the explanation and the dinner invitation, relieved to hear Tommy sounding more like his usual self. And if he still seemed closed off to her in some way—as if there were something in the events that had unspooled since the night of Danny Elliott’s book signing that she still didn’t quite understand—well, grief affected everyone differently.
The evening air at Sabrosa was infused with the aromas of sofrito, toasted coconut, and the fresh herbs that Danny grew in the restaurant's lush planters. The massive wooden containers, strategically placed under skylights to receive full daylight, overflowed with greenery: basil with leaves the size of Rachel's palm, mint that threatened to cascade onto diners' shoulders, and the delicate cilantro Danny harvested daily for his signature ceviches. Tropical flowers grew in extravagant clusters of white and red, creating partitions between tables that gave each setting an intimate feel while maintaining the open, airy atmosphere that had made Sabrosa Coacoochee's most sought-after reservation.
Griselda had seated them in Tommy's favorite spot, a conspicuous center table that afforded an excellent view of the restaurant's comings and goings. Sabrosa was busy even on a Monday night, filled with the pleasant hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter. The candlelight caught amber highlights in the glass of sangria Griselda had brought Rachel, and she breathed in the rich scent of wine-soaked fruit.
Tommy looked good, though perhaps a shade thinner than when she'd last seen him. His jacket, a deep aubergine that paired well with his dark eyes and the lighter brown of his hair, hung looser on his frame. Still, his smile was as bright as ever, and the hand he placed over hers was warm and steady.
"I've missed this." He gestured between them. "Just the two of us, hanging out."
"Me too." The sincerity of the sentiment shone in Rachel’s dark-brown eyes. "And you picked the perfect night for dinner—I need your advice on something."
Tommy's eyebrows rose with interest. "Do tell," he said, and Rachel realized how much she’d missed his familiar drawl.
As Rachel recounted Dahlia's visit and the proposed Halloween event, she caught snippets of conversations happening around her—business deals closing, romantic whispers exchanged, laughter bursting in bright bubbles above the Latin jazz that spilled from discreetly hidden speakers. Through the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling windows, Rachel could see the fairy lights along Hibiscus Road begin to twinkle as dusk settled.
"—and so I thought, since we're here anyway, I could talk to Danny about the food for both parts of the event," she concluded. "What do you think? Am I crazy to consider doing this?"
"Not at all," Tommy assured her. "You've proven you can handle it. And the Department of Tourism's backing means you'll have resources. Plus," his smile widened, "you know I'll help. I'm the Halloween parade's unofficial documentarian, after all."
Rachel was about to respond when she caught sight of something across the room. Marc Gottsegen sat at the corner table he usually occupied on Monday nights, but he wasn't alone. Isabella Stuart and Julian Singer-Adams flanked him, creating a striking power triangle. Isabella wore a floor-length midnight-blue dress, slit dangerously high up one side. Julian cut an imposing figure in a tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his lean frame.
A now-empty plate sat before Marc, fork and knife neatly crossed face-down upon it—although in front of Isabella was nothing more than a half-empty glass of champagne. A tumbler of scotch, untouched, rested on the table near Julian’s left hand. It was clear that Isabella and Julian hadn’t dined with Marc, and probably hadn’t been at his table for very long.
Marc’s leather-bound reporter’s notebook sat beside his own left hand. The capped pen lying atop it seemed to indicate that, whatever the three of them were discussing, it wasn’t a formal interview, since Marc wasn’t taking any notes. Isabella leaned forward across the table to speak to him in a low, intimate tone. She occasionally turned to cast a glance at Julian, or lightly touch his right hand, while he gazed impassively at Marc without saying a word.
Tommy turned to follow Rachel’s gaze, and his jaw tightened. "What an interesting threesome,” he observed coolly, but Rachel could hear the thin wire of nerves that ran through his voice. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t yet gotten the chance to tell him about Marc’s phone call with the Daily News’s editor the other day.
“Isabella’s here with Julian—which means Julian’s probably all they’re talking about.” Rachel tried to sound reassuring. “Isabella’s on good terms with everybody. She has to be. Her sitting with Marc for a minute or two doesn’t mean anything.”
Tommy nodded, and Rachel was glad to see his jaw relax. “You’re right,” he acknowledged. “Besides, I can’t imagine Isabella would suddenly decide to back Marc over me at the Daily News.”
Nevertheless, Tommy’s watchful eyes remained fixed on Marc’s table, where the conversation appeared to have reached its conclusion. Isabella gathered her small silver clutch—made from metal and shaped like a clamshell—while Julian stood and adjusted his jacket. Marc remained seated, watching them depart with an enigmatic smile.
Tommy hastily turned to face Rachel once again. “They’re coming this way,” she warned him in a low murmur, although Isabella and Julian’s progress was slowed as Isabella paused every few feet to receive gestures of obeisance from well-wishers and supplicants, each of whom hoped she’d remember them the next time some small crumb of media attention—the kind that could make or break an entire enterprise—was hers to bestow.
Tommy grinned with genuine warmth as the two finally reached their table. “Isabella!” He rose to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Always a vision."
Isabella's smile was dazzling. "Tommy, darling! And Rachel—lovely to see you both." She leaned down to press her cheek against Rachel's, her perfume enveloping Rachel in notes of gardenia. Turning to Tommy, Isabella added, "Have you heard? Club Nebula is finally reopening next month."
“Really.” Tommy's eyes widened with interest. "After the fire last year, I thought Marcel had given up on the place entirely."
"Julian's investment group stepped in at the last minute." One of Isabella’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arched meaningfully. "We were just talking it over with Marc."
Julian remained slightly apart, his gaze sweeping over the restaurant with a vaguely proprietary air. At the sound of his name, his attention shifted back to them. "Rachel," he acknowledged with a slight nod. “Tommy,” he added, his expression cold.
"Julian." Tommy’s tone was cordial but cautious. "How's the multiplex coming along?"
"The usual delays with permits and contractors. Nothing unexpected." Julian adjusted the French cuff of his shirt, revealing cufflinks that glinted in the candlelight.
Isabella's expertly lined eyes settled on Rachel. "Dahlia tells me you and Danny will be working together on a Halloween event. I think it’s a wonderful idea."
"Word really does travel fast," Rachel noted dryly. “We haven’t even started figuring out the details ourselves yet.”
Just then, Danny Elliott emerged from the kitchen, his black jacket and matching black chef’s hat still immaculate three hours into the dinner service. His smile grew as he made his way over to Rachel and Tommy’s table.
"Isabella! Julian!" Danny's voice carried the confident warmth of someone in his natural element. "I didn't realize you were here tonight."
Isabella turned, her own smile widening. "Danny, what perfect timing. Rachel and I were just discussing your upcoming Halloween collaboration."
Danny nodded enthusiastically, resting one hand on the back of Rachel's chair. "I've been brainstorming already—monster-eye cake pops and ‘spooky’ edible bookmarks for the kids. And for the adults, maybe literary-themed cocktails and appetizers?"
"That sounds perfect." Despite her earlier apprehension, Rachel found herself warming to his enthusiasm. "Could you come by Title Wave after hours sometime? We can work out the specifics."
"I'll bring samples." Danny's eyes sparkled with creative energy. "I've been looking for an excuse to experiment with Halloween flavors. Black garlic aioli, squid ink risotto. Maybe a blood orange panna cotta with activated charcoal crumble?"
"Well, I’ll leave the two of you to it." Isabella seemed pleased as her eyes shifted between Rachel and Danny. “And be sure to send me a writeup once you’ve ironed out the specifics,” she added. “I’d be happy to donate PR assistance to help you get the turnout you deserve.”
“Thank you!” Rachel hoped her voice reflected only sincere gratitude—and none of the surprise she also felt. “That’s a very generous offer.”
The casual wave of Isabella’s hand assured Rachel that nothing could be of less consequence than one of Miami’s most in-demand publicists donating her services free of charge…to promote an indie bookstore’s Halloween party. "We want to make sure Title Wave shines as brightly as it was meant to." She turned to Julian. "Shall we?"
Julian's roaming gaze returned to them one last time before they departed, his hand resting lightly on the small of Isabella's back. Rachel watched them go, noting how Isabella paused to say something to Griselda, eliciting a smile and nod from the hostess, before they disappeared out onto Hibiscus Road.
"I should say hi to a few more people." Danny squeezed Rachel's shoulder lightly. "Give me a call and let me know when’s a good day to come by."
With one last smile, Danny moved onto greet other diners. Marc remained alone at his table, sipping a glass of wine and jotting something in his notebook, which now lay open before him. If he’d been paying attention to the small gathering that had just broken up at Rachel and Tommy’s table, he gave no sign of it.
“That was interesting," Rachel observed, turning to face Tommy as he sat back down.
Tommy's expression had become thoughtful. "You know what? Marc and I have been at each other's throats for too long." He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. "Maybe it's time we called a truce. This town's too small for constant feuds."
“Maybe,” Rachel said dubiously. Something had surfaced between Tommy and Marc in the days since Daisy’s death—something more serious than the garden-variety cattiness of two competing nightlife writers. Rachel didn’t know exactly what it was, but she sensed that Marc wasn’t as ready to bury it as Tommy now seemed to be. “Just keep it simple, okay?”
"Of course," Tommy assured her. His customary easy smile was firmly in place. "Back in a minute."
He rose from his seat, straightening his blazer as he made his way to Marc's table. Rachel watched him go—skeptical that any lasting good could be attained, but hopeful that perhaps some basic public courtesy might be restored between the two nightlife chroniclers.
As she watched Tommy and Marc across the restaurant, Rachel's thoughts drifted to Evan Kirschner's visit earlier in the day. There had been something in his eyes when he'd handed her that advance copy of Murakami—something warm and interested that had nothing to do with sales quotas or professional courtesy. Even now, hours later, she could recall the way his fingers had brushed against hers as he'd passed her the book. She was almost certain he'd been about to ask her out when Dahlia interrupted them. The realization sent a surprising flutter through her stomach.
Not that flutters necessarily meant all that much. Her bare shoulder still tingled where Danny had squeezed it before leaving their table. Danny was unquestionably attractive (and he knew it, Rachel reflected). He was charming, too, with his easy manner and creative enthusiasm, and the instinctive way he seemed to know how to work a room. His charisma was likely just as responsible for his rapid rise in the culinary world as his indisputable cooking talents. But still…
Rachel had thought precious little about dating since her split from Henry. Now, however, and despite all her reservations, she found she couldn’t stop thinking about Evan. Maybe it was their shared love of books, or the unassuming way Evan had connected with her cats. Maybe it was the way his deep-blue eyes seemed to smile into hers whenever they spoke.
Whatever it was, Rachel hoped Evan would come back to Title Wave. Soon.
Her attention shifted back to Tommy and Marc, their heads bent close together in what appeared to be an intensely private conversation. What had Isabella and Julian really been discussing with Marc earlier? Isabella’s ready explanation had been breezy enough, but Rachel couldn't help wondering what had held their attention so intently.
