that you are here.”
I picked a couch and sat down, but it reminded me too much of the last time I was here, so I stood again. He turned up the dim lights and palmed a phone, tapping out a message on the screen.
“What can I get for you, Miss Keaton, while we wait for Mr. Wilder to arrive?”
“He’s not here?”
“Not just yet,” he said in a soothing voice. “But he will not want to miss you. Would you like a drink?” he asked, heading into the open kitchen.
“He doesn’t have to come home from wherever he is. I’ll—I’ll come back another time.”
“Water? A cocktail? Some hot tea?” He played around with a fancy-looking tea press. “It is a perfect night for tea.” He gestured to one of the stools lining the counter. “Please, come and join me. We will chat while we wait.”
He was being too nice for me to refuse, so I crossed and sat on one of the leather-topped bar stools. Within moments the scents of cinnamon, orange, and vanilla wafted to my nose. He opened a cabinet and took out saucers and tea cups with a maroon toile design.
“Do you live here with Liam?” I asked. “You’re a friend of his?”
“Ah, yes. I live here. I am a friend but I have worked for Mr. Wilder too, many years.”
“What do you do? Cook?” I only asked because the tea smelled so delicious.
“Cook, yes. Sometimes. I do many things. Are you hungry? Would you like some Christmas Eve goodies?”
He started piling homemade cookies on a plate before I could say no. He told me what kind they were as he arranged them. Macadamia, mint cream, Russian teacakes. I remembered putting homemade cookies out for Santa as a child. I was so young when I stopped believing in stuff like that. When the tea was done, he gave me a full cup along with some sugar and cream that he produced from the massive refrigerator.
I looked over my shoulder toward the foyer. “Please tell me you didn’t call him away from a party or something. A date.”
The man’s expression didn’t change. “He will not mind being called away.” He stirred his own cup of tea, meeting my eyes. “He has been waiting for you.”
Liam, waiting for me? He must have had me confused with some other girl. It would be so embarrassing when Liam showed up and found me sitting here in his house, at his kitchen counter. I had to find some way out of here before then. Maybe I could make up a story about leaving the oven on at home…
“What are you afraid of?” the man asked, his eyes far too keen. “Not Mr. Wilder?”
In that assessing look, I understood that this man worked for Liam, as a security-agent-bodyguard person, not a housekeeper or cook. His short stature and elderly appearance was a foil, a disguise.
“I’m not afraid,” I said, feeling a blush burn across my cheeks. “I’m nervous. Embarrassed. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. Not on Christmas Eve.”
“Ah, but you should have come. This is a great gift for him. He’s been worried about you.”
“He talked to you about me?”
“Not too much.” His voice took on a mild lilt. “You have difficulties?”
Something about his easy manner encouraged me to confide. “I need Liam to help me with something. Something important.”
“Ah, Liam likes to help. He will be happy to help you, Miss Keaton. And I am also at your service, if there is anything I can do. My name is Mem. It is short for something that would be very hard for you to pronounce.”
“Mem,” I repeated. “You don’t have to call me Miss Keaton. You can call me Ashleigh.”
His smile widened. “Thank you for this honor. I hope we will be friends.”
*** *** ***
I was having dinner at my father and stepmom’s place when I got the first text from Mem.
Little Ishi is here.
I grimaced, hiding the phone on my knee under the table. It had been a week since I saw her backstage, a week since Rubio flew to her rescue. A week of berating myself for making stupid choices. Send her away , I typed.
Three minutes
I picked a couch and sat down, but it reminded me too much of the last time I was here, so I stood again. He turned up the dim lights and palmed a phone, tapping out a message on the screen.
“What can I get for you, Miss Keaton, while we wait for Mr. Wilder to arrive?”
“He’s not here?”
“Not just yet,” he said in a soothing voice. “But he will not want to miss you. Would you like a drink?” he asked, heading into the open kitchen.
“He doesn’t have to come home from wherever he is. I’ll—I’ll come back another time.”
“Water? A cocktail? Some hot tea?” He played around with a fancy-looking tea press. “It is a perfect night for tea.” He gestured to one of the stools lining the counter. “Please, come and join me. We will chat while we wait.”
He was being too nice for me to refuse, so I crossed and sat on one of the leather-topped bar stools. Within moments the scents of cinnamon, orange, and vanilla wafted to my nose. He opened a cabinet and took out saucers and tea cups with a maroon toile design.
“Do you live here with Liam?” I asked. “You’re a friend of his?”
“Ah, yes. I live here. I am a friend but I have worked for Mr. Wilder too, many years.”
“What do you do? Cook?” I only asked because the tea smelled so delicious.
“Cook, yes. Sometimes. I do many things. Are you hungry? Would you like some Christmas Eve goodies?”
He started piling homemade cookies on a plate before I could say no. He told me what kind they were as he arranged them. Macadamia, mint cream, Russian teacakes. I remembered putting homemade cookies out for Santa as a child. I was so young when I stopped believing in stuff like that. When the tea was done, he gave me a full cup along with some sugar and cream that he produced from the massive refrigerator.
I looked over my shoulder toward the foyer. “Please tell me you didn’t call him away from a party or something. A date.”
The man’s expression didn’t change. “He will not mind being called away.” He stirred his own cup of tea, meeting my eyes. “He has been waiting for you.”
Liam, waiting for me? He must have had me confused with some other girl. It would be so embarrassing when Liam showed up and found me sitting here in his house, at his kitchen counter. I had to find some way out of here before then. Maybe I could make up a story about leaving the oven on at home…
“What are you afraid of?” the man asked, his eyes far too keen. “Not Mr. Wilder?”
In that assessing look, I understood that this man worked for Liam, as a security-agent-bodyguard person, not a housekeeper or cook. His short stature and elderly appearance was a foil, a disguise.
“I’m not afraid,” I said, feeling a blush burn across my cheeks. “I’m nervous. Embarrassed. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. Not on Christmas Eve.”
“Ah, but you should have come. This is a great gift for him. He’s been worried about you.”
“He talked to you about me?”
“Not too much.” His voice took on a mild lilt. “You have difficulties?”
Something about his easy manner encouraged me to confide. “I need Liam to help me with something. Something important.”
“Ah, Liam likes to help. He will be happy to help you, Miss Keaton. And I am also at your service, if there is anything I can do. My name is Mem. It is short for something that would be very hard for you to pronounce.”
“Mem,” I repeated. “You don’t have to call me Miss Keaton. You can call me Ashleigh.”
His smile widened. “Thank you for this honor. I hope we will be friends.”
*** *** ***
I was having dinner at my father and stepmom’s place when I got the first text from Mem.
Little Ishi is here.
I grimaced, hiding the phone on my knee under the table. It had been a week since I saw her backstage, a week since Rubio flew to her rescue. A week of berating myself for making stupid choices. Send her away , I typed.
Three minutes
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