Page 45 of Nightcrawler

Chapter Fifteen

RAVEN

I’d just finished tucking my nana into bed when the doorbell rang. I walked out into the living room, giving it a quick glance, wondering if the two candles I’d lit, visible on the dining room table, were too much. Of course, there was also the quiet jazz playing from my nana’s antique console stereo which probably made everything seem over the top.

The doorbell rang again, and I realized there was no use fretting about it now. I walked to the door, trying to slow my frantic heart which threatened to beat out of my chest. I felt like a schoolboy. Miguel was standing on the stoop, running a hand through his hair in that characteristic nervous gesture I found charming. I smiled at the cat carrier he held in one hand. Judging by the meowing, Stanley hated being in the cardboard box.

“Come in.” I stepped aside and shut the door behind him after he walked inside.

“Hi. I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said, turning to greet me as he set Stanley’s carrier down on the ground. We stood there several feet apart and I could feel awkwardness coming off him in waves. He hesitated and then took a step forward, before pulling me into a quick hug. I sank against his body, enveloping him with my arms. My wounds throbbed uncomfortably, and the bandages were annoying, but his arms took away most of the sting. His hug was tentative, and I knew it was more out ofhim not wanting to hurt my wounds than his actual nervousness at what some people might construe as a first date. When we separated, I immediately stepped back. Stanley protested, and he laughed, reaching up to nervously run a hand through his hair again.

“Are you really sure this is okay? Having Stan here?”

I looked down at the carrier where he was protesting as though he was being tortured.

He laughed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine!” I said, bending to open the box. Stanley immediately jumped out and darted out of sight, down the hall. Miguel moved in his direction, but I stopped him, grabbing his arm. He looked over at me. “Let him go. The house is closed up, so it’s okay for him to explore. He’ll come out when he’s good and ready.”

“Are you sure?” Miguel looked toward the hallway.

“It’s fine. Come and eat something,” I assured him.

“Something sure smells good.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I hope you like fettuccine alfredo,” I said, leading him to the dining room table where I’d put out wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. “I didn’t know what kind of wine you like.” When he didn’t reply, I went on, nervously. “Personally, I like red. The fettuccini has chicken in it so I should have probably put out some white but—”

He cut off the rest of what I was going to say by stepping into my personal space, pulling me harder against him, and kissing my own anxiety away. Miguel’s lips were soft and tempting and the way his kisses made me feel weak in the knees simply took my breath away. The man was stunningly beautiful and the hardness of his body against my own wasn’t something I couldmiss. Neither was how well-endowed he was. Perhaps he wasn’t as nervous as I initially thought he was. Whatever the case, the closeness of him and the way he plied my mouth with his own, quickly dispelled my own notions about his anxiousness.

When he finally broke the kiss a couple of minutes later, he smiled at me. “I’ll take red or white. I’m good with either.”

The wine. He was talking about the wine. I’d completely forgotten my question. “Good!” I said, perhaps a little too loud or too fast because he chuckled before looking around the room. When he turned back, he had a question in his eyes. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Oh,” I said, “she goes to bed early.” I hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. “I’m just going to go get the food.”

“Let me help.”

I stopped my forward momentum to turn back, and he nearly ran into me, apologizing profusely. “Oh, sorry,” I spluttered as he stepped back. “Did you want to unload your boxes before dinner?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “And let your dinner get any colder than it is? No, we can do that afterward.”

I returned his smile. “Okay.” I turned and walked into the kitchen with him following right behind. We plated up the pasta and salad and brought it to the table. I’d tossed the salad with my own version of homemade Italian dressing. It was simple fare, but I wanted to do something I thought he’d like, and my chicken fettuccini alfredo with fresh garlic and basil from my nana’s garden was one of my specialties. I grabbed a basket of garlic bread, and we sat down to eat.

“This is really nice, Raven,” he said, shaking out the cloth napkin and putting it on his lap. I poured the wine I’d opened tobreathe, and he picked up his glass of Cab and looked over to me before holding it out. “To friends.”

I smiled and clinked his glass. “Friends.” I took a sip. The wine was delicious and before long, we were eating. My appetite had returned, and I was proud of myself for not needing any painkillers after the ones I’d taken before my nap this afternoon. It was good to get something in my stomach. I’d only eaten a piece of fruit since the dessert earlier in the day. By the time we’d nearly finished eating, I’d decided watching Miguel Huerta eat was one of my favorite things to do. He obviously enjoyed my cooking. Watching him demolish two large plates of fettuccini and a bowl of salad as he downed a glass of wine, was more satisfying than I could have possibly imagined. When he finally sat back in the chair and patted his stomach, I smiled.

“Good?”

He grinned. “Good? That was the best meal I’ve had in ages.” He gestured to my empty plate. “I see your appetite returned.”

I nodded, looking down at the plate before picking up my wineglass and draining the contents. “I’m feeling a hell of a lot better, Miguel.” I smiled at him. “Let me pour you another glass of wine.” I picked up the bottle.

“I probably shouldn’t. We have to meet Cassidy early.”

“One more glass. We can take it over to the couch and relax a bit.”

“Okay, fine, but I’d like to unload the boxes first,” he said. “It’s good wine.”