Page 18 of My Blind Date is a Vampire

I don’t know why I was so surprised that Landon’s house—or mansion, rather—was located in Westview. His house was miles from all the other estates, though. His backyard opened to the woods, and he had a great view of the mountains from almost every window.

Toby had been well off as well, coming from a family chockfull of investment bankers and lawyers, so I’d been around snobs before, with his mother being the only person I actually liked. But never had I been intimidated by their wealth, not in the way I was awed when confronted by the sheer magnitude of Landon’s fortune when I was confronted with the proof of it. In hindsight, I should have known he was stacked when he came to pick me up in a Lamborghini.

The house was a two-story architectural wonder. The ground floor was all tempered glass from the front, yet I could not see inside the house as Landon drove down the circular driveway and into the garage. “You weren’t kidding about the car collection,” I mused out loud, taking in the three other cars in the garage and two motorcycles. Landon gave me an amused look before ducking into the backseat of the car to retrieve a paper bag filled with the ingredients he needed to make our lunch.

“Bas would die if he saw your garage. Can I take a picture just to rub it in his face?” I was already fishing my phone out of my bag as I asked the question.

“Go right ahead.” Landon laughed and stood off to the side as I snapped picture after picture of his sports cars and the bikes, but when it came to sending them, I hesitated. That would only open a can of worms I wasn’t up to dealing with just yet. If Bas found out I was dating someone, the news would spread to the rest of the family before sunset, and before I knew it, my nosy mother and brothers would be barging through my front door and there would go my peace of mind.

“You’re not going to send them?” Landon regarded me when I pocketed my phone. I shook my head and asked him to lead the way. Thankfully, he didn’t press me as to why.

“What can I get you to drink? I have a selection of wines to choose from and some stronger spirits if you prefer. I also picked up some organic juice from the store,” Landon offered once he got me settled in his TV-worthy chef’s kitchen. I could picture Mom drooling over the entire setup. Dark wood-paneled floors, gleaming granite countertops, a kitchen island that also served as a place to eat with seating for six, and all the latest appliances, each one gleaming with that newly bought sheen. In fact, except for the fridge and freezer, the kitchen looked and felt as if it had hardly been used. All the ingredients Landon was using to make the pasta dish were bought at a minimarket in Westview before we drove up to his house. I didn’t think he had any food in the house at all besides alcohol.

“Red wine, please. You look like a man who knows his way around a kitchen, yet I get the distinct feeling that you haven’t been in here for anything but a drink,” I pointed out when Landon opened what I now realized to be a wine fridge to pour me a glass. “Do you live off of takeout or something?”

“I am a bachelor.” He winked. “And the only reason I know my way around the kitchen is because I fancied myself a chef when I was younger. Even had a short stint working as a sous chef in France before I decided that slaving away in a kitchen was not for me.” He poured himself a different brand of red wine. Something about it looked off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The consistency? Or maybe the coloring? But then again, I was no sommelier and was used to cheaper brands and boxed wines.

Landon took a whiff of his wine and a hearty sip, sighing in pleasure as he did so. I could have sworn I saw his eyes come alive and a rosy flush bloom across his sharp cheekbones. I wondered how much more potent his wine was than the scotch he’d been drinking on our last date because he’d had two drinks and there’d been no color riding high in his cheeks then.

“You and Dane sure do lead exciting lives. Where do you get the time to squeeze in all these feats? Do you have a time-turner or something?” I snickered, snoring like a pig at my lame joke.

“I’m sorry, a time what now?” Landon asked, drawing an outraged gasp from me, complete with an over-dramatic clutching of the chest.

“How is there someone who doesn’t get a Harry Potter reference in this day and age? I might have to rethink our acquaintanceship, Mr. Grayson.”

Landon groaned and moved to wash his hands before retrieving a kitchen knife and cutting board. “That’s the wizard boy, right? I’ve done my absolute best to avoid anything to do with those movies. I’ve had enough dealings with witches to last me a lifetime,” he grumbled. His statement was so matter of fact, for a moment, I thought he was dead serious.

I choked on my wine when it went down the wrong pipe, setting off a chain of hacking coughs that made me think I was going to hack up a piece of my lung. Tears streamed down my face, and I was afraid that I had a trail of snot running down my nose as well. Landon was by my side in the blink of an eye, rubbing soothing circles down my back and offering a napkin to wipe away the mess I’d made of myself when the coughs subsided.

“Did you mean that metaphorically or in the literal sense? I read that Mystic Cove was once a safe haven for witches. Are they still around?” I croaked once I calmed down. My throat was sore, and I hoped the tears had not messed up my mascara.

Landon’s soothing rubs on my back stopped and he went as white as a sheet, panic flickering in his eyes before he came back to himself. “Of course, I was joking.” He attempted a laugh, but it sounded robotic.

“I’ve actually been meaning to dig into the history of the town as a little side project of mine. Maybe write a book or a paper or something. I find it fascinating that witches all over the country migrated to this tiny town to escape the horrors of the witch trials. I’m sure there are some amazing tales that came out of that,” I gushed, my inner history nerd making her appearance.

Landon surprised me by kissing me on the tip of my nose. “Are you that interested in witches and the supernatural?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone as he began to chop up garlic cloves and mushrooms.

“Can I help with anything? I feel bad just sitting around and watching you do all the work. I make a mean white pasta sauce.”

Landon hesitated to put me to work. “I detect a challenge. If it’s not as good as the one as I would have made for you, I’ll have to punish you for the insolence.” He smirked. The word “punishment” coming from him sparked an inferno low in my belly.

“In that case, challenge accepted. And to answer your earlier question, yes, I am that interested in witches. I was heartbroken when my eleventh birthday passed with no hint of my Hogwarts letter anywhere in sight. And, of course, the historian in me is itching to get her hands on some research material.”

“It doesn’t freak you out that there might be other beings out there far more powerful, more vicious, than human beings?” Landon eyed me from the corner of his eyes as we worked together side by side.

“What, like aliens or something? Yes and no, I suppose.” I one-shoulder shrugged. “I’ve always been of the mindset that the universe is just too vast for us humans to be the only beings inhabiting this tiny speck of an infinite whole. Not to mention, I always had these grand fantasies in which a fae prince would sweep me off my feet and whisk me off to faerie land to have his wicked way with me. And he would declare his undying love for me, of course.” I gave him a saucy looked. “If I ever discovered that to be true, you can be sure I’d drop your butt in a hot minute for a chance at getting me some fae lovin’.”

Landon’s knife slipped and he let out a sharp hiss as a drop of scarlet red blood dripped down his finger.

“Oh, my God! Here, let me take a look at that.” I tore off a strip of paper towel and made to grab his injured finger, but Landon snatched his hand away and licked the blood off his finger.

“Landon, that’s not healthy. We need to clean it and maybe get a band-aid. That looks like a deep cut,” I pleaded with him, but he shook his head and walked over to the sink and placed his hand under the faucet.

“It’s not that deep. The amount of blood was misleading, but it was a tiny prick. You can barely make out where the knife cut me.”

I was unconvinced and grabbed his hand, wrapping my fingers tight around his wrist before he could snatch it away. To my amazement, there was no visible sign of a cut anywhere. The soft skin of his index finger looked unbroken to me. “You’re right…” I mumbled in a mystified tone, turning his hand this way and that to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

Before I could poke any further, Landon quickly changed the subject and asked me more about my family and childhood. Soon, the accident was at the back of my mind as we laughed at some of the shenanigans and troubles my brothers got me into.

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