Page 31 of Charmed and Alarmed

I stare out the window, watching as we drive onto a neat suburban street lined with cozy Victorian-style homes all painted different colors and surrounded by various combinations of fencing or shrubbery. It’s still early enough that a few kids are playing on the sidewalks, and one man is mowing his lawn, the low rumble carrying through Holden’s closed windows.

“Where are we going exactly?” I ask hesitantly as we park just outside a pale green house at the end of the street. It’s all lit up, and as I watch, a little girl bursts through the front door, running full tilt around the back of the garage and out of sight.

“It’s my college roommate’s birthday,” Holden tells me mildly, already turning off the truck. “His wife is throwing him a small party, and I said I’d go. We don’t need to stay long.”

“Oh.” I fiddle with the hem of my skirt, thrown off by this unexpected turn of events. Holden and I haven’t done anything even close to attending an old friend’s dinner party together. This is the kind of thing you do with someone you’rewith, not someone you’re just fucking. “Do you want me to wait in the car?”

Holden shoots me an exasperated look. “Are you serious, Leni? Jesus. No. Come on, you’ll like them.”

Still reeling, I watch as he leans down to retrieve a bottle of wine from a bag on the floor. Before I can reach for the handle, he catches my wrist, and when I look back at him, my stomach flips at the intensity of his stare. “For the record, this isn’t something I do with other women.”

Without another word, and apparently unbothered by my gobsmacked expression, he gets out of the car and rounds the hood to my side to open my door.

We don’t say a single thing to each other as he guides me through the white picket fence gate and up to the aged wood front door. He’s barely rung the bell before it’s thrown open, and I find myself looking at a woman not much older than me, with wild, nearly black curls and a warm smile.

“Hi, Holden! How are you?” She beams, leaning in for a brief hug and taking the wine before turning her attention to me. “And you must be Leni! I’ve heard so much about you!”

What is happening?

“Len, this is Jo,” Holden informs me casually, indicating the dark-haired woman—Jo, apparently.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I blurt out, staring past her into the hall, which is lined on one side by jam-packed, floor-to-ceiling bookcases and on the other by an eclectic assortment of art.

She steps back to let us inside, and I stare around, my heart beating a little too quickly given the circumstances. Jazz music is playing quietly over a speaker somewhere, and the house smells like an unknown but delicious food. The entire space is worn but cozy and welcoming, and I start when the door clatters open behind me, knocking into my back as the small girl I saw earlier reenters the house.

“Zoe!” gasps Jo, eyes round and apologetic. “Can you apologize to our new friend, Leni? You knocked right into her!”

The girl, who has slightly lighter hair than her mother and wide, pale blue eyes, stares up at me and Holden, expressionless. “Sorry. You shouldn’t stand in front of a door, though,” she says, completely deadpan, before racing off up the wooden stairs to our left.

I can’t help but laugh. “It’s fine,” I assure Jo, “no harm done.”

She sighs heavily, shaking her head. “We’re working on apologies. Please! Come in! You’re the first ones here.”

We follow her down the hall into a combined kitchen and dining room. Food is steaming on the stove, and an assortment of appetizers is arranged on platters on the kitchen table. A man, who is nearly as tall as Holden, with graying, light brown hair, is pulling a bottle of something out of the fridge.

His eyes flick from me, then up to Holden, a smile spreading over his face. “You brought her!” he says, his voice colored by a thick French accent.

“I brought her,” Holden confirms, settling his hand on my waist. “Len, this is Ellis Delvaux. We went to Weston together.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asks, gesturing to the selection of wine and liquor arranged on one corner of the counter.

His wife moves forward, holding up the bottle Holden handed her. “They brought wine.”

Ellis takes it, his smile turning to a playful scowl as he reads the label. “Italian wine? On my birthday, Holden?”

“Tradition is tradition,” Holden replies with an easy laugh. “You’ll remember the first time, I stole it for you. Risking incarceration is true friendship, sir, and don’t you forget it.”

“Yes, yes.” Ellis rolls his eyes good-naturedly, reaching into a drawer for a bottle opener. “It wasn’t at all for personal gain. Purely out of the goodness of your heart. Ask him how much of that bottle he drank, Leni.”

I feel myself smiling as I look up at him, put at ease by the casual, friendly couple. “How much of that bottle did you drink, Holden?”

He scoffs. “Half.Ish.”

All four of us laugh.

“Tell us about yourself, Leni,” asks Jo from her place in front of the stove, beaming at me over her shoulder.

So, I tell her.

---