Page 30 of The Holy Grail
MALCOM: It did sort of sound suggestive, but that’s totally not a problem.
JULES: So … you’ll be cooking our dinner?
MALCOM: Who else would be cooking it?
JULES: I guess I was assuming you’d be ordering in something.
MALCOM: Would you prefer that?
JULES: No. But I need a moment to get used to the idea of a man cooking for me.
MALCOM: You’ve never had a man cook for you before?
JULES: No. Unless you count my dad, which I don’t.
MALCOM: I don’t, either, so this will definitely be fun.
Chapter 8
A birthday wish
PAIGE: Happy 37th birthday!
PAIGE: Notice I didn’t use 37 exclamation points.
JULES: I appreciate that.
PAIGE: I’m not going to ask if you’re doing anything on this very special day, because you probably aren’t … but I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you, and love you to the mattresses and back!
Jules felt a tad guilty, because she actually was doing something later that day, but she wasn’t ready to tell Paige about Malcom just yet.
JULES: I love you to the mattresses and back, too!
Chapter 9
Dinner with Malcom
Malcom’s place turned out to be a fairly large townhouse, one in a long row of townhouses with a wrought-iron fence and a gate that gave a protesting little squeak when she opened it. As Jules ascended the concrete steps to the front porch, she took in the red brick exterior, numerous windows with glossy black shutters, and matching door.
Jules didn’t know if Malcom was waiting for her knock, but he opened the door almost immediately, and for a moment she was struck by the strange thought this was the first time she was seeing him someplace other than in a restaurant and not wearing a suit.
He also wasn’t wearing his glasses … and looked equally hot without them.
“Hi. Come on in,” he invited her, holding the door open for her.
She stepped into the entryway, which was empty except for a small table with a bowl on top for keys, and a standing coat rack in one corner. “Thank you.”
He looked around furtively, as if to make sure no one was around, before whispering, “Happy birthday.” Then, in a regular voice, he asked, “Was that low-key enough for you?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Good, because I just couldn’tnotsay it.”
He smiled as he set her purse on the table, then helped her take off her coat and hang it up. When that was done, he admired her in her dark, bootcut jeans and cinnamon colored, wrap-around blouse, that managed to look elegant and sexy at the same time.
“You look great,” he told her, with a quick clearing of his throat as he forced his eyes away from the subtle hint of cleavage. “Damn.”
“So do you.” Tonight he was dressed in dark jeans, paired with a gray, button-down shirt, and as she looked him over, noticed a piece of clear plastic sticking out from one of his cuffs. “Is this a new shirt?”
