~Larken ~
Ileaned in to better see myself in the mirror and wondered for the millionth time how I had gotten myself into this mess. I just couldn’t say no to that boy. When Turner asked, yet again, if I would consider going out with his friend, I’d caved. From what Turner had told me about him, he sounded like a great guy, and I couldn’t see the harm in dinner. If we didn’t mesh, I’d never have to see him again. If we clicked on a friendship level, it’d be nice to have someone who wasn’t part of the cast and crew to chat with now and again. And if there were sparks . . . it’d been a while. I wasn’t opposed to a nice, safe one-night stand as a tension reliever. It was the twenty-first century, after all.
I applied a final coat of mascara and added a swipe of glimmery gloss to my matte lipstick for good measure, then walked into the bedroom to check myself out in the full-length mirror. I’d gone non-fussy for the date. Flowy, black chiffon tank with a gold zipper up the back, distressed skinny jeans in a nice medium blue, and my favorite black, heeled, knee-high boots. They gave me some height and made my legs look longer. I’d added a wide gold cuff bracelet and large gold hoops to the ensemble, and I’d grab my cropped black leather jacket on the way out just in case. Doing a little pose one way and the other, I figured I was ready. As I ever would be, anyway.
I’d thought long and hard about whether or not to adopt the accent and modulated pitch for this date and ultimately decided that I wouldn’t. I was strangely nervous and worried I’d accidentally forget. It was starting to bother me lately anyway. I was so damn tired of pretending to be someone I wasn’t. For the most part, I was who I was and damn proud of it. But that little bit of subterfuge felt like such a disservice to me. It was disingenuous and lacked integrity, and I hated it. I loathed the reason I needed to do it even more. But it was a necessary evil as I hid from the real malevolence of my past.
When I was figuring out what to do, the fact that Turner had told me that his buddy had never watchedHaunted New Orleanswas a boon. He likely wouldn’t know the difference, which would help me be a little calmer. I had enough butterflies as it was.
I shot myself one last glance in the mirror, gave Phantom a scratch on my way to the door, and then grabbed my purse and jacket from the hooks. The night was still nice, so I just slung the leather over my arm after looping my purse strap across my chest and decided to walk to the restaurant instead of driving. The night air would calm me more than any tincture or tea could.
We were meeting at Irene’s, once one of the French Quarter’s best-kept secrets and home to some of the most delicious Italian food around. It was originally little more than a parking space in a warehouse, and something spoken about only in whispers, but it was now a sought-out eatery and an escape from the craziness of the city. I loved New Orleans. It was in my blood. But, sometimes, a reprieve from the hustle and bustle and frenetic energy of my home was a welcome respite.
I walked down the brick alleyway between buildings to the red double doors and took a deep breath, willing the knot in my belly to loosen.You can do this, Lark. Pulling open the door, I glanced at the corner where I’d told Turner I would meet Leroy. I’d decided that I didn’t want to exchange numbers just yet, and Turner said he understood and was happy to be our go-between. The table sat empty, but there was aReservedsign on the top.
I chatted with Becky at the podium for a bit, told her what was going on, arranged for her to send my date over when he arrived, and took the seat with my back to the wall. When the server came over, I ordered a dirty martini with extra olives and settled in to wait.
Glancing at my watch, I realized that I was early. Our meet-up time wasn’t until seven-thirty, and it was only twelve after. To waste time, I decided to peruse the menu. They had updated it recently and had some additional selections along with their usual crowd favorites. I had to get the eggplant soup to start—it was to die for. And I was kind of feeling the cannelloni tonight. Depending on how our first impressions went and whether my date was a carnivore, maybe we’d get the paneed oysters as an appetizer. The raspberry vinaigrette and pecans made it a gastronomic experience.
As I was waffling between the lamb and the pasta, I heard a deep voice say my name and looked up into irises the color of bluebells. My stomach dropped, and my breath left me in a whoosh.
That color. The intensity. They were eyes I had only ever seen at one point in my life. And that fact still held true. Because while the face had changed a bit, filling out in some places while becoming more contoured in others, and while some creases of life and experience now lined his skin, those orbs rested in features set in a countenance that projected surprise and alarm—both things I currently felt.
Because those lavender-blue eyes, that face, that . . . voice, they all belonged to the boy I’d considered my best friend from the age of four through the age of sixteen. The one I’d left behind when I ran for my life, escaping the madman I was convinced would kill me and his cult of brainwashed minions. This was the ghost of my past come to haunt me.
“Kholt?”
Chapter5
~Kholt ~
Icouldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was I having some kind of weird trip? Did I get heat exhaustion working in the shop earlier today? Sure, the hair was different, the eyes were a little different, the body slightly different than I remembered, but that voice, and those cheekbones . . . there was no mistaking them. I was standing in Irene’s, staring at the one who’d gotten away.
“Starling?” I saw her wince and wondered what was wrong. I couldn’t get my heart to calm. I was too hot under my sport coat, sweat dripping down my back even though my hands felt clammy.
As fast as the wince appeared, I saw her shields come up. She sat straighter, her expression became harder, and she gritted her teeth. “Not anymore. I go by Larken now. Lark to my friends.”
“Okay. Lark.”
“I saidfriends. We’re not there yet. I need to chat with you a bit first. You might as well take a seat.” She jerked her chin to the spot opposite her. “We’re kind of making a scene.”
I glanced around, gave her a quick nod, and pulled out the chair across from her, dropping into it and reaching for a glass of water. My mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert.
She hadn’t taken her eyes off me, and I wished with everything in me that I could read her mind. I needed to know what she was thinking. How she was feeling. God, I had so many questions. But I read people really well and I could tell that she wasn’t there. She would not be receptive to that tonight. I needed to be patient and let this play out. Allow her to take the lead and get from this whatever she needed. Then I could see about pushing things a bit.
I sat. I waited. I wanted to roar in frustration.
“So . . .Leroy,” she said, derision dripping from her voice.
Now, it was my turn to wince. “Turner calls me that. He only ever calls me by my last name. Partly because he’s nineteen, and partly because he knows it annoys the shit out of me. I mean, who would name their kidLeroy?” I smiled and rolled my eyes, but she just continued to stare.
“He told me that he told you my name was Kholten when he was trying to manufacture this meet-up. Which is a name, as you know, I also hate.”
She looked as if she were thinking about that for a beat. “I think he might have called you that when he first mentioned wanting to set us up, but he took me by surprise then, and after, it was Leroy every time. And in my head, I would spell it with a C anyway. I never in a million years expected you to be my blind date.”
“Same,” I said, drinking some more of my water. “So? Larken?”
She took a healthy glug from her martini and raised a brow, almost daring me to say more. I didn’t.