I’ve never wanted to believe a guy more, though. “Thank you for saving my life,” I say, my words full of feeling.
“Best day of my life,” he replies.
“I sincerely doubt that. But I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“I’m sure I can come up with something suitable.” He sips his beer. I love that teasing, mischievous twinkle in his eye. “So…” he continues, “you have had a productive couple of days. Dumped your ex, quit your job, almost got another one, and gone on a first date. Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” I admit. “If only Tia would call, I’d feel that things are looking up.”
“So are you identical twins? Do you look exactly alike?”
Just as when he asked about Tia earlier, my skin prickles. My instinct tells me he’s keeping something secret, like the Goddess this February, hiding her face behind her Black Moon mask.
And then I remember he’s a police officer, and a member of the Major Crime Investigation Team. He’s probably curious about her disappearance, and it’s his instinct to ask questions.
“Tia, especially, has never wanted us to be carbon copies of each other,” I say. “When we were in our early teens, she changed her hair, cut it really short so it didn’t look like mine. It’s a bit longer now, but still shorter than mine. She’s thinner than I am. She wears different clothes. And she’s more outgoing, more outspoken. But I suppose it’s a good thing we’re not the same.” I don’t say that she’s hurt my feelings sometimes by her ardent wish to be different.
“Anyway,” I continue, wanting to change the subject. I feel uncomfortable talking about Tia like this, disloyal. “Tell me more about you. How long have you been a cop?”
“Since I was eighteen.” He straightens his knife and fork. “I was… quite a rebellious youth. I got into a lot of trouble.”
My eyebrows rise. “Seriously? I can’t imagine that.”
He gives a short laugh. “Yeah. Well, back then I was hard work. My mother left us when I was thirteen and went back to New Zealand, and I reacted by being a right pain in the arse. I was rude and arrogant, and I didn’t care what anyone thought of me.”
I lean on the table, caught up in this tale of boyhood rebellion. “So what happened to change things?”
“At seventeen, I went out one night to a pub with friends. I’ve always looked older, and it was a busy night, so the bartender didn’t check everyone’s IDs. I got drunk, got into a fight. Beat the other guy up pretty badly. Broke a table and caused a disturbance in the pub. The owner called the police, and they banged me up for the night. I didn’t care. I was full of resentment and anger. I mouthed off to one of the officers on duty, Tristan; he’s now my boss. But his reaction wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. He talked to me. Asked me what had happened in my life to cause me such pain. At first I didn’t want to know. I yelled at him, scorned him. But he persisted, and eventually it all came out, about how much I missed my mother and everything.”
I turn my wine glass in my fingers, captivated by his story. “And that turned things around for you?”
“Not overnight. But he helped run a group for young guys. Lots of physical exercise, sports, got us running around, using up all that energy. Not just that, though. He and the group leader talked to us about respect in the community. Got us to help out at the retirement village, and at the local schools. When I turned eighteen, Tristan suggested I sign up to be a police officer, because he thought I’d enjoy working for the Major Crime Investigation Team and being a detective. He was right; I love it. I wouldn’t do anything else, now.”
“He sounds amazing,” I say. “It’s the sort of guidance every young man needs growing up.”
It’s strange to discover this about him. Suddenly, he’s not some distant, perfect hero. He’s very much a man, flawed and human, and yet somehow the more admirable for it, because of the way he’s obviously turned his life around.
His lips are curving up now. “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re thinking about kissing me senseless.”
“Maybe I am.” I shake my head. “You’re making me flirt.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I hardly ever flirt. You’re turning me topsy-turvy.”
“You didn’t flirt with your ex?”
“Not really. Our relationship wasn’t like that.” I hadn’t been at uni long when I met Jude. He chatted me up in the university bar one night, persuaded me to go back to his flat with him, and talked me into having sex. I said yes because I liked him, and I liked the fact that people thought he was cool, and I didn’t want to lose him. But we never ‘courted’, as my mother would say.
“He said I was an ice queen when I told him I wanted to break up with him,” I admit. Why am I telling Mac this? If anything’s going to scare a guy off it’s something like this. But I can’t talk to anyone else about it, and it’s eating me up. “I think in many ways he was right. I was, when I was with him. I learned to suppress my emotions because they made him impatient. He said I was… in bed, I mean… I was…” No, it’s no good, I can’t tell him. Not on a first date.
Mac leans on the table, slides a finger under my chin, and lifts it so he can look into my eyes. Wow, his are such a beautiful blue. “The guy’s an idiot,” he states. “A woman’s pleasure in bed is a direct reflection of the guy’s skill, which doesn’t say much about his talents. Anyone with a brain and a heart can see you have a world of passion inside you. And I can’t wait to discover it for myself.”
My lips part at his sexy declaration, and my heart bangs against my ribs. At that moment, though, our meal arrives. He turns the conversation to less personal things, talking about a movie he watched a few nights ago, and asking me what kind of TV and movies I like.
I chat away, even though my head is buzzing with his words, while we start eating, swapping pieces of the delicious lamb and beef.
I’m first-date nervous, conscious of not dropping food down my front, hoping I don’t have anything stuck in my teeth. But I can see he’s doing his best to relax me. He talks about music, and we discuss our favorite bands and who we’ve been to see, and then we talk about our families. I tell him a little about Tia and my parents. He talks about his recent trip to New Zealand to visit his father, and what an impact that had on him.
“It’s a beautiful place,” he tells me, “just like in The Lord of the Rings, all that amazing countryside, and so few people! Did you know there are less than five million people living there, compared to sixty-six million in the U.K.? And the two places are roughly the same size.”
“Wow, really?”
“And they make great coffee there.”
“I love coffee.”
“I knew you would.” He smiles, and I smile back. I like that we have a lot in common. For the first time, I wonder what he would think if I told him I’m a witch. He seems open-minded. I’m not planning to tell him yet, but it’s nice to think that maybe one day I might be able to. It was part of myself I could never share with Jude. The few times I went tentatively close to the subject, he poured such scorn on it that I backed away hurriedly.