Page 26 of A Shade Too Far
“Why would someone curse you and not me?”
“I’m the fixer. You’re the help. It always falls on the person of most power.”
“You might be more powerful than me, but my magic is rarer.”
“Be grateful you don’t exist on most people’s radars yet.” Tatiana glanced over my shoulder and put her glasses back on.
My lovely, relaxed shoulders tensed up. “Here we go again.”
“Should I prostrate myself in apology now or can I feed you first?” Laurent set a large tray down on the firepit, which was currently converted into a table, his lean biceps flexing. He had the lithe build of a soccer player rather than a quarterback, but he was still a shifter and incredibly strong. In addition to plates, cutlery, and glasses, there was a platter piled high with pancakes, a jug of syrup, a silver bowl of freshly whipped cream, another glass bowl of blueberries, and a carafe of orange juice. I’d have dropped the tray in about five seconds, but he didn’t look like he’d exerted himself at all.
He also didn’t look or sound sarcastic, but before I could ask if he was serious about apologizing, Tatiana clapped her hands.
“This brings me back,” she said. “Lolo used to make this for his grandmère and me on our Sunday morning visits.”
“You lived with your grandparents?” I asked.
“I spent weekends with them,” Laurent said. “Maman and my father often had business or social engagements then.”
From the distinction between how he referred to each of his parents, I gathered there was no love lost between him and his dad. Not that I was going to feel sorry for him. “Are your grandparents still alive?”
“Gila died about three years ago,” Tatiana said.
“I’m sorry,” I said to both, helping myself to orange juice.
“Her passing was as good as it could be.” Tatiana grabbed a plate, forking a couple of pancakes onto it. “Even better, she outlived Yoel like she always said she would, so she didn’t have to worry about how he’d survive on his own.”
Laurent shook his head. “She had everyone around her dancing attendance, just the way she wanted.”
“True.” Tatiana added another pancake to her stack. “Gila unleashed her inner diva on her death bed. She was impressive.”
“You say that because you were spared,” Laurent groused. “Do you know how hard it was to find fresh pomegranates in Paris in March?”
“It was highly entertaining watching her come up with ridiculous tasks for you.” My boss winked at me, and I pressed my lips together so I didn’t laugh. “He always was a soft touch where Gila was concerned.”
“Fous le camp. Both of you.” Laurent accompanied his words with a double flip of the bird, but Tatiana cackled, and I mimicked his gesture right back.
I picked up a fork and knife wrapped in a linen napkin and secured with a napkin ring, eyeing the pancakes. This guy knew how to present a meal, though that was probably Tatiana’s and his grandmother’s doing.
“Were you serious earlier?” I said to Laurent. “About the apology?”
“Yes.” He straightened his shoulders. “I’m—”
I held up a hand because a knot in my chest had given way, like a landslide. In my former profession as a librarian, I’d been mansplained to by colleagues and bosses, and kept quiet on far too many occasions. When I did speak up, I often felt unvalidated. Yes, I’d had to call Laurent out, but he was ready and willing to say sorry.
Aside from the occasional moment of objectification—because the man was ridiculously sexy with those dark long lashes framing his piercing green eyes, and the olive skin of his Moroccan Jewish heritage a few dusky shades lighter than his shaggy chocolate curls—I’d kept him firmly in the friend zone. An important friend, but a bond built on respect and collaboration, not romance.
And sure, given the chance, I’d screw his brains out, if only so he stopped featuring in my masturbatory fantasies, but that would be a one-time thing. This was a new level of attraction, snaring me like barbed fishhooks, and threatening to do as much damage if I ruthlessly yanked it out.
It would be best to keep any attraction in the fantasy zone.
Delilah walked slowly around me as if reminding me that I believed lots of things were best kept in the fantasy zone, but that didn’t mean I had.
Or should.
Fuck.
