Page 16 of The Holy Grail

She probably should have been a little uncomfortable, given they were both talking about things happening weeks—and maybe even months—in the future between them, but it was oddly reassuring. She’d never experienced anything like it before.

Malcom invited her to sit on one of the three barstools at the island, two of which had been set with place settings, to include neatly folded, charcoal-gray cloth napkins flanked by a salad fork, dinner fork, and steak knife.

He then offered her some wine, which she accepted, and poured them both a glass.

“To … better late than never,” he toasted, gently clinking his glass against hers.

“Don’t you think it’s a little soon for ghosting references?” she asked blandly. When he continued to just look at her with complete innocence, Jules returned the glass tap with amusement. “Fine. To better late than never.”

“Well, I would have toasted to your birthday, but that’s apparently forbidden.”

She watched as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and then washed his hands, her eyes appreciating his long fingers (one of her favorite features in a man) before taking things out of the massive fridge and starting to put together what looked like chicken cordon bleu.

While he worked, he asked her some typical get-to-know-you questions, starting with enquiring about her job.

She gave him the same rundown she’d given Evan several weeks before, and was amused when Malcom’s surprised response was almost identical to Evan’s.

“What did you picture my job being?” she asked, checking out his ass in his new jeans when he slid the chicken into one of his double ovens. For someone who apparently didn’t do a lot of shopping, he’d found a pair of jeans that looked really good on him.

Turning around, he paused before answering. “I’m not sure, but something where you were dominating a bunch of men in a boardroom meeting. Maybe firing a few of them for good measure.”

Jules laughed out loud at his vision. “Are you picturing me wearing leather and holding a whip in this scenario?”

His eyebrows rose a fraction. “I wasn’t, but … now I am.”

She took a drink of her wine and turned the question on him, altering it slightly since she already knew what he did for a living. “So, tell me about your job as a lawyer. I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t, but I still want to hear all about it.”

“Well, I don’t really enjoy my job, to be honest,” he replied, as be began to cut up vegetables for a salad.

In awe, she watched for several moments as he wielded the knife like Gordon Ramsay, and looked incredibly hot as he did so, before responding.

“Why not?” she asked, because while she didn’t think being a lawyer would be enjoyable, it did take her by surprise that he didn’t, given the amount of time he’d obviously invested in becoming one.

“Mainly because I’m not very good at it—”

“You’re not very good at it?”

“No.”

“Are you being modest right now?”

He choked out a laugh. “No, I’m not being modest. I’m really not a good lawyer.”

“So, why be one?”

He continued chopping vegetables with his massive knife, not missing a slice, his hands quick and assured.

“It’s sort of the family business, so I didn’t really have a choice.

It was drilled into me at a very young age that I would follow in the footsteps of my older brother, who was following in the footsteps of our father .

.. who followed in the footsteps of his father. ”

Jules sipped at her wine, thinking that sounded awful.

“I did rebel a bit, though,” Malcom continued, stopping to take a drink of his own wine. “I didn’t go into trial law, which is tantamount to blasphemy, and also chose to work for another firm.”

“Another firm?”

“Other than the family law firm.”

“You have a family law firm?” Her eyebrows rose. “Oh … wait. Hodge Law & Associates?”

“That’s the one.”

“They’ve handled some high-profile defense cases, right?”

“Yes. That’s where the money is.”

His comment was made evenly enough, but she detected a trace of scorn as well. “So, what kind of law do you practice, if you’re not involved with your family’s firm?”

“I specialize in contract law. And yes, it’s as boring as it sounds.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because it’s only fifty hours a week instead of seventy, and doesn’t encroach too much on my private life, such as it is.

I grew up in a house with a parent whose life revolved around the law, and being a defense attorney in this trial or that one, and it was just a huge drag.

I remember one time when I was five and my older brother, Martin, was seventeen and—”

“He’s twelve years older than you?”

“Yes. We have different mothers. Martin’s mom was our father’s first wife, and my mom is his second one—well, she was ,” Malcom corrected himself. “They got divorced two years ago.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Anyway, we had a family trip planned for Disneyland and I was excited as hell, as you might imagine. It was right before Martin was going off to college … but some rich asshole on the far end of the douchebag spectrum decided to murder his wife in a particularly gruesome manner. Dad couldn’t resist taking the case, of course, so our trip got delayed until after the trial.

But then another trial came along, and another one after that, and not surprisingly, we never did get to see Disneyland .

“So, when it came time for law school, I chose the least demanding specialty I could, so I’d have some semblance of a life outside the law.”

“What would you have studied if you’d had the choice?”

Malcom waved his knife around. “This. I wanted to go to culinary school.”

She frowned. “And there was no way you could have done that?”

“Not then, no. But maybe someday …”

“Someday?”

He gave a Who knows? shrug.

“And then what?” she pressed. “After culinary school?”

“Ideally, I’d love to open up a restaurant. Something mid-sized, with pretentious cloth napkins, ridiculously overpriced wine, and a scratch kitchen—”

“Scratch kitchen?”

“Where everything is made from scratch and nothing is processed. Like sauces, pasta, bread, desserts … anything that can be made from scratch. I’d love to have as many organic items as I can, too, from fruits and vegetables, to dairy products and grass-fed protein sources.”

“That sounds really great. I’d eat there.” Jules gave him a quick smirk. “I’m a sucker for cloth napkins, as you know.”

Malcom had finished with the salads, and after drizzling what looked like homemade vinaigrette over them, he carried both plates to Jules’ side of the island and set them down.

He then went back to check on the chicken in the oven and retrieved his wine glass and the bottle of wine before returning to her side.

After taking a seat next to her, he gave her a smile as they picked up their napkins, placed them on their laps, and began eating the salads together.

After only a few slightly cautious bites, Jules said, “I’m not normally a ‘salad’ girl, but this is really good.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a sideways glance. “And what do you mean you’re not normally a ‘salad girl’?”

“Just that I normally don’t ever eat salads.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t really like them.”

“How can you not like salads? ”

“I just never have. I guess I’ve never had a really good one.” She took another big bite, chewed briefly, swallowed quickly, and added, “They just always seemed like … a waste of time. You know … something to pick at until the real food arrives.”

When the timer went off, signaling the chicken was ready, Malcom got up and pulled it from the oven, immediately unleashing the delicious aroma of chicken cordon bleu.

There were also steamed baby carrots with garlic butter, and after taking a bite, Jules said, “It’s been forever since I had carrots. ”

“I’m not even going to ask why, because whatever your reason is—like you’re not a ‘carrot girl’ or something—won’t be a reasonable one.”

“Um, I object.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that it’s ...” she trailed off, searching for legitimate sounding grounds, but in the end had to settle for, “objectionable.”

“Um, your objection is overruled.” His expression amused, he added, “I can out lawyer you all day.”

“Didn’t you just get done telling me how bad of a lawyer you are?”

“Yes, but I’m still better than you are.”

“Um, I object.”

“On what grounds?”

This time she was better prepared. “On the grounds that I’ve watched every single season of Law & Order .”

He gave that some thought before ceding the argument. “Sustained.”

When they were both finished, and Malcom was clearing their plates, Jules watched him.

She took in his good looks, strong build (clothes could hide a lot, but she was pretty sure a naked Malcom was a beautiful sight to behold), and thought about how nice he was, how smart he seemed, and wondered why he hadn’t found someone after Jules had ghosted him.

When he caught her staring at him intently, he stopped what he was doing.

“What is it?” he wanted to know.

“I was just thinking how very attractive you are,” she told him bluntly, then fanned her face for good measure. “Because you really are.”

He cleared his throat self-consciously, as if the compliment had caught him off guard and he wasn’t sure how to respond. “Thank you, I guess.”

She tilted her head at his discomfort. “Your mom told me your looks have always made you uncomfortable. ”

“She did?”

Jules nodded. “She also told me it can draw the wrong kind of women, and the fact you approached me in the restaurant meant you were probably really smitten with me.”

“Smitten?”

“That was her word. So, were you?”

He returned to the seat next to her. “Obviously. But, it was your voice that drew me in to begin with. I heard you say you’d ‘go to the mattresses’ for your friend in that smoky drawl—”

“Smoky drawl?”

“Yes. I heard it through all the restaurant chatter, and that’s what made me look around to see who was referencing my favorite movie.”