Matt didn’t believe in magic. Superstition, maybe, like the rituals he and most of his teammates practiced before hitting or pitching. But if he had believed in the supernatural, he would’ve said the evening was enchanted.
As he and Alana moved through the crowd, everyone appeared caught up in the good spirit of the cause, in the balmy beauty of the night and in the pleasure of the gathering.
When he’d first arrived and stepped out of his car, he’d kicked himself for telling Alex he’d come. As he’d walked past the frantoio and seen the staff running around with last-minute preparations, the setup had brought back memories of the fundraisers and parties he’d tolerated over the years. Too often such parties were simply a stage for men and women to further some agenda, an opportunity to exhibit status or wealth or one-upmanship.
But as he’d greeted guests with Alana and seen a side of her that he hadn’t expected, a subtle gentleness that felt genuine, he was glad he’d shoved down his reservations and made the trip. She might have a reputation as an irresponsible and flighty party girl, but there was no hiding her genuinely tender heart. He saw it when she asked about a family friend’s son who struggled with dyslexia, in the genuine compassion she showed as a stranger told her about her ailing dog and when she’d listened patiently and comforted an elderly woman struggling to put her life together after the death of her husband of forty-six years.
She deflected the thanks of the executive director of the Boys and Girls Club with grace and made little of her donation of a Rothko painting for the auction. That the painting was worth well over three million dollars was not discussed. If Matt’s father were at the party he would outbid everyone; he collected modern art and a Rothko would be a prime addition to his collection. Matt toyed with the idea of buying the painting for him and then dismissed the impulse. The executive director was obviously bowled over by Alana’s generous gift and effusive in her thanks. It was the only time during the reception that Alana began to lose her cool. She’d been a tiger when she made it clear to the director that the money from the auction of the painting was to specifically fund summer camp for seasonal workers’ children. Any camp of their choice.
Alana stayed by Matt’s side as they made their way to their assigned table. Alex had leaned on his circle of friends in the city and persuaded many of them to attend. Their astonishment at discovering that Alana had arranged the event and that she owned the ranch should’ve made him wary. Instead he found himself wanting to throttle a few of the city debutantes and scions who showed such surprise at her efforts.
Matt noticed the flowers, the lighting, the hundreds of suspended lanterns, the tasteful centerpieces on the tables. He knew what it took to orchestrate an event of such magnitude on short notice. Alana had made more than an effort. She’d thrown her heart into the event.
When they finally sat down to dinner, Matt gave a silent prayer to whatever forces had arranged for his tablemates. To his relief, Alana and Jackie flanked him, and Alex and Chloe sat across from him. He’d seen enough new faces for one evening and was glad to be among friends.
Alana leaned in close. She smelled of flowers and a scent he couldn’t place, a scent not sweet but provocative and inviting. She lifted her gaze to his.
“Thank you,” she said. “For what you did back there. I was so afraid I’d made a mistake trying to host this event.”
“Hey, the worst mistake anybody can make is being afraid to make one,” Matt said. “Using what you have to help an important cause is commendable.”
She tilted her head. “My motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Does having an ulterior motive cancel my brownie points?”
He heard her confessional tone, and a prickle of warning tightened in his chest. “That depends on the ulterior motive.”
She lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the rim of the dinner plate. “I’m sorry about forgetting the garden thing with Sophie.”
“You didn’t have to do all this to make up for it.”
“I think I did,” she said, raising her gaze back to his and smiling. “Have to do this, that is.”
Her smile could razor through the most rigid of boundaries. He ought to know—his were failing again.
He’d known when Alex told him about the event that it was part of her effort to make things right. At the time he’d wisely drawn a line, deciding to keep his distance, and told himself he had to do what he could to keep Sophie from falling any more deeply into her infatuation with Alana.
But here he was sitting beside her, surrounded by the swirl of the event she’d dreamed up, and drawn to her with a hungry desire that he’d like to think was under the power of his will, though he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t under his control at all.
She glanced up and waved at a man approaching the table. The man nodded to Alex, kissed Jackie’s hand and headed toward Alana.
“My brother Simon contributed all the vegetables for the evening,” Alana said as the man circled the table.
“Just the ones on the plates.” He chuckled as he leaned down to brush a kiss to Alana’s cheek. “You pulled it off.”
“It’s not over yet,” she said. “Simon, meet Matt Darrington.”
Matt shook the man’s outstretched hand.
“Nice dinger yesterday,” Simon said as he settled into his seat.
“Alex set the table, I just brought him home,” Matt said, deflecting Simon’s praise.
Alex leaned over the table toward them. “Four hundred and sixty-five feet worth of bringing home. I think that ball landed in San Mateo.” He forked some tomatoes from his plate and waved them at his cousin. “Speaking of compliments, did you grow these, Simon?”
Simon nodded just as the man Matt had seen Alana drive off with the day of the butterfly-garden fiasco arrived at their table. Every muscle stiffened until he was rigid.
“My delinquent cousin, Parker Tavonesi,” Alana said with a smile. “This is Matt Darrington. He saved the day and met the guests with me. If not for him, I’d be roasting you for dinner, darling.”
“Apparently I owe you one,” Parker said as he shook Matt’s hand and then took the empty seat next to Alana.
Matt relaxed. Yet discovering he’d been jealous of Alana driving off with a cousin that day made him squirm.
As Parker greeted his cousins, the good-natured barbs flew in earnest. If Matt were a betting man, he’d bet that Parker Tavonesi would never arrive late to a family event again, even if he had to hire a helicopter to get him there.
Matt watched as the clan around the table settled in. Being absorbed into their banter and jesting was like being lifted on a wave of goodwill, like being transported into a swirl of camaraderie.
They ate, drank and laughed, both wine and stories flowing freely. After the main course both Alex and Matt signed a few autographs—for the kids at home—for a few table-hopping guests.
After the dessert course, the musicians on the dais stopped playing. The auctioneer tapped on his microphone, snapping everybody to attention. Matt admired the man’s finesse and humor, but most of all he appreciated the auctioneer’s skill at ramping up the bids for the Rothko. A man across the room outbid everyone, driving the bidding up to three and a half million dollars. Alana cheered as loudly as anyone as the man stood and tipped his hat to her.
“You know him?” Matt asked.
“No.” She looked over at Alex. “But I have a feeling Alex does.” She blew Alex a kiss. “Well done, cuz. There’ll be lots of happy campers thanks to you.”
Alex grinned and saluted her with two fingers.
When Alana reached under the table and closed her hand around his, Matt knew he had only one desire that would make it a perfect night. When she whispered to him that she wanted him to follow her to the wine cellar, he was pretty sure perfection was near at hand.
Leaving an event early had never felt so right.