Gone With The Minion: Chapter 4
The truth and bourbon both have a tendency to burn when taken neat.
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The farmhouse kitchen, once familiar to Olivia, had undergone significant changes since her last visit. Most notably, a dishwasher now occupied the space, a stark contrast to the era when manual dishwashing was the norm in the 1950s. The walls, once adorned with plain wood trim and painted in a simple white, had been transformed into a sandy-brown palette with dark turquoise accents scattered throughout. While the stove retained its gas functionality, it had been upgraded to a more modern version reminiscent of the eighties.
Tristan, having just washed his hands and wiped his face clean with a wet towel, took two coffee mugs from a cabinet and brought them to the table. He stood across from Olivia and set them down on the table in front of the bottle of bourbon she'd brought in from the car. His square jaw, aquiline nose, and large, down-turned eyes reminded her of David. The uncanny resemblance was like a gut punch.
"You look a lot like him," she remarked, uncorking the bottle.
"Who?" Tristan inquired.
"Your grandfather," she replied, gazing at the glasses and pouring two fingers of amber liquid into each. She slid one to Tristan before chancing another glance at him. "It's uncanny."
Tristan blinked at her. "You mean, minus the wrinkles, the gray hair, and the stooped posture?"
"I meant when he was younger," Olivia clarified. Adding, "I've seen pictures."
"Oh," Tristan responded as he walked to the refrigerator, another modern upgrade, and opened the door. "Ice?"
"No thanks," Olivia told him. "I prefer it neat, but you go ahead. Your grandfather always liked his watered-down."
Tristan shook his head as he retrieved and then dropped four ice cubes into his glass. "I'd argue that it's easier to enjoy one hundred-proof bourbon when it isn't frying your tastebuds."
"Weenie," she teased. It had been a long time since she'd had such a strong drink, but she was determined to not look like a wimp in front of Tristan. She held the glass under her nose and inhaled the slight vanilla and toffee scent before taking a substantial sip. The flavor had cherry and vanilla undertones...if the cherry and vanilla had been doused with gasoline and lit on fire. Even so, she forced a pleasant expression as the dark alcohol burned its way down her throat to her stomach. "Just as smooth as I remembered."
Tristan took a sip and nodded. "Yep," he muttered. "It'll curl the hairs on your chest."
Olivia laughed. "Duly noted."
"My word," Eliza giggled as she and Charlotte appeared in the room. She snapped her fan shut. "The man is handsome for a pie eater."
"This house makes me miss Poppa," Charlotte said as she paced the kitchen floor. Her heavy skirt rustled with every step.
"Now," Tristan said, oblivious to the ghost sisters, "how does someone like you meet someone like my grandfather?"
"I'm not certain what you mean by someone like me," Olivia replied.
"You're wearing designer clothes, and your shoes cost more than my grandfather paid for his last tractor. On top of that, you're casually sharing an expensive rare bottle of bourbon with a perfect stranger. My grandfather was a man of modest means. I find it hard to believe you two had much in common. Not to mention the obvious age difference."
Crossing her legs, Olivia kicked up a foot to admire her black, patent-leather Louboutin ankle boots, their heels as special as her iconic red stilettos and doubling as weapons. Pondering her extravagant spending habits, she retorted, "And how would you have any idea how much my shoes cost?"
"Well, regardless of what I look like right now, I wasn't born in a barn. And you don't look like the kind of girl who would spray paint the bottom of her shoes red," he responded, a smile on his face that prompted Olivia to reciprocate.
"You're right about that," she conceded.
Observing the conversation, Eliza chimed in, "He's wearing a ring, Liv, but see, he wears it on the right hand, so it's not a wedding band."
Now that Tristan's hands were clean, Olivia narrowed her gaze on the silver ring Eliza had pointed out. Adorned with warding symbols engraved in the wide band, it featured an oval stone resembling obsidian wrapped in gold set into the top. The ring, a poignant reminder of David, intensified Olivia's sense of loss.
"You're wearing David's ring," she said.
Tristan held up his hand. "This one?" he questioned, inspecting it. "Yeah, the old man left it to me. Apparently, it's been in our family for ages."
Olivia was aware that the heirloom had been in the Jensen family since the Middle Ages. Possibly earlier, but that had been as far back as David had been able to trace the ring in his family history. Passed down from father to firstborn son for generations, the fact that Tristan had inherited it shouldn't have surprised her.
"You should ask him if he has a sweetheart," Eliza suggested, mischief evident in her tone. "Then maybe you can get cozy with him."
Olivia was not about to entertain the idea of pursuing a romantic connection with David's grandson. The thought was unsettling. The Jensen family had long been off-limits, and being in their house, even with Moloch's blessing, made her uneasy. The act of returning here, especially with the intention of essentially stealing from a man she still loved, felt wrong.
"Okay, still loved. Dead didn't mean forgotten."
"I'm sorry," Tristan apologized, misinterpreting the cause of her sudden silence. "I wasn't trying to offend you with my comments about your clothes."
"Well, good," Olivia assured him. "Because you didn't offend me. Not one bit. I like a man with a keen eye for shoes. It's a surprise, is all. Do you sell shoes or something?"
"Or something," he replied, sitting across from her. "I'm a corporate lawyer. After Dad died, my mother and I moved to Chicago. Gramps and I were never that close."
Eliza halted her sashay through the kitchen, wheeling around with dramatic flair. "Oh, the poor boy. He needs to work through his feelings of guilt so he can find peace with his grandfather's memory."
Charlotte, sensing Olivia's discomfort, intervened. "I think it's time for us to absquatulate and let Liv handle her business."
"But I want to help," protested Eliza.
"Come along now," Charlotte insisted. "David was good to Liv, and she should be able to have this moment without us poking around in her business."
"If you get a chance," Eliza called out as Char dragged her away, "ask him to journal about his feelings so you can discuss—"
They disappeared before Eliza finished her sentence. Olivia, the last person to offer Tristan or anyone else advice on dealing with guilt, carried her own burdens like two packed suitcases.
"What do you remember about my grandfather?" she asked.
"He was funny. Kind. Smart. Incredibly smart. His only flaw was his love of country music," Olivia shared with a smile. "There are only two types of music I dislike, country is one of them."
"Let me guess, western is the other?" Tristan met her smile with one of his own.
Olivia chuckled. "Yeah." She recalled the countless conversations she and David had during their demon-hunting stakeouts, where they debated over the radio station—rock-n-roll versus country. Music was one of the few things they couldn't agree on. "Please tell me someone played Patsy Cline at David's funeral." During their research, he often played Patsy Cline records, and Olivia remembered the words to most of the songs.
"Yes," replied Tristan softly. "Walkin' After Midnight."
A sudden knot formed in Olivia's throat as her eyes pricked with tears. "That was one of his favorites."
Tristan's gaze locked onto Olivia's, causing her pulse to quicken. Leaning forward, he seemed poised to utter something profound—yet in the next instant, he reclined, leaving the words unspoken.
Uncertain of how long she could remain inside David's house, memories flooded back, intensifying the ache in Olivia's heart. She grappled with the challenge of explaining to Tristan that David had been a paranormal researcher, aiding her in demon hunting. Clearing her throat, she ventured, “Your grandfather had some books and journals he used to keep around. I don’t suppose you know where I can find them.” The logical assumption was that wherever David stored his research would be the ideal place for Moloch’s prize.
Tristan raised a brow. “What kinds of journals and books?”
Olivia mustered a simple smile with only a hint of reluctance. The journals would be filled with David's research and his history of hunting all kinds of monsters. But Tristan seemed unaware of his grandfather's true calling. Would telling him the truth serve any great purpose? Probably not, but what if Tristan did know, and his question was a test? Would she fail or pass? Olivia was about to find out. “Most of them were about the supernatural world," she told him.
She took his stunned silence as an answer to her question. Definitely not a test.
In an attempt to explain, she elaborated, “You know, ghosts, demons, possessions, vampires, werewolves, and such.”
Tristan's mouth opened, then closed it. He shook his head. “Are you sure you knew my grandfather? Because he was salt of the earth.”
"More like salt all the windows and doors." Olivia sighed. “He probably kept the journals hidden," she said. Fighting the fear of appearing irrational, the urgency to find Moloch's book prevailed. "He was secretive about his hobby. Something we had in common."
“His hobby?”
Olivia straightened her back and lifted her shoulders. With a subtle but deliberate sweep of her hand, she explained, “David was private about his interest in paranormal stuff. He didn’t want people to think he was crazy.”
“Crazy. Right.” Tristan chuckled, his laughter accompanied by a dismissive wave. “I’m just teasing.” A slight twinkle lit up his eyes as he added, “I’ve seen the basement. I think he had an unhealthy obsession with the paranormal”
Olivia crossed her right leg over her left, unintentionally drawing his attention to her legs. She blushed. He was undeniably attractive—just like David had been, and his appreciative gaze warmed her with pleasure. She reminded herself not to let her libido lead her astray, especially with David's grandson. It was all kinds of wrong, and she owed David more than that.
“Can I go down and take a look around?” she asked.
“You’re in luck, Olivia Madder,” he said. “I was going to suggest that very thing. My grandfather left you something.” As he sipped his bourbon, his gaze softened with something almost like recognition. “It's really you, isn't it, Olivia?”
He pronounced her name with a peculiar emphasis as if testing the word's authenticity. “Yes,” she confirmed, noticing a flicker in his gaze—yearning? No, she told herself, she was imagining his reactions. Tristan was not David.
“What did David leave me?” Olivia inquired, hoping he had set aside all his research for her. It was the only conceivable gift that made any sense.
"An intricately designed, hand-carved chest. It has a bunch of strange symbols on the lid." David held his hands about a foot and a half apart. "It's about yea big."
Olivia leaned forward and drummed the table with her fingernails. "Interesting." The description of the chest held promise. At the least, it might lead Olivia to the right area of the house. She pivoted her gaze to him. "Have you opened it?"
Tristan leaned back, smoothing his wide, farm-beaten hands over his thighs. Olivia couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been at the farm; those hands certainly didn't belong to a corporate lawyer. "No. I don’t mess with things that aren’t mine."
Raising a suspicious brow, Olivia questioned, "Really?"
Tristan smirked. "It’s locked, and it needs a special kind of key."
"That makes sense. Your grandfather loved puzzles. How about you take me to the fancy, carved chest, and I try to open it."
"And if you can't?"
It was her turn to smirk. "Then I guess I’m the wrong Olivia Madder."
Tristan, his brow arched in intrigue, leaned forward, his eyes sparking with a curious intensity. "And if you can?"
"Then I will tell you everything." Olivia leveled him with the full weight of her stare. "If you're genuinely curious."
His pensive gaze hinted at unspoken thoughts. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "My curiosity is sincere."
"Excellent." She stood up and straightened her skirt. "You lead, I'll follow."
"Now that doesn't seem like something you're used to doing."
Olivia peered at the man. "What makes you think you know what I am or am not used to doing?"
"Just a hunch." He stood up and gave her a casual yet expressive shrug. “Come on. I’ll take you to it, and then you can tell me all your secrets.”
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