Page 16 of Best Served Hot

“I really have to eat here tonight.” My voice came out high and shrill, so much so that the group behind me all stopped talking and stared at me at once. Embarrassment squirmed in my stomach, and I lowered my voice. “Is there really nothing you can do? Please?”

“I’m sorry.” Though she sounded less apologetic than bewildered. “As I said, you’re welcome to give me your number, and I’ll let you know if—”

“She can eat with me.”

Both the hostess and I jumped; I’d been so immersed in our conversation I hadn’t noticed someone approaching behind her. And not just someone.

Bennett.

Maybe I hadn’t noticed him because he looked so different without those wire frame glasses. Those blue-gray eyes looked somehow bigger and smaller at the same time; I could see the thick fringe of brown lashes around the edges, where before they’d been blocked by the frames. He looked somewhat awkward in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, both of which hung on his frame. It was like he didn’t know how to stand in something that didn’t button down.

“Sir, are you sure?” the hostess asked.

“Yeah, are you sure?” I said doubtfully. Our last time dining in the same restaurant had gone terribly, to put it lightly, and now he wanted to sit at the same table?

“I’m sure,” he said, and then, the shock of all shocks, he held out his arm for me to take. I stared at it for a moment, mouth hanging open, and briefly considered smacking it away before deciding I really didn’t want to be kicked out of a restaurant again. So, I took it gingerly, my fingertips finding warm, bare skin. His muscles tensed as I touched them, though his voice wasn’t tense but gallant as he said, “Let’s go. My table’s in the middle.”

“Enjoy your meal,” the hostess said, even more doubtfully than I’d sounded. Like what she was really saying was, Good luck.

I hissed into Bennett’s ear as soon as we were a few steps away. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“No,” he whispered back, and even though I was the one who’d raised the subject, somehow his confirmation still stung a little. “But from what I heard, you weren’t going to be eating here tonight, and the whole point of this collaboration is that we have to eat at a restaurant at the same time.” He bumped into a chair. “Sorry,” Bennett said, looking down at it. The chair was empty. He looked back up and blinked at me owlishly. “Also, I followed your voice to the entrance, and now I have no idea where my table is. Everything is a blur.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I assumed you were wearing contacts.” So that was why he was holding my arm. It wasn’t gentlemanly at all; it was functional. Which made it a lot easier to focus with his warm skin beneath my fingertips. I gripped it a bit tighter, guiding him carefully between tables and around potted plants.

“I assumed I would be wearing contacts, too,” he said. “My table should have my blue jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Did you know that contacts expire after a few years and are no longer safe to wear?”

“I did not. I don’t wear contacts. Twenty-twenty vision, baby.” I spied a navy blue blot. There. The jacket. I took us those last few steps and put his arm on the back of his chair, allowing him to pat around it and take his seat himself. “Is everything really a blur?”

“You’re very lucky,” he replied. “I’m nearly blind without my glasses.” He pulled the menu closer to him, squinted at it. Then sighed. “I’m not sure why I thought that would help.”

I frowned sympathetically at him, then frowned for real. Don’t sympathize! He’s your enemy! “Well, you read through the menu and ordered things Monday,” I said coolly. “As did I. So we can just order the same things.”

“That’ll be a lot of food.”

I shrugged. “So what?” It wouldn’t be any more expensive than one of my usual trips, since we’d be splitting the cost between us. It would probably be less expensive, actually, since many of our choices would likely overlap. “I’ll have the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

Our waiter stopped by for a quick, distracted moment on his way to somewhere else, eyes flitting over us and around the room as he apologized for the wait and let us know he’d be with us shortly. Before we could even thank him, he was gone. Not that I was going to thank him. I was too busy panicking. Well, panicking was a strong word. It was more of a baby panic. “Bad news,” I said. I leaned in toward Bennett, avoiding the golden pumpkin candle flickering merrily away, and lowered my voice. “The waiter is—”

“The same waiter who kicked us out last time,” Bennett said grimly. “I might be nearly blind at the moment, but I can recognize voices.”

The waiter had been so busy that he’d barely noticed us, but that could change when he came back. I knew he had tons and tons of customers in any given week, but how many were distinctive enough to be kicked out of the restaurant? (Hopefully, for his sake, not too many.) “Well, we might be getting kicked out of a restaurant twice in one week.”

“Don’t be so dire,” Bennett said. “There must be something we can do.”

“Of course,” I said. “Well, I’ve got my wig. I wonder if you look different enough without your glasses? Or you can put on an accent?”

“An accent? How about this one?” he said in a fluently posh British accent. Then, in an Australian one, “It’s difficult to recognize someone without their glasses, mate.”

“I could recognize you anywhere,” I said in a Cockney accent, the same one my grandmother used to do when we were reenacting scenes from Mary Poppins (obviously she always had to be Bert, because I had dibs on Mary). I almost felt as if she were here with me. What would she say? Stop flirting with him using my voice, I imagined. I hope you’re picturing a squat, four-eleven woman with a legit mustache and boobs like watermelons, because that’s what my nana looked like. You are supposed to be a professional, and he is supposed to be your enemy. Do you remember what he said to you? He is not good enough for you, child.

She was right. I made a mental note to call her and thank her. She’d have no idea what I was talking about, but that was okay.

He tapped the table with his fingertip. It clicked against the wood. “I’m not worried. The chances he’ll recognize us are slim.”

Of course, the waiter squinted at us as soon as he stepped back over and gave us his full attention, the same way I’d squinted at the hostess. “You look familiar,” he said, squinting even harder.