Flavor of the Month

“Welcome to my house, Cat,” she said softly.

THE FOLLOWING DAY Ben looked over one of his shipping invoices again. Sure enough, he’d been delivered two hundred pounds of octopus instead of crab legs when Alaskan crab legs were the special tonight.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyelids and counted backward from ten to keep from losing it with the clueless deliveryman. This was the fourth such screwup so far this morning, and the day was young yet. From a cheap coffee liqueur instead of Tia Maria to rump roast instead of steaks, his stockroom was growing full of stuff he didn’t need and didn’t want.

“What do you want me to do, boss?” asked Lance Dickson, the floor manager who had taken the first three wrong orders.

He looked at the deliveryman. “Take it back.”

“And the crab legs?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know,” he said absently. “Maybe we’ll tell them there was another oil spill in Alaska or something and hopefully we’ll have some in next week.” They both knew how quasi-environmentalist the L.A. community was. “Right now I want you to get on the computer and double check whatever else is due to come in today.”

Lance saluted him. “Right on it, boss.”

Ben shook his head. Definitely not the type of thing you wanted to face when you hadn’t had much sleep the night before. After Reilly had all but chased him out of her shop then slammed the door on his grinning face, he hadn’t been able to get her or her underpants out of his mind.

He stepped down the hall to the back of the restaurant, blinking his eyes at the relative dimness in the large, rough-hewn wood-lined dining area. He just didn’t get it. Under normal circumstances, catching a glimpse of such unattractive undergarments would have had a detrimental effect on his libido. But his reaction to Reilly was turning out to be anything but normal. In fact, when he finally had fallen asleep, he’d had dreams of getting those underpants wet and watching the cotton cling to her swollen womanhood and firm behind. And he’d asked her to keep them on as he positioned her on top of him and watched her bear down on his pulsing erection.

He’d awakened to suspiciously damp sheets to find he hadn’t set his alarm clock. After stripping his sheets, his day had only gotten worse.

He now crossed to the door where a black chalk-board hanging inside advertised fresh Alaskan crab legs, and he rubbed off the selection.

Despite the dark cloud over the day so far, strangely enough all he had to do was think of Reilly and he’d find himself grinning like an idiot.

He rounded the empty bar then picked up the telephone and put it on the counter before looking for the card to Sugar ’n’ Spice he’d slipped into his pocket that morning.

“Sugar ’n’ Spice and everything nice,” a young woman’s voice answered.

Ben frowned, sure it wasn’t Reilly. He couldn’t imagine her saying those words. “Is Reilly there, please?”

A pause, then, “May I ask who’s calling?”

“A restaurant owner who would like to place an order,” he answered, grinning.

“Oh. Just a minute.”

Was it him, or did she sound disappointed?

“Sugar ’n’ Spice.”

Ah, Reilly. “Good morning. How are you and your underpants doing this morning, Ms. Reilly?”

“Oh, God.” He heard the squeak of door hinges and guessed she’d ducked into the kitchen of the shop. “I can’t believe you’re calling me here.”

“Where would you have me call you?”

“Nowhere. Ever again. Just let me die in peace without remembering what happened last night.”

Ben carried the phone to the end of the bar. “Don’t you mean what didn’t happen?”

“That, too.” He heard her swallow hard. “Look, is there something specific you wanted?”

“Why?”

“Why? Well, because…because, I have a long line of people waiting for service and my niece Tina is giving me the evil eye.”

“The evil eye?”

“It’s a Greek thing. Oh, never mind.”

“Actually, there is a reason I’m calling.”

A pause. “And?”

“And what?”

“And the reason is?”

“I’d like to repeat yesterday.”

“Repeat yesterday as in…”

“As in…everything.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“I thought you’d already agreed to supply desserts for the restaurant until I could find a replacement pastry chef.”

“Oh, that. Of course. My word is my bond.”

Ben’s grin widened. His own personal motto.

“And you’ll be finishing up at midnight?”

“No.”

The grin left his face. “What time will you be finishing, then?”

“Around six.”

“Good then, I’ll—”

“You’ll nothing. I’m going out.”

Ben knew a heartbeat of hesitation along with an unhealthy helping of jealousy. “Do I know him?”

“Her.”