She nodded slowly. “I know. I’m looking forward to it.”
He watched her for another moment, her face pale in the moonlight. She seemed to be deliberately looking away from him. He turned and looked up at the star-filled sky. “Ever been to the Faro Tavern in town?”
She shook her head, still not looking at him. “As I recall, that was one of the places my grandpa wouldn’t even walk by. He didn’t exactly call it a den of iniquity, but I think that’s because
iniquity
wasn’t part of his vocabulary.”
“It’s changed a lot since then.” He turned to watch her again. “New management a while ago. Guy named Tom Ames. His wife runs a first-class coffee place next door.”
Her lips edged up into a faint smile. “That is a change. The old Faro wouldn’t have had any coffee on the premises.”
“Want to go there for dinner Sunday night?”
She licked her lips, still not looking at him. “Would that cause any…problems in the kitchen? I mean, I don’t want Darcy…or anybody…to think…” Her voice died away. He had a feeling if they’d been in daylight her face would have been bright pink.
Joe knew he shouldn’t grin, but he couldn’t help it. “Darlin’, nobody in the kitchen will care. Hell, nobody in the kitchen will even know, unless you tell them. I’m sure as hell not going to bring it up. And I’ve never seen any of them in the Faro.” Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen any of them in town period. He found himself wondering just where Leo and Jorge were doing their drinking these days.
She raised an eyebrow, turning toward him for the first time. “Because it’s not supposed to be mentioned?”
“Because I don’t talk about my private life in the kitchen. I’m not one of those chefs who takes everybody out drinking after we finish service so he can talk about his exploits.”
Once upon a time, of course, he’d done just that. Once upon a time he’d actually been famous for doing just that. But then the drinking had morphed into other things, cocaine chiefly. And it had started screwing with his life in major ways. And then it had started screwing with his cooking.
And then he’d been out of a job and scrambling.
Now he gave MG his most earnest look.
Look at me. Believe me. It’ll be okay.
“So we go to the Faro and drink?”
He grinned again—at least he’d gotten her to move this far. “No, we go to the Faro and eat. And maybe dance, if they’ve got a band. I don’t know what they’ve got going right now, but sometimes they have a group.”
He couldn’t exactly define the expression that drifted across her face just then. Anticipation maybe. Or anxiety. Or maybe both. “Or we could go someplace like Brenner’s,” he said quickly. “They’re good. We’re better, but they’re good.”
She shook he head. “No, the Faro sounds fine. Sounds like my kind of place, in fact.”
“Well, then, sounds like it’s settled to me.”
“It’s not—I mean I still haven’t…” she subsided into confusion again.
He leaned over quickly, placing his index finger under her chin, lifting her face so that she was looking at him. “Say, ‘Thanks, Joe, I’d love to go to dinner with you at the Faro on Sunday’.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then the corners of her mouth edged up again. “Thanks, Joe, I’d love to go to dinner with you at the Faro on Sunday.”
“There you go.” He leaned forward, almost without thinking about it and pressed his lips against hers.
He felt her stiffen against him and started to pull back, but then her lips softened. She tilted her head slightly, changing the angle of the kiss so that he slid deeper. He brought one hand up, cupping the back of her head lightly. Her lips opened wider beneath his, teeth against teeth, his tongue rasping against the sudden warmth of her mouth.
Heat spread through his body—he hardened almost instantly. His other hand dropped to her waist, to the slight indentation of her hip bone. He slid his fingers beneath the soft fabric of her shirt, feeling the warmth of the smooth skin underneath. Heat raced through him again, and he growled deep in his throat.
What the hell?
MG Carmody was a nice-looking woman, sure enough, but he hadn’t expected anything to happen between them this quickly. Time to tone it down a notch.
He started to pull back, amazed at the reluctance he felt. Somewhere at the back of his mind alarm bells were sounding.
Danger, danger, Will Robinson!
MG moved away almost as slowly as he had, her fingers pressed against her lips, her eyes wide in the shadows.
He waited for her to say something, even if that something was
Get the hell off my front steps.
After a moment longer, he managed a half smile of his own. “You know, I’ve kissed a lot of women in my time. Some of them let me know they liked it. Some of them let me know they didn’t. A couple of them even socked me. But you’re the first one who’s ever had absolutely nothing to say about it one way or the other.”
She blinked at him. “I’m…trying to figure out what I want to say about it.”
“That bad, huh?”
She shook her head, still with that slightly dazed look. “Not bad. Not at all. Just…sort of unexpected.”
He rubbed a hand across his chin. “Yeah. I wasn’t exactly expecting it either.”
She gave him a faint smile. “So what happens now?”
We go inside your house and explore the possibilities.
He bit down hard on that particular thought. Hell, he hadn’t been this randy in years. And it hadn’t been that long since he’d been with a woman, had it?
Had it? He suddenly realized it
had
been a while. Jesus, since when had he let his work swallow his life again?
“Joe?” She was beginning to look a little anxious.
Probably time to move on before he said something amazingly stupid that would kill his chances from here until doomsday. He pushed himself to his feet, smiling down at her. “Now we go have dinner at the Faro. And see what develops. Deal?”
She pushed herself up beside him. “Sounds good to me. Thanks for walking me home.” Her quick smile was probably meant to be a goodbye.
He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. The smooth skin of her fingers was warm, soft, smelling faintly of almonds. He ran his tongue lightly along her index finger, then raised his head, smiling. “Night, MG.”
“Good night.” Her voice sounded slightly breathy.
He walked back up the drive toward the road, turning once at the top. She still stood on her front steps, watching him in the darkness.
Chapter Eight
MG stared at the contents of her closet in dismay. Why hadn’t she put any more thought into what clothes she wanted to take to Texas before she gave her leftovers to the Goodwill in Nashville? All she could see in front of her were the work clothes she wore at the Rose and her performance clothes, with nothing in between that would be appropriate for an evening out with Joe LeBlanc.
If she hadn’t been saving every cent to pay off Aunt Nedda and keep herself fed, she might have considered going into town and buying something. But she couldn’t bring herself to indulge in that particular extravagance just yet.
Saturday had been the usual manic whirl at the restaurant, made more so by the increased crowd of tourists at lunch. She’d only seen Joe briefly when she’d turned in her eggs first thing in the morning. Surprisingly enough, Darcy had given her a ride to the gas station and Jorge had supplied a gas can. Both of them helped her get the car started again.
Darcy stood shaking her head. “Next time tell somebody, honeybuns. We could have gotten you out of here on Friday night.”
MG wasn’t crazy about her new nickname, but she figured she didn’t have much say in what she got called. It was at least better than Ball-Breaking Bitch, which was what Fishhead had muttered about Darcy when her back was turned.
The rest of Saturday evening was spent doing what she did every night—feeding chickens, eating dinner and collapsing for an hour in front of the television before stumbling off to bed. At least she had Sunday off.
She hadn’t been entirely sure when Joe would show up on Sunday evening to take her to dinner, but she figured she’d be ready around seven. If he came earlier, he could help her feed the chickens. Since she had the day off, she’d had time to take them all out to the side yard so that they could graze. She’d even let Robespierre have a turn around the lawn. After a few minutes she’d relaxed in one of her grandfather’s ancient metal lawn chairs and watched the birds shuffle across the grass. It was remarkably soothing.
She studied the now-empty chicken yard. Maybe she could extend the wire fence that enclosed the dirt so that the chickens had a bit of grass to wander through daily. She could even try seeding the chicken yard itself, although she had a feeling most of the grass seed would end up inside the chickens. She wondered what Joe would advise.
Right. Discussing chickens on their first real date would be a super idea, establishing her as a definite Hot Mama. MG blew out a breath, then paused to think.
Did she want to be a Hot Mama?
She might not have much choice. That kiss had been sort of a revelation in terms of her feelings for Joe LeBlanc, and maybe in terms of his feelings for her. But at the end he’d pulled back from it like she was plutonium. No matter what he said, she was willing to bet snogging employees wasn’t high on his to-do list. She wasn’t entirely sure that snogging the boss was high on hers.
Yet he’d still asked her out. And she’d still said yes. Looked like they both were ready for whatever was going to happen next.
She herded the chickens back into their yard, checked their feed and water levels. Checked to see if any of the hens had laid a couple of laggard eggs, then headed into the house to don her date night clothes—good jeans and modest black cotton blouse. She figured she’d save the vintage Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt for their second date.
Assuming, of course, that they had a second date.
Joe pulled a dusty blue pickup into her driveway at six fifty-five. MG blinked. Somehow she’d expected him to drive something like a BMW. A five-year-old truck didn’t exactly scream James Beard nominee.
He grinned when she answered the door, his gaze making a quick trip from the top of her head to her toes. “Lookin’ good, darlin’,” he said. “You’ll fit right in at the Faro.”
She felt something loosen inside her chest. Hard to believe she’d actually been worried whether he’d like her outfit. “Thanks.”
“My chariot awaits.” He bowed toward the truck. “Ain’t much, but it’s all mine. No bank involved—course, no bank I know of would want to be involved with this thing. Or with me, come to think of it.”
It seemed to MG that he was talking a lot more than usual. And his Louisiana accent kept coming and going—never going entirely, of course, but getting stronger and weaker.
Good grief, he’s nervous.
The realization made her feel unaccountably better. If they were both nervous, maybe the evening was going to be more interesting than she’d thought. “I like it.” She smiled at him. “I’m more a truck kind of girl anyway.”
Joe raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Then I’m glad to please.” He opened the front door for her and gave her a quick grin as she climbed in. “It should get us where we want to go.”
Joe knew the Faro didn’t look like much from the outside. The limestone blocks were darkened with age and the heavy wood door looked like it had been stolen from a speakeasy. There was even a small window at the top to check the customers out. Inside, though, it was another story. The main room was large and semi-dark, with a solid mahogany bar on one side and tables scattered on the other, an ideal set-up for both meal service and drinkers. It definitely beat the few bars Joe himself had worked in during his down period.
A door on the far wall led out to a beer garden. Music came trickling in from the band outside whenever the door swung open.
For a moment he thought MG tensed, but then he decided he’d imagined it. She gave him a quick smile. “Looks interesting.”
“Joseph. Goddamn! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
Joe turned to see Clemencia Rodriguez standing framed in her kitchen door, her hair tucked under her beanie. She moved across the room, dodging around waitresses with trays of beer before reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. She was so tiny she had to stand on her tiptoes to do it, but that had never stopped her before.
When she let go of him, he took a look at her. She was wearing her working clothes—chef’s whites, rubber clogs, an apron she had knotted twice around her waist. No question how she spent her time.
Joe grinned at her with genuine warmth. She remained one of his favorite people in the world, and one of the few he’d trust to feed him. “Clemencia, my treasure! What have you got on the stove for us tonight?” He slung his arm around her shoulders, although he had to slump to do it.
“Us?” Clem turned in MG’s direction, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Who’s this now?”
“This is MG Carmody.” He smiled in MG’s direction, feeling a little like a second-rate master of ceremonies. “She’s working in the kitchen at the Rose. MG, this is Clemencia Rodriguez, the second-best chef in Konigsburg.” Predictably Clemencia punched him in the shoulder, but he broadened his smile to include her. “It’s true, darlin’, I’d rank you above anybody around here except me.”