“Chicago, right, you said.” She nearly cheered when the waitress brought their drinks. If conversation was going to stay this dry all night, she’d need several. “Here’s to you, Daniel. Thanks for helping me out by meeting me tonight.”
“No problem.” He hoisted his drink to meet hers and they both took a first sip.
“Mmm.” She toasted him again. Took another, bigger swallow this time. “That is good.”
He nodded, and gulped his third. Good. Time to get this party started.
“Tell me about the little boy Daniel. What was his life like?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Not a great childhood, but then not worth writing a dysfunctional-family novel about, either.”
“No? Too bad. Those sell like crazy.” She was pleased when he laughed.
“My parents were more interested in hating each other than raising a kid. I tried to stay out of their way. It was a pretty complicated time.”
“I’m sorry.” She laid her hand on his arm in sympathy, and left it there too long out of greed for the feel of his skin. “That must have been rough.”
He shrugged. “I survived.”
“Good choice.”
He acknowledged the joke with a grin and sipped his drink again. “Tell me about your childhood. I’m sure it’s a better story.”
“I don’t know about that. You ever see the movie
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
?”
“I did.”
Angela raised her eyebrow meaningfully. “Then you’ve seen my family. Except mine wasn’t so insistent on the Greek purity thing. Only Dad is Greek. Mom is apple-pie American.”
“You look like her.”
“How did you know?”
He leaned back, seeming more relaxed now, but whether it was the alcohol or the subject turning away from him, she didn’t know. “You have an apple-pie face.”
She winced. “Craggy and full of fat?”
When he stopped laughing, his face retained a hint of smile. His eyes had come alive again, and when he leaned forward, it was all she could do not to meet him halfway. “Your skin is fair, not olive, your eyes are very light brown, your nose is small and straight. Your mouth…”
Angela held her breath. The way he was looking at it made her feel kissed already.
“I guess I have no idea what Greek mouths look like. But yours is…beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She barely managed a whisper. “So is yours.”
And then they were back in that shimmering place of chemistry so powerful she could barely breathe. Had it ever been this intense with Tom? She couldn’t remember. Right now it seemed as if she’d never felt anything like this for anyone in her life.
Stop, Angela.
She was doing it again, assigning drama and substance to a simple chemical reaction. Her feelings were based on a normal human need for closeness, which was fine and healthy, as long as she recognized it for what it was. This time she wasn’t going to plug the first guy she was hot for into the boyfriend slot, then close her eyes and keep going blindly forward. Plus, Daniel was still in love with his old girlfriend, and while Angela really wanted to help him break free of her claw-hold, she didn’t want to be the first woman trying to fill those perfect shoes.
“So. I was telling you about my family.”
Daniel jerked his gaze back up to hers. “Yes. Yes, your family. Go on.”
“Okay.” She had to desperately try to remember what she’d been telling him and where she left off. “Right, I was saying they’re less intense Greekophiles than the family in the movie. My brothers and I dated whomever we chose, never mind nationality or religion. But it was pretty chaotic around our house. Lots of relatives, lots of noise, lots of good food. I’m sorry you didn’t have that.”
“I would have loved it.” He was smiling again. “Especially the food. Is that what started you baking?”
“Oh, yes.” She was immediately back in her mother’s warm colorful kitchen in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Grandma Loukas there, and Aunt Alena, coaxing sheets of phyllo dough into pans, chopping garlic, onion, squeezing lemons, roasting lamb. “I’d hang around the kitchen from the time I could walk, watching my mom and aunts and grandmother cook. As soon as I could hold a spoon they let me help. It was more a process of osmosis than teaching.”
“You are very talented.”
“Thank you.” She beamed at him, thinking this was the perfect time to get her pitch for Slatewood over with, so she could concentrate on the seduction part of the evening. “You think the powers that be at Slatewood would be interested in hiring me? I have a new line of pastries I’m anxious to get going.”
“They might be. There’s a big company party every quarter. I can ask my boss about the Spring Fling. The problem is that his niece owns a French bakery here in town, and she’s been in charge of dessert for years.”
“Oh.” Angela shouldn’t be surprised. Same story all over Seattle. But it was still disappointing. Going after Slatewood might have been a way to trick Daniel into going out with her, but she’d love to get a foot in that door. “I can see the problem.”
“I’ll still ask. No harm in that.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, thinking of her peppery fruit tarts, the orange-pistachio baklava, lavender éclairs, and the recipe for rosemary-lemon Madeleines she was still trying to perfect. All unusual. All chic. “I’d be happy to come in anytime with samples and meet your boss or whoever’s in charge. I’m probably cheaper than his niece if that carries any weight.”
“It might.” He put another dent in his martini and gestured to their menus. “Maybe we should decide on some food?”
“Good plan.” She hid her grin behind the menu. Perfect. She’d made her pitch, he hadn’t seemed inclined to discuss it in great detail any more than she was, now they could order a nice bottle of wine with dinner and talk about other things. Like how terribly lonely he must be. How terribly lonely she was. How long it had been since she’d felt the touch of a man…
Oh, this would be good.
Except their dinner didn’t come. And didn’t come. The martinis were long-finished, and Angela’s plot to get Daniel tipsy had backfired in that she hadn’t planned to drink her entire drink, but now she had. And now
she
was tipsy, and getting hungrier by the second.
A short time later, an odd smell emanated from the kitchen. A smell like…
Smoke. Like something was…
Burning. Like…
The restaurant kitchen. And …
Their dinners.
Seconds later, waiters were scattering through the dining room, sending out polite but urgent calls for the patrons to evacuate.
Daniel got to his feet and came around the table to help Angela to hers. “We better get out of here.”
She didn’t argue. Fire was not something to mess around with. “Darn it. I was looking forward to that salmon.”
“Same here.” He pushed through the door into the blessedly smoke-free chill of the street. “We’ll have to find it somewhere else.”
“Okay.” She was hungry enough to be getting cranky. At this rate their nondate would go on all night and they still wouldn’t have had dinner.
Yes, all night was what she’d had in mind, but not starving to death.
“I know the perfect place. It’s not far. We can take my car.”
They took his Honda over to Pike street and headed east. The restaurant, an attractive bistro named Palms, wasn’t far, but there was traffic and construction, and it ended up taking them nearly half an hour to get there, another fifteen to park and walk back to the entrance.
To find that it was closed for a private party.
Daniel stared at the sign on the door. “Am I under some kind of curse?”
Angela giggled. “I was starting to wonder the same about me.”
“At this point I’m so hungry I don’t care what we eat or where.”
“Same here. Let’s grab the nearest burger and inhale.”
“Sam-Burger is near my house. It’s close by.”
Sam-Burger was close by, on E. Roy Street. And the line for tables stretched out the door.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Daniel put his hand to the small of her back and guided her past the waiting customers. “We can get take-out much faster, and eat at my place.”
“I like your desperate measures.” Had he really just invited her to his place? Perfect! Once again a seeming disaster had turned to her advantage. Restaurant fire leads to easy access to bed on first date.
Perfect.
Wait, she just said “perfect” already.
She really, really needed solid food in her system.
Daniel’s apartment was around the corner on East 20th Avenue, a nondescript pale brick building. Angela walked in with him, trying to act nonchalant. Sure, she went home with men she didn’t know all the time. No big deal, right? Women of the world like her…
And yet, she did feel safe with him. Maybe she was an idiot, but she trusted him. And she really loved walking up the stairs ahead of him, swaying her backside, which should be easy to notice if he cared to. When he stumbled, she even allowed herself to hope it was because the sight had knocked him stupid.
The hallway was underwhelming, beige and brown, stinky with new-carpet smell, and frankly, his apartment wasn’t much cheerier though it smelled better. But she wasn’t there for the decor, she was there for the
food
first and foremost, then the quiet intimacy being alone in his apartment would automatically provide. A nice long talk on his couch, maybe replaying Bonnie and Seth’s constant scootching closer, until Angela made her move or invited Daniel’s. She couldn’t wait to experience that beautiful mouth of his. Everywhere.
Mmm.
He led her into the kitchen, pulled a couple of beers out of the refrigerator. Good beer, too, Mack & Jack’s Serengeti Wheat. And a couple of plates. “Let’s do this thing.”
“I’m so ready.” She and Daniel tore the wrappers off their burgers as if they were in a race, and sank their teeth in at the same instant. With that first bite, Angela got more than solid food in her system. She got a juicy, fresh, hot, beefy bit of heaven that practically made her moan with pleasure. Not to mention Daniel seemed to have relaxed a good deal once they crossed the threshold into his apartment. Why bringing a woman home would be less threatening than meeting her in public, Angela had no idea, unless he was lying about the girlfriend being dead. Or lying about her being an ex. Or lying that she even existed, the way Jack and Seth were so sure he was doing.
A tiny pang interfered with her burger arousal. She squashed it. If he was using her, that was all the better, because that’s what she was doing, too.
“Good, huh?” He grinned at her over the top of his sesame-sprinkled bun and something lurched in her heart.
Oh, Angela.
“Really good. Whoever Sam is, I love him.” She crammed another bite into her mouth, too ravenous to bother being dainty.
“The owner’s late father. French fry?” He offered her the paper packet and she indulged in several of the skinny, salty miracles.
“How do you keep your body so perfect with that place practically next door?”
“Well…” He tipped his head, looking amused but skeptical. “I didn’t realize my body was perfect.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She swallowed a mouthful, nodding vigorously. “It is. Perfect.”
“I take it you’ve given this some consideration.”
“Serious consideration.” She blinked at his chuckle. “What? I’m allowed.”
“You are. And thank you.” He gestured up and down. “You’re…I mean you are—”
“No, no, don’t even bother.” She waved his words away. “No comparison. But thank you for trying to—”
“Let me finish.” He leaned forward. “You are stunning, Angela. And if no one has made you feel that way recently, then you need to change who you’ve been hanging out with.”
One fractional beat of intense silence, of desire palpable between them, then Angela’s sharp, surprised breath sent a tiny piece of French fry into her lungs and reduced her to one of those fits of coughing that sound like either imminent death or throwing up. Neither of which were appropriate to the occasion.
Super.
“Angela.” Daniel shot up and poured a quick glass of water, knelt next to her, gazing up at her red face, streaming eyes and convulsing body and offered it, tenderly rubbing her shoulder while she choked her way back into the ability to breathe normally. “You okay?”
“I’m not…” She gulped more water. “Not usually a disaster like this.”
“That wasn’t the word that came to mind.”
“No?” She dabbed carefully at her eyes, hoping mascara and liner weren’t pooling in black circles that would make her look like a plague victim on top of everything else. “You’ve been very sweet. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking three or four times before going out with me a second time.”
Daniel opened his mouth. No words came out. He stood up and went back to his seat.
Crap.
She’d done it again. This wasn’t a date. They were here to…
Oh, honestly. This was a date, and he had to know it. Pure semantics calling it anything else. Maybe it was time to make that clear.
“Daniel. I think we should talk about what kind of—”