Flavor Of The Month (Kiss & Tell Book 2) (5 page)

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.”

Ben’s brows rose.

“Well, that sounded good, didn’t it?” She laughed. “Her as in my fifteen-year-old niece, Efi. We have a longstanding date for a night in front of the television tonight. Just us, some popcorn and a stack of DVDs.”

“I could cater for you.”

“No!”

“Didn’t like the food?”

He heard a gusty sigh. “The food was great, Ben. Thanks for bringing it. It’s just…”

He sat down on a stool on the other side of the bar, reminding him of how she’d looked sitting on a similar stool in her kitchen, blindfolded and oh so hot for him. “It’s just…what?”

Another sigh. “It’s just that I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to see each other…personally again.”

“Again? As in never again?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not acceptable.”

She didn’t say anything and for a moment he was afraid she’d hung up.

“Tomorrow night, then,” he suggested.

“No.”

“The night after that.”

“No.”

“Thursday, Friday, Saturday.”

“No, no, no.” Silence. “What happened to Wednesday?”

“That’s the night I’m having you to the restaurant for a special dinner made for two.”

“No.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at around seven. I’m guessing you live above your shop, right?”

“No.”

“Very good, then. Dressy casual. Oh, and wear a pair of those sexy underpants again, will you? They do something to me.”

He heard her hang up and chuckled, slowly hanging up the phone on his end, feeling better than he had in a long, long time.

“Boss?”

He looked up to find Lance standing in the doorway.

“Every order we have in is screwed up. What do you want me to do?”

Ben reached over and put the phone on the other side of the bar. “Fix them, of course. You take half, I’ll take the other. And at some point maybe we’ll figure out what in the hell happened.”

“W
HAT WAS ALL THAT ABOUT
?”
Tina asked when Reilly came out of the kitchen and hung up the phone.

Reilly fixed her hair then straightened her apron. “What was all what about?”

Her eighteen-year-old niece slid the tray of cream horns back into the display case, her dark eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen you take the phone in the kitchen.”

“Uh-oh,” another voice sounded from the table near the window. The same table that held her three friends, gathered for morning coffee, sticky buns and conversation. Layla was there, as were Mallory and Jack.

“What? What am I missing?” Layla asked, looking at Mallory then Jack then lastly at Reilly.

“Not a thing. You’re not missing a thing,” Reilly said before Mallory could speak, then retook her stool at the table while Tina sighed with exaggerated agitation.

The shop was mostly empty at this time of morning, a brief lull between the early birds and the late risers. Johnnie Thunder was connected to his laptop in the corner. Being Saturday, Tina didn’t have classes, so she’d volunteered to help out now, then take the van to drop off the éclairs at the caterers at eleven.

“Just as I thought. It was him, wasn’t it?” Mallory asked, openly licking her fingers of sticky bun syrup.

Next to her family, Reilly’s friends meant more to her than any three people in the whole world. Layla Hollister was a doctor at a free clinic not too far from the shop. She was engaged to marry another doctor—a chop doc, though Reilly did have to admit that Sam Lovejoy wasn’t your run-of-the-mill plastic surgeon—in a little over a month. With dark hair and green eyes, she was everything that every woman longed to be. Tall, slender, beautiful and nice.

Then there was Mallory Woodruff, documentary producer, who was what every woman was afraid she might turn into. With her wavy, untamed dark hair, pale skin and huge eyes, Mall was a petite stick of dynamite just looking for a place to go off. She had a penchant for wearing T-shirts designed to get a reaction—today’s read God Made Men to Amuse Women—and had a chip on her shoulder the size of Mount Everest.

Then there was Jack.

Reilly looked at him and instantly smiled. A columnist for
L.A. Monthly,
Jack was drop-dead gorgeous with light brown hair and crinkly moss-green eyes. When the four of them had met three years ago, at a disaster drill they’d all thought was real, Reilly, Layla and Mallory had sworn an oath that to preserve their budding friendship, none of them would go after Jack. Reilly was awfully glad they had because she couldn’t imagine their circle without Jack, and his snug jeans and denim shirts, in it.

Layla snapped Reilly back to the here and now and the uncomfortable conversation Mallory had lured her into.

“Him who? Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Layla asked.

Jack mumbled something under his breath. “Don’t we all have enough to worry about without adding to the mix? I’m getting a refill.”

All three women watched him go. Simply because it was so much fun to do so. Especially since he knew they were watching him. They could make out his curses as he walked.

“Ben Kane,” Mallory said.

Layla nearly toppled her stool over she sat back so quickly. “What? Not
the
Ben Kane? The infamous Ben Kane of Benardo’s Hideaway fame? The same Ben Kane who was mentioned in the
Confidential
piece along with our dear friend yesterday morning?”

“Say his name like he’s a nationally recognized trademark again and I’m going to smush a sticky bun into your neat white blouse,” Mallory threatened.

Layla’s answering smile made Reilly smile back.

“Anyway, I thought we were here to discuss weddings—namely Layla and Sam’s—and bridesmaid dresses—namely mine and Mallory’s?”

Layla sipped her coffee. “There’s always time for talk about Ben Kane.” She looked to Mallory. “What happened?”

Mallory shrugged. “He came in yesterday.”

Layla looked disappointed. “Is that all?”

Both women looked at Reilly expectantly. “What do you want me to say? That his pastry chef quit? That he cleaned out my display case then ordered a whole bunch of other stuff? That I was wearing my granny underpants and the instant he saw them he ran full-out in the opposite direction?”

Jack had returned to the table, stopped cold, then turned around again and started toward Johnnie Thunder, apparently craving some man speak.

Mallory held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. How did we get from cleaning out your display case to his seeing your enormous undies?”

Reilly hated that her friend knew what kind of underwear she wore. “Never mind. It’s not going to happen again, so there’s no sense in even going there.”

“Oh, please go there. If just so Mall and I can enjoy the trip,” Layla said.

To her surprise, Reilly found herself sharing every last detail from the night before. From how Ben had shown up at her shop at midnight, fed her dinner—she conveniently left out the blindfold part because she still wasn’t sure how she felt about that herself—to how he’d gotten an eyeful of her underwear then beat a hasty retreat.

“Oh, God,” Layla said, horrified. “I probably would have killed myself if that had happened to me.”

Mallory grimaced. “No, you wouldn’t. Granny panties are not suicide material. After all, look what they landed Bridget Jones.”

Reilly and Layla stared at her. “It got her heart broken by a womanizing loser,” Layla said.

“Yes, but it was Hugh Grant. As far as losers go…” She seemed to realize what she was saying and made a face. “Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. The fact remains is that he wanted to see your underwear, period. And that you let him.”

Reilly stared down into her black coffee.

“And that he just called,” Mallory finished.

Layla’s head snapped to. “Yes! What did he want?”

Reilly shrugged. “To confirm today’s order.”

“Liar,” Mallory accused.

Reilly was secretly delighted that Ben had asked her out. Well, not too secretly because she caught her friends sharing a grin.

“Is it safe to come back now?” Jack asked, hesitating near his stool. “I’ve had enough cyber lingo to last me at least the rest of the day.”

Layla laughed. “Do so at your own peril.”

He sat down again. “I know Ben Kane.”

All three women stared at him.

“What? I did a piece on him about a year ago. If you guys read my column, you’d know that.”

Mallory raised her right hand. “I read every last one of your columns, God as my witness.”

Jack grinned at her. “At least I have one faithful friend.”

“That doesn’t really qualify as knowing him,” Layla pointed out. “Your doing a column on him.”

“Well, then, how about I share that I was one of his first customers and that he has a lunch sandwich named after me at the Hideaway?”

“He does not,” Reilly said.

“Does, too.” He shrugged. “Of course, it helps to have a name like Jack Daniels.”

“So when are you two going out again?” Mallory asked Reilly.

Jack said, “Well, we’ve never actually dated. Only hung out.”

Mallory rolled her eyes.

“I told you,” Reilly said. “Never.”

She just needed to stop thinking about the invite to his restaurant. The invite that she didn’t respond to one way or the other. The invite that she’d be crazy to accept. The invite that she wanted to snap up if only to see Ben again and show him her new, sexy underpants.

“Hmm,” Mallory said, watching her a little too closely.

“Oh, God, is that the time?” Layla asked, looking at her watch then scooting from the stool. “I promised I’d be at the clinic ten minutes ago.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “So we’re agreed on the dresses?”

Mallory and Reilly made a face. They both hated the dresses, but then again what percentage of bridesmaids usually liked their dresses?

“So we’ll meet for a first fitting on Wednesday at eleven then,” Layla said, then shot for the door without waiting for an answer.

“Get the woman laid and she turns into Attila the Hun,” Mallory said, nearly causing Jack to spew his coffee out over the newspaper he was reading.

She grabbed him by the sleeve. “Get a disposable cup. You’ve got to drive me to scout out some shooting sites.”

“What happened to your car?” Reilly asked.

“Finally bit the dust once and for all,” Jack answered for Mallory.

“You can borrow my van, Mallory,” Reilly offered. “Well, after Tina makes some deliveries.”

Her dark-haired friend smiled at her. “Thanks, but no. I think I enjoy terrorizing Jack more. You know, since he doesn’t have a real job and all.”

Jack’s back stiffened as Mallory led him toward the door. “Being a magazine columnist is a real job. In fact, you can’t get any more real. Just the other day…”

Reilly watched the door close after her friends, shook her head, then started cleaning up the table.

“O
H
,
HE’S SO CUTE
!” Efi cried when Reilly let her into the apartment upstairs later that night. “When did you get a cat?”

“I didn’t. And he’s not cute. He’s the butt-ugliest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Reilly watched her fifteen-year-old niece pick up the scraggly feline from where he’d been sprawled out in the middle of the coffee table. She idly wondered where else she was going to find black hair.

Efi looked at Reilly as she fussed over the old Tom, then told her, “You know, I’ve decided that I’m going to grow up to be just like you.”

Reilly put down her purse and the leftovers they’d brought home from a local Italian restaurant they’d just eaten dinner at. “How do you mean? Independent? Free-spirited? Successful?”

“Single with a cat.”

Reilly’s hands froze where she was going through the mail. Yikes! Details aside, that’s exactly what she was, wasn’t it? She’d turned into every woman’s nightmare.

She eyed the cat, deciding it had to go. The single thing she might not be able to do much about. But the cat, she could.

“If you like him so much, take him home with you.”

Efi made a face. “I would but Mom’s allergic.”

“Your mom had a cat growing up,” Reilly told her.

“I know. Mittens. But now she’s allergic.”

“I bet.” Reilly put the mail down, retrieved a couple of diet caffeine-free sodas from the fridge, then sat down on the sofa. “So tell me what’s made you decide to become an old spinster like your aunt?”

The cat leaped out of Efi’s skinny arms and her niece plopped down on the couch next to her, sighing dramatically as she took a soda. “Mom thinks it’s because, you know, it’s nearing that time of the month.”

Reilly still couldn’t seem to accept that her young niece was menstruating already. “And the truth is?”

“Jason Turner.”

“Ah. A boy.”

Efi paused as she took a sip of her soda. “Not a boy. A full-grown man.” She frowned. “Well, almost anyway. He’s eighteen.”

Reilly paused then affectionately punched her niece’s shoulder. “And too old for you.”

Efi shrugged. “He’s a senior at school and has the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and when he smiles I swear I go weak in the knees…and…and…”

“And he doesn’t know you exist.”

Efi deflated against the cushions. “Actually he did notice me today. He stopped in the hall to say that I’d chosen an interesting color for my hair. That I matched the curtains in the gymnasium.”

Reilly cringed. “Ouch.”

Efi nodded. “I hate Greek school.”

“Why Greek school? I got the impression that this happened at public school.”

“It did, but if I didn’t have to go to Greek school I could hang out at my real high school more and maybe see Jason more often.” She sulked. “I hate Greek school.”

Reilly hugged her to her side. “You don’t hate Greek school.”

“You sound just like mom. And I do, too, hate Greek school.”

“Tell me why?”

“You got an hour?”

“Actually, I do. You see it’s Saturday night and my niece is staying over and I happen to have nothing but time on my hands.” She put her feet up on the coffee table. “Just remember we have that DVD to fit in.”

“Let’s watch the DVD.”

“Let’s talk about life as Efi first.”

Her niece sighed in a way only an angst-filled fifteen-year-old could. God, Reilly would never relive that time in her life if you paid her a million dollars.

Efi laid her head back against the sofa. “Which part do you want to hear? About how I can’t play softball with the rest of the girls in my class because I have to go to Greek school on Wednesdays to learn how to say ‘I want a loaf of bread’ in Greek? This when my mom can’t speak a word of Greek to save her life? No, wait, let’s talk about how I can’t go to my best friend’s house because her father’s a minister and Dad’s afraid it will confuse me? Then there’s how I’m in a class at Greek school with kids of all ages and the only others even close to me in age are Shy Sotiria and Fat Fodos, and both of them think I’m weird.”

Reilly picked at the spikes on Efi’s head. “Sorry, honey, but I think everyone probably thinks you’re a bit on the strange side right now.”

She remembered the day last week when Efi had dyed her hair with some sort of home kit she’d bought from the drugstore. Her sister had called to blame her for the overt act of rebellion. “You encourage her! Talking to her like she’s an adult. She’s just a kid, Rei. She needs guidance.”

Reilly believed that she got enough guidance from her parents. What this girl needed was a little unconditional TLC. And she provided it whenever she could.

“Then, of course, there’s Jason,” Reilly prompted.

Efi groaned. “You would have to bring him up.”

“And what about the boys at Greek School?”

Efi crossed her arms over her modest chest. “There are no boys at Greek school. None worth mentioning. Anyway, they all think I’m weird, too. Besides, I don’t put out so I’m not even popular in that way, either.”

Reilly nearly choked on her soda.

Efi patted her on the back. “Are you all right?”