by Tawna Fenske
He obeyed, then stood waiting while she took her seat. “I see you’ve got some of the etiquette down pat,” she said. “Waiting for a lady to be seated is a nice touch.”
Jason grinned and sat down next to her. “I may not be a gentleman in all regards, but I do my best. I’m also a pretty quick learner.”
She wondered for an instant what that meant, her brain sauntering down a vivid path that left her pondering in what other capacity he exercised his gentlemanly tendencies and quick learning. What was Jason like in bed? Was he rough and wild, or gentle and slow? Was he the sort of guy to softly stroke a woman’s cheek as she unzipped his fly and dropped to her knees, or was he the sort to thread his fingers into her hair, gripping tightly as she sucked him deeply into her—
Hiccup!
Miriam clamped a hand to her mouth, horrified by her own faux pas at the dinner table. She was trying so hard to set a classy example, too. She started to excuse herself, then realized Jason hadn’t heard her. He was too busy studying the utensils laid out beside his plate, picking up one fork at a time and frowning at it.
She took a few deep breaths, hoping to get the hiccups under control.
There, that was better. She took a careful sip of wine, grateful the hiccup seemed to be a onetime thing.
Jason had already picked a fork and was grasping a knife in the other hand, preparing to cut into his meat. Miriam touched his hand. “Here’s another tip,” she said. “You don’t want to start eating until you’ve been given the signal.”
“There’s a signal?”
She nodded. “It’s another reason you need to keep a close eye on your host.”
“This is sounding more and more like a weird game of charades.” He frowned. “Okay, what’s the signal?”
“It’s—”
Hiccup!
“Pardon me,” she said and clamped a hand over her mouth again as the heat rose to her cheeks. “I apologize.”
“No worries. What’s the signal to start eating?”
“The napkin,” Miriam said as she spread hers across her thighs in illustration. “Don’t take a bite until your host puts the napkin in his lap.”
“Oh.” He set down his utensils and picked up his own napkin. “Right, I guess I knew that. I got distracted.”
“No problem. That’s why we’re practicing.”
“So I’ve always wondered where I’m supposed to put the napkin if I have to get up and take a leak. On the back of my chair or on the table or what?”
“First of all, you probably don’t want to announce at the dinner table that you have to take a leak.” She smiled a little to soften her words. “Say ‘pardon me for just a moment.’ Then put the napkin on the seat of the chair.”
Jason snorted. “I feel like I should be taking notes here.”
“There’ll be a test later.”
“Why do I think you might be serious?”
Miriam smiled. “Okay, so don’t take a bite until your host has spread the napkin in his lap, but it’s even better to wait until he’s started to—”
Hiccup!
Miriam covered her mouth, then picked up her water glass. “Excuse me,” she said, then took three big gulps of water. Her cheeks felt warm, and she realized she was royally blowing this polished image she was working so hard to teach him.
To his credit, Jason seemed unfazed. He was busy adjusting his napkin on his lap and bumped Miriam’s leg under the table. “Whoops, sorry,” he said as his fingers grazed her bare thigh. “I didn’t mean to grope you.”
“Not a problem,” she said, still focused on trying to control her hiccups. She took two more gulps of water, then set her glass down and tried a sip of wine instead. There. That seemed better.
Her thigh was still tingling where his hand had brushed her skin, and her face burned with the embarrassment of losing control of her diaphragm at the dinner table. For crying out loud, could there be a worse time to have hiccups?
“All right,” she said at last, then swallowed hard. “So speaking of the napkin, when your meal is finished, you’ll want to place it on the left hand side of your plate.”
“What if the waiter already took my plate?”
“The napkin still goes to the left of where your plate used to be.”
“Do I have to fold it back up the way it was? Because I don’t think I can do that fancy napkin origami where it looks like a swan or a fan or the Titanic or whatever.”
“Just place it neatly,” she said. “Try to tuck any really big food stains inside.”
“And I already know I’m not supposed to spit gum in a cloth napkin,” he said, grinning a little sheepishly. “Learned that one the hard way once.”
“Right.” Miriam took another small sip of wine. Okay, good. The hiccups seemed to be gone. She picked up her own knife and fork and cut a small bite of pork. She speared it into her mouth and began to chew, savoring the freshness of the rosemary and the zing of balsamic glaze. She’d gotten the meat nice and juicy, which was a plus.
Jason watched her for a moment, then picked up his own knife and fork. He sliced into the meat, his hand huge and strong-looking on the shaft of the knife.
“Oh my God,” he said around a mouthful of pork, and the look of bliss on his face was enough to stop Miriam from reminding him not to talk with his mouth full. “What is this?”
“Rosemary-brined pork chops with a balsamic glaze,” she said. “Beside that, you have smoked fingerling potatoes, porcini mushrooms dressed with Greek yogurt and pancetta, and a roasted beet salad with shallot vinaigrette, watercress, and a Cypress Grove chèvre sachet.”
“Holy shit.”
She grinned and rolled her eyes. “Thank you, but you may want to work on coming up with a different way to express your appreciation for a meal.”
“Duly noted. You made all this?”
“Yes. Normally at a restaurant, the meal would come out one dish at a time, but I thought it would be better if we—”
Hiccup!
Jason laughed as Miriam flushed again. She shook her head and picked up her water glass. “I’m so sorry,” she said between gulps of water. “I have no idea why this is happening.”
“Well, it’s an involuntary spasm of the diaphragm and respiratory organs, resulting in the sudden closure of the glottis.” Jason grinned and took a sip of wine while Miriam sat staring at him in disbelief.
“You sounded like a medical dictionary just then.”
He shrugged. “I took a lot of anatomy classes when I was earning a degree in exercise physiology.”
“Oh.” She gulped some more water, emptying her glass. Before she could reach for the pitcher, he’d picked it up and given her a refill.
“You’re on the right track with the water,” he said. “You could try plugging your ears while you swallow it, or taking a mouthful of water and bending at the waist before taking a drink.”
She frowned, pretty sure either of those activities would kill the sophisticated dinner vibe she was aiming for. “I think I have it under control,” she said. “Thank you, though.”
“Suit yourself.”
Miriam cleared her throat. “Anyway, like I was saying. Ordinarily at a restaurant, the meal would come out with multiple courses. An appetizer, then maybe a soup course, salad, then your entrée. You want to defer to your host on how many courses to order,” she said.
“What if I’m hungrier than Jack Wainswright?”
She shook her head. “The idea is to keep everyone at the table eating at the same pace. You don’t want him to be digging into dessert while you’re still working on your salad.”
“Unlikely.” Jason grinned. “I’m a fast eater.”
“For the sake of a professional dinner, that’s not a selling point. There’s no shame in going slow.”
“Sure there is. It means I get to eat less.”
Miriam raised an eyebrow at him, but Jason just grinned and lifted his wineglass in a mock toast to her. He took a sip, then set down his
glass, picked up his utensils, and sliced into his meat again. With the skill of a surgeon, he cut his pork into a dozen little bite-sized hunks, his hands moving with meticulous precision. Miriam watched, fascinated, almost reluctant to stop him.
“Um, Jason? You’re very efficient there, but you kinda want to cut just one bite at a time,” she said.
“Got it,” he said, nodding once as he forked a bite into his mouth and chewed. “See? This is good stuff. The advice, I mean, but so is this mushroom thingy. Unreal, seriously.”
“Thanks.” Miriam took a bite of her own pork and savored the burst of flavors and the moist juiciness of the meat. “I take it you didn’t do a lot of formal business dinners in your previous job?”
“No. Half the time I was guiding trips, which meant roasting weenies over a campfire or eating baked beans straight from the can.”
“After opening it with a machete?”
He grinned. “Only if I forgot my Leatherman.”
Miriam flashed on a memory of her dad doing the same thing on a family camping trip, grinning at her with cracker crumbs in his beard. A prick of sadness needled her in the gut, and Miriam took a sip of wine to tamp it down.
“So what if I sit down in the restaurant and there are a zillion utensils?” Jason asked, pulling her back to the present. “I think I figured it out here, but I’ve seen TV shows where they have this huge arsenal of forks and knives and spoons and—”
“Right,” Miriam said. “When in doubt, start with the utensil farthest from the plate and work your way inward.”
“Oh,” he said. “That seems simple enough.”
“It gets a little more complicated when you throw in early courses like soup or fish or oysters. In cases like that, you’ll want to—”
Hiccup!
“Okay, that’s it,” Jason said as he threw down his napkin. “Every time you do that, you get this look on your face like you just cursed in church or something. It’s just a hiccup. Everyone does it. Hell, if it’ll make you feel better, I can probably work up a belch or something.”
“That won’t be necessary. I just—”
Hiccup!
“Dammit!” Miriam set her water glass down hard. “I’m trying to teach you proper dinner etiquette. I’m hardly setting a good example.”
“It’s an uncontrollable reflex, Miriam. Besides, it’s not like you farted at the table.”
“God,” she said as she dropped her fork with a clatter. “This meal is going downhill fast. I feel like I need to—”
Hiccup!
“That you do,” Jason said with a grin. “Wanna try one of the cures I suggested?”
“What were they again?”
“There’s plugging your ears while you swallow water, or bending over to drink it,” he said.
“Oh. Well, maybe I could try—”
Hiccup!
Jason grinned wider. “Of course, we had a guy on a backpacking tour once that had seriously chronic hiccups. He’d tried some really crazy cures. Pulling on his tongue, having someone cover his mouth and blow air up his nose, rectal massage, or—”
“What?”
He held up his hands in mock defense. “I’m just telling you what my client tried. But hey, I’m game for anything.”
“Water,” she said and picked up her glass. “I’ll try the stuff with the water.” She started to take a drink, then frowned. “Wait, how am I supposed to plug my ears and hold a glass at the same time?”
“You could get a straw,” he suggested. “Or we could make it a two-person job.”
She hesitated, thinking about it. She’d already embarrassed herself enough during this meal. Did she really want to humiliate herself by having this guy stick his fingers in her ears? Maybe if she tried—
Hiccup!
“Okay,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “Will you please plug my ears?”
“My pleasure.” Jason stood up, flexing his fingers with dramatic flair.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Miriam said, trying to stifle another hiccup as he pushed in his chair and stepped closer, making goose bumps prickle her arms.
“Hey, you got to bail me out when I was covered in mud and locked out of my house,” he said. “It’s only fair that I come to your aid when you need a couple of fingers stuck in your—”
Hiccup!
“Nice timing on that one,” he said with a smirk.
“Just shut up and stick ’em in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He moved behind her, and Miriam was conscious of the big, solid heat of him. She felt his fingers slide into her hair, and he pushed it back off her face. His palms were warm where they grazed the edges of her cheekbones, and Miriam thought of the way Phuzeei purred when she stroked the sides of his face.
She was on the brink of purring herself.
“Ready?” he asked, and his voice was almost a growl.
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, ready for just about anything he cared to offer.
Miriam picked up her water glass and braced herself for another hiccup. Nothing, at least not yet. She drew the glass to her lips. “Okay,” she said.
His fingers grazed the edges of her earlobes, and Miriam shivered. He slid his fingertips upward, dipping softly into the shells of her ears. It should have been weird. It should have been a turnoff.
But it was neither of those things. There was something ridiculously intimate about it, about feeling those thick, warm fingers pressing into her, those large thumbs skimming the edges of her lobes. She could feel his belt buckle against the nape of her neck, or at least she thought it was his belt buckle. Was he as turned on as she was?
Miriam tipped her head back and parted her lips, sipping at the icy water. She swallowed, marveling at the sensation of doing it with someone’s fingers in her ears. Her senses were dulled, and she could hear her own heartbeat, along with the strange glug-glug of water moving down her throat. She kept breathing, her lungs filling with the scent of rosemary and maybe Jason’s soap. His hands felt huge and warm on the edges of her face, and she kept swallowing, since it seemed like a good alternative to turning around and grabbing his ass.
“Keep going,” he said, or at least that’s what it sounded like. She couldn’t hear very well with his fingers in her ears.
“Swallow,” he commanded, and she did it, getting more turned on by the minute. This was ridiculous. There was nothing erotic about a guy sticking his fingers in her ears while she gulped ice water and tried not to make a fool of herself with another obnoxious diaphragm spasm.
At last, she set her glass down, her breath coming fast even though she hadn’t done anything strenuous. She felt Jason’s fingertips slide from her ears, and felt stupid for missing the warmth.
He sat down next to her, grinning, his knee bumping hers beneath the table. “How’s that?”
She waited, breathing in and out, checking in with herself. “Good, I think.” She took a few more breaths, waiting for another hiccup. Nothing. She looked at him and grinned. “I think I’m cured.”
“Excellent.”
“Yay!”
“High five,” he said, and held up his massive palm. She had no choice but to smack her hand against his. It didn’t budge, the palm solid and enormous against hers.
“Okay, give me some more etiquette tips,” he said as he eased back in his chair. “Seems like talking might be your trigger, so let’s put that to the test.”
“All right.” She tried to think of something she hadn’t already covered. “Okay. No elbows on the table at any point during the meal.”
“I already knew that one. What else?”
“Um, use your napkin often, both for your hands and for wiping your mouth.”
“Roger that,” he said. “So far so good.”
“Um, don’t put your phone or your keys on the table.” She was struggling to come up with something instead of obsessing over whether she might hiccup or if Jason would touch her again if she did. “And don’t
take photos of your food for Instagram or Facebook or whatever.”
“Please,” he said with a dramatic shudder. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d want to post pictures of a pork chop?”
“Probably not,” she agreed, still trying to keep focused on her body. “Okay, uh—don’t reach across the table to sample someone else’s food, not even if they offer. And if your food isn’t cooked properly—like if your steak is too rare or they forget to put the dressing on the side instead of—”
Hiccup!
“Dammit!” She dropped her head into her hands.
“Want to try another cure?”
“I think we should call it a night, Jason.” She peered up at him through her fingers. “I’m so sorry. This is terribly embarrassing.”
“No way.” He shook his head and leaned toward her again. He was close enough she could feel the heat of his shoulder, close enough to feel his breath ruffling her hair. “You haven’t even given me a chance to show off my first aid skills.”
“Your first aid skills extend to hiccups?”
“Not exactly. But I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Fine,” she said, then covered her mouth as she felt another hiccup coming on. “What else do you have up your sleeve?” she said through her fingers.
Jason reached up and touched her hand. One by one, he peeled her fingers away from her mouth. Instead of letting go, he held fast to her hand, tightening his grip just a little.
“I have one more surefire cure.”
Miriam shivered, even though she wasn’t cold. “What’s that?”
“It’s guaranteed to work.”
“Then why didn’t you do it before?”
“Because,” he said as he brushed her hair back from her face, sending her heart pounding into her skull. “You told me not to kiss you again.”
“Oh.”
And then he did it anyway.
Chapter Seven
As Jason lowered his lips to Miriam’s, he remembered her words from earlier that day.
