by Elaine Fox
P.B. tilted his head. “I know why you’re being such a jerk about this.”
“I’m not being a jerk.”
“Sure you are.” P.B.’s expression was smug. “And you’re probably giving me bad advice too, just so I’ll blow it with her. Well, I’m onto you, buddy. I’m taking her to the pizza place. She’s probably sick to death of French.”
Steve snorted. “She better not be. We haven’t even opened yet.”
He glanced back toward the kitchen and wondered if, after this morning, Roxanne might be hoping he’d quit. She couldn’t think he was behind a break-in and still want him working for her. Hell, maybe she’d even fire him.
Roxanne strode out of the kitchen and P.B. swiftly straightened.
Steve stifled an urge to do the same. Manners be damned, they were adversaries now.
She drilled Steve with a challenging look. “Steve, I’ve told Officer Stuart that you got home last night about the time I thought I heard breaking glass.”
Slowly Steve pushed himself up on the stool and glanced at P.B., wondering if he noticed her accusatory tone.
“He wants to ask you some questions,” she added.
Officer Stuart stepped forward. A short, stocky guy, he was obviously new and looked at P.B. as if one bad question would make P.B. fire him on the spot.
He cleared his throat and poised his pen on his tiny, spiral-topped pad. “Mr. Serrano, approximately what time did you arrive home last night?”
Steve gazed coolly at Roxanne and answered, “About three. This morning. As I’m sure my employer informed you.”
The cop nodded and wrote on his pad.
With a last lift of her brows, Roxanne excused herself and went back to the kitchen. P.B. immediately followed.
The little cop breathed an audible sigh. “And when you arrived home, where did you park?” He studiously made notes on the pad.
Steve wondered if he was writing down the questions as well as the answers.
He sighed. “In the alley, at the back of the building. Where I always park.”
“And did you see anything suspicious?” Scratch, scratch, scratch.
“You mean other than the guy with a grappling hook, dressed in black, wearing a ski mask and crawling up the side of the building?” He shook his head pensively. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
Officer Stuart stopped writing and looked eagerly from his pad to Steve’s face. “A man in a ski mask? Is that what you saw?”
Steve sat back and studied the guy until the cop actually blushed. “What do you think?”
In classic P.B.-style, Officer Stuart puffed his chest out and looked stern. “Mr. Serrano, I need you to take my questions seriously.”
Steve’s gaze moved into the kitchen, where P.B. was standing too close to Roxanne, speaking to her with an overly charming look on his face.
Great, that would be all he needed. Roxanne for a boss with P.B for her boyfriend. The two of them would be insufferable. And P.B. would think he owned the place.
Steve turned back to the officer just as Roxanne reemerged from the kitchen. She looked flushed and slightly flustered. Had P.B. done that to her? He tried to imagine her being girlish and flirty, really interested in P.B., and couldn’t do it.
He had to admit, though, every time she came into a room he was reminded of how beautiful she was, as if his memory changed when she was absent, because he couldn’t quite believe it unless she was right there in front of him. It wasn’t that he desired her, he was just taken aback time and again by her presence. Perfect lips, ivory skin, ink-dark eyes and that abundance of thick shiny hair. Not to mention the way she moved. Graceful. Catlike.
He’d have been in real trouble if she’d turned out to be nice.
Right behind her, however, came P.B. and in his hands was something to startle both Steve and Officer Stuart.
With a big grin, P.B. held aloft a dead squirrel. At least Steve thought it was dead. It wasn’t moving.
“Found the perp!” he announced. Two fingers gripped the squirrel’s tail. He swung it from side to side.
Everyone in the dining room stopped and turned at his voice.
“Is that a squirrel?” Rita called.
P.B. turned his grin on her. “Sure is. Nothing like wildlife trapped indoors to make a helluva mess.”
“I’m thinking Brunswick stew tonight, chef.” George guffawed. “A Virginia classic!”
“Good Lord, Officer.” Sir Nigel sniffed and turned his head partly away, keeping one wary eye on the thing. “Please remove it from the dining area expeditiously.”
P.B. turned back toward the bar.
Steve looked from the squirrel to Roxanne’s face. So that’s what had made her flush. Good, he thought. His faith in her was restored. She hadn’t seemed the type to make a fool of herself over P.B.
“We’re going to have to sterilize the entire kitchen.” She grimaced and threw herself on a bar stool. “Fill the entire place with boiling water.”
“Is it dead?” Steve asked.
P.B. swung the animal so close to Steve’s face he had to pull back to avoid being hit.
“Of course it’s dead,” P.B. said. “You think it’d let me do this if it wasn’t?”
Steve moved sideways away from the swinging animal. “For God’s sake, P.B. What are you, in fourth grade?”
“What? It’s cute.” P.B. backed off but swung it a little more, watching it with a boyish grin.
Steve glanced at Roxanne, who watched P.B. with a look of concern.
“So how did it die?” Steve asked. “There’s not a drop of blood on it.”
“Huh?” P.B. stopped the animal and dropped his arm to his side. “I don’t know. Scared itself to death, I guess.”
Steve laughed. “You’re saying it gave itself a heart attack?”
P.B. looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “You want me to ask the department to autopsy it?”
“Can we just,” Roxanne motioned the squirrel away, “put it in a bag or something? I don’t want its fleas or whatever other parasites it might have flung all over the restaurant. We’re going to have to sandblast the place as it is.”
“Oh sure.” P.B. was instantly contrite. “Sorry about that.” He went back to the kitchen.
“So…” Steve looked cautiously at Roxanne. “A nocturnal squirrel.”
“Hm.” She nodded, not looking at him. “So it would seem.”
“A nocturnal squirrel that threw itself through the back window.”
She turned her eyes to his face. “I had the same thought.”
He held her gaze. “Curious.”
“Yes.” She looked away again, nodding. “Yes.”
Then, after a second, she turned a sly look on him and said, “Good thing it wasn’t a snake.”
“You agreed to go out with that guy?” Skip sounded appalled. “That big blond guy with all the teeth?”
Roxanne turned from the seafood case and laughed at him. “All the teeth?”
They were standing in the Whole Foods Market, trying to figure out what to buy. Roxanne had invited Skip and his girlfriend, Kelly, to dinner and had promised to cook. Besides, she wanted to try out a couple of desserts on them, see which they thought were the best. But Kelly couldn’t make it so it was just the two of them.
Skip shook his head with dismissive disgust. “He bares his teeth a lot. He’s the kind of guy who makes people think he’s smiling, but he’s not. He’s showing dominance.”
Roxanne snickered and bent over again to look more closely at the scallops.
“I like the look of these scallops. I can do them with asparagus and black truffles. Or I can do the sole. What do you think?” she asked.
Skip leaned over next to her. “I don’t know. How about a burger?”
“Funny.” She waved the clerk over and inquired about the sole, then ordered the scallops.
They waited while he wrapped the order.
“I don’t get it, Rox, why that guy? He gave me th
e creeps.” Skip looked at an older woman who was carefully examining four different types of cocktail sauce. “Get the organic kind,” he leaned over and confided. “They’ll think less of you here if you don’t.”
The woman glanced up, saw he was talking to her and her expression turned haughty.
“Really.” Skip nodded. “People talk.”
“Skip,” Roxanne admonished, with an embarrassed smile at the woman.
The woman grabbed the organic one, turned on her heel and left.
Skip laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that everyone here is so pretentious. Look at them, with their tiny carts and their designer vegetables.”
“This place is great. You’re just jealous because all you have in your neighborhood is a Safeway.”
“I like hormones in my meat. Keeps me manly.” Skip flexed.
“That explains that.”
“I’m serious, Rox. I mean, it’s one thing for you to lose your mind and give up the big bucks of modeling for the hardscrabble life of a restaurant owner. But to go completely nuts and start dating G.I. Joe?”
“You really think P.B.’s that bad?” She tried to remember her thought process this morning when P.B. had caught her off guard with his offer. “He’s actually nice. And he’s helped me twice now with difficult situations.”
“Oh please. Putting a couple of girls in a cab? I could have done that.”
Roxanne snorted. “But you didn’t.”
She grabbed a pound of organic butter and they moved toward the cheese section. This was by far Roxanne’s favorite area. Huge wax-coated wheels of cheddars and Jarlesburgs and Romanos stood amidst wedges of jack, Swiss, gouda and edam. Piles of bries and camemberts vied with goat cheese of every description and fresh balls of mozzarella in plastic tubs.
It looked like a Disney-inspired Cheese World.
“And his help with the burglary was his job.” Skip picked up a paper-wrapped round of Cowgirl Creamery. “He was paid to help you out with that, sister.” He put the cheese down and studied a jar of dried fig spread. “If you ask me, the only one who’s really helped you out so far is the bartender. He’s the one who got up first thing in the morning to help without getting paid for it. If you give anybody a gratitude date it should be him.”
“Steve? He’s not even looking for a gratitude date.” Roxanne scoffed, but couldn’t help remembering that steamy dream, albeit with nothing but consternation now. “He’s got a girlfriend, for one thing. And for another, he is so not my type.”
“Oh, I forgot. Your type is—what, now? Married?”
Roxanne stopped dead in her tracks and glared at him.
Skip threw his hands up in immediate surrender. “Sorry. Sorry. That was below the belt. I’m sorry.” He lowered his hands and picked up a bag of grated parmesan. “I just don’t see this P.B. guy being any better for you than Marty What’s-his-face. P.B.’s got arrogant written all over him. Is that what you want? Someone to push you around?”
“He has not once pushed me around, Skip. And besides, I’m just going out to eat with the guy. I’ll probably save moving in with him for the second date.”
Skip inhaled and exhaled heavily. “All right.”
“Oh good God. Now you sound like my mother.”
“How is your mother?”
They moved to the wine section and Roxanne picked up a bottle to read the label.
“Fine. And every bit as optimistic about my success as you are. Thank God she lives in Florida now and can’t visit me with her dire predictions.”
Skip raised his brows but didn’t look at her. He picked up a bottle, too, then placed it in the cart. “Well, she did own a restaurant most of her life. She must know what she’s talking about.”
Roxanne turned around, one hand on the cart handle. “You know as well as I do that she loved owning that restaurant. You were a waiter there; you saw her. She loved the customers, the food, the day-to-day planning and delivery. She loved being in control of everyone and everything. And she loved complaining about it.”
“That’s true.” Skip nodded.
“Trust me. It’s not that she doesn’t think it’s a good thing to do. She just doesn’t think I can do it.”
She put the wine she’d chosen in the cart and started to turn around to move back down the aisle. Skip stopped her. “That’s not what I mean, Rox. I know you can do it. I just don’t understand why you want to. You’ve worked your tail off and made a boatload of money. Why not relax for a little while?”
“Because I haven’t accomplished anything, Skip.”
“What do you mean? Your face was all over everything for a while. You were in Sports Illustrated, for crying out loud. I still get more respect from the kids because I know you, by the way.”
She smiled. “I’m glad it helped you. But it didn’t do much for me. Beyond making money, that is. Which was nice. But still. It was just my face.”
“And your body.”
She rolled her eyes toward him. “Right. But I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t respected. I’ve told you all this before. It’s important for me to succeed on my own, using my head.”
“I know.” He picked up a loaf of bread, sighing. “I just can’t help thinking I’d like to fly all over the world having my picture taken and getting paid tons of money instead of coaching a bunch of spoiled high schoolers to throw each other around.”
“Skip, you are molding young minds. Shaping people’s futures. Being a role model for the leaders of tomorrow.” She shot him a smirk. “And you only work nine months out of the year.”
“You’ve got me on the last point. The other three are highly debatable.”
They got in line to check out. Roxanne, in front of the cart, pulled down a Yoga Journal and started flipping through it. Behind the cart, Skip pushed into her gently.
She looked over.
Look, Skip mouthed, pointing in front of her.
Roxanne glanced ahead and saw the back of a tousled male head. Her stomach lurched. Steve.
Skip pushed on the cart again.
Roxanne looked over.
Skip mouthed something she didn’t get. She shook her head, squinting at him. He mouthed it again, as incomprehensibly as the first time.
She leaned across the cart and whispered, “Vitamins? What are you talking about?”
Skip rolled his eyes. “No. I said invite him.”
She pulled back and whispered indignantly, “Where?”
“To dinner,” he whispered back. “Tonight. With us.”
She shook her head. “No way. You’re crazy.” She looked away.
Skip pushed on the cart again.
“What?”
“You said you wanted to talk to him and you blew it the other day. Now’s the perfect opportunity.”
“No!”
“Come on. I’ll be there to keep it from looking like a date. Besides, I want to know a little more about his toothy friend.”
She gave him an admonishing look. “Then definitely no.”
“If he knows you’re going out with his friend, he’s not going to think you’re coming on to him. Besides, I’m just kidding.”
She turned back to the magazine. “Good.”
“No, I mean asking about G.I. Joe.” He pushed on the cart again and jerked his head in Steve’s direction. “Look. All he’s got there is a wrap. He’s having a friggin’ sandwich for dinner. As a chef, that should offend all your sensibilities.”
“I’m a pastry chef. Besides, their wraps are very good here.”
“Just invite him,” Skip said. “It’s neighborly.”
Roxanne, visions of that evening on the stairwell still vivid in her memory, shook her head. “Absolutely not.” She looked back at her magazine.
Skip was silent a minute. Then Roxanne noticed the cart pressing harder and harder into her hip. She braced a foot outward and pushed back.
Skip pushed harder.
She dropped the magazine, turned and put both hands on the cart and
glared at him. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
Skip grinned and looked just beyond her. “Oh hey. How you doing?”
Roxanne closed her eyes, then turned to look behind her. Steve had glanced back, no doubt to see what all the stage whispering was about, and Skip had caught his eye.
Roxanne put on a smile. “Hello, Steve. Fancy meeting you here.”
He looked genuinely surprised—as she knew she did not—and glanced from one to the other of them. “Hey, hello.” He extended a hand toward Skip, avoiding any contact with Roxanne by leaning pointedly away from her. “Skip, right?”
Skip smiled and looked smugly at Roxanne. “That’s right. Good memory.”
Steve straightened back up. “Trick of the trade.” He shot Roxanne a small, albeit fiendish, smile. “How’re you doing, boss?”
She answered with a slight nod. “Fine. You don’t have to call me boss.”
His smile grew. “I know.”
“Whatcha got there, Steve? A wrap?” Skip asked, gazing over the basket toward his small wrapped parcel on the conveyor belt.
Steve glanced back at it a second. “Yeah. Chicken Caesar.”
“Those are good,” Roxanne said.
“And it looks good, but you should join us,” Skip said. “We’re having scallops and truffles. Roxanne’s one helluva cook.”
“Is she? I thought she just did desserts.” Steve inched forward as the food on the conveyor belt in front of him was tallied.
“That too. In fact,” Skip turned a pleasant face to Roxanne, “didn’t you say you had some desserts to sample tonight? Steve’s opinion would be a good one to get, too, don’t you think? Especially since Kelly couldn’t make it.”
“Of course.” Roxanne shot daggers at Skip with her eyes before turning back to Steve. “You’re welcome to join us if you’ve got nothing better to do.”
Steve glanced from Roxanne to Skip.
“Really.” Skip nodded confidently, gesturing toward Roxanne. “Excellent cook. And you guys can talk about the restaurant. I won’t mind.”
“Ah, a working dinner.” Steve sent a lazy glance to Roxanne.
“Six eighty-nine,” the cashier told Steve. “Do you want plastic or paper?”
“Neither.” Steve pulled out his wallet and glanced back at Roxanne. “I don’t want to interrupt your—”
