One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  She was a pretty little thing. He’d all but asked her out a few months ago. It was a Friday night for God’s sake, and the look in her eyes said “recently single and ready to party” with neon letters. “I have plans,” he heard himself say. Shit. What the hell is wrong with you, son?

  “Oh.” Her lips went back to pouty. “Another time?”

  Nate nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great. Hey, you have a nice weekend.” He waved and headed for his battered truck. She was perfectly cute…well, except for the pineapples. Why hadn’t he noticed her scent before?

  Because you want cocoa butter.

  He slammed the door and jammed his shifter into reverse. “Shit.” He pulled into traffic, completely blanking out the handful of minutes it took to get to Casey’s. The woman was invading his mind like a damn virus. Swapping out his uniform polo for a lightweight sweater, he focused on the scent of garlic that wafted across the street. A storm was rolling in, leaving a crisp bite to the sea-tinged air. He shoved his sleeves up, grabbing his leather messenger bag. He’d come up with a few more ways to modify the Thumb Lock and wanted to go over his notes. It wasn’t a new idea, but it could be a lucrative one.

  A hot date with a few slices and a beer on a busy Friday night sounded a helluva lot more appealing than frozen dinner and his empty apartment.

  Looping his bag over his head, he crossed the street. As usual, the line was out the door of the cafeteria-style setup. Mickey had several pies ready for the occasional by-the-slice customer such as himself and the ovens were running hot with phone and walk-in orders. He took a deep breath. Nothing quite like the sweet smell of sauce and top-volume shouting to remind him of home. He might be Irish to the core, but his mother used Italian food to fill up the bellies of her four boys and husband.

  He finally reached the front of the line, smiling at the cheerful woman manning the register. He’d been coming there so long, he knew her family almost as well as his own.

  She gave a quick bubble of laughter and boosted herself up on the counter to get to him. He laughed for the first time that afternoon and leaned down for her smacking kiss, letting her wrap her arms around his neck. “Hey, Cross Boy Number Two.”

  “Hiya, Mama Cass.”

  “Hey now! You don’t get to call me that anymore. I stopped eating all that delicious food that my husband cooks,” she yelled toward the kitchen, grinning back up at him.

  “No one should eat like a bird or a rabbit,” Mickey yelled from the back.

  Casey winked. “He says that now, but he likes that new bathing suit I bought.”

  “Well, you look fabulous. If you weren’t married I’d be all over you.” At her quick and pretty blush, Nate dug up another smile. “Think you can give me a couple of slices with the works and a Sam?”

  Casey’s smile fell away into a frown. She plated two large wedges of pizza and dumped a handful of garlic knots on top. “You’ve got that fake smile going on, Nathan. Girl trouble?”

  He dug for his money. “Eh, you know me. I’m too busy for girls most of the time.”

  “Only stubborn men say they’re too busy for girls,” Casey said, flicking her curly ponytail over her shoulder, looking less a fifty-something grandmother and more like a woman barely out of her thirties.

  He smiled wide. “Stubborn, huh? You been talkin’ to Ma again?”

  She handed him his tray and laid the beer on its side. “I know Mandy’s kids as well as my own and you’re pouting, Nathan Patrick.”

  “I’ll get over it, there’s more fish in the sea.” He tried another smile, amping up the wattage. “Nice seeing ya, Case.”

  “Come around more often, baby.” She nodded to the next customer. “Hey, how are ya?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Nate turned around. “Yeah?”

  “Nathan, is it?”

  Nate nodded, trying to place the man with the long dark hair. He looked as though he belonged down in L.A. His gaze drifted to the blond guy next to him, their hands linked loosely. “Do I know you?”

  “No.” He held his other hand out. “But I’m determined to make sure you do.”

  Nate glanced back down at their clasped hands. “I’m flattered, but…”

  The man laughed, his voice deep and musical as it filled the room. “Oh man, that’s rich.” He nodded to a table outside. “Give me two minutes of your time.”

  Nate frowned. “I’m just about to head out.”

  “No, you were going to sit outside and enjoy the food like the rest of us. I’m not hitting on you, but we do have something to discuss.”

  “Look, if you’re selling something—”

  “No. Lord, but you’re a careful one. You’re perfect for her.”

  “Okay, buddy, I’m flattered but I’m not looking for a casting call or to model for a painting or whatever you’re into.”

  The man’s eyebrow rose. “Propositioned a few times, Nate?”

  “How the hell do you know my name?” And yes, living in San Francisco there was no end to the weird that happened just walking down the street. Most of the time he could laugh it off, but today was not the day to fuck around with him. He was tired and pissed and just wanted to enjoy his damn pizza.

  “Look, just sit down and eat. I won’t bite.”

  “Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. Could today get any weirder? The blond man carried their tray and snagged a table just as another couple headed for it. The dark-haired one smiled winningly and dropped into the seat. Nate had a feeling this was going to require at least half his beer.

  “I know you have no idea who I am,” the dark-haired one started. “First off, I’m Max,” he gestured to the man beside him, “and this is my boyfriend, Will.”

  Nate shook Will’s hand and gripped his bottle again. “Well, now we’re even. I’ll ask you again, how the hell do you know who I am?”

  “We have a mutual acquaintance.”

  Taking a long sip, he put the bottle down and reached for his slice, folding it in half before he bit in. Sighing a little, he put down the pizza, picked out the roasted red peppers and ate them separately. “I’m still in the dark.”

  “Miranda Woods.”

  Nate swore as his teeth sliced through his lower lip. He grabbed his napkin and held it against the gash until his napkin stopped turning pink.

  “I see you know who I’m talking about,” Max said.

  Nate picked up his beer, pressing the cool body of the bottle against the throb. Familiar throb, he thought darkly. Taking the bottle away, he took another pull. Looking at the scant two inches left, he grimaced. “I barely know her.”

  “Will, why don’t you get our friend here another beer and a glass of merlot for me?” The wordless Will stood and went back inside. Max leaned in. “I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I saw how you looked at her.”

  Nate’s jaw clicked together, recognition teasing at the edges of his memory. “You were the guy with her at the club the other night, right?”

  Max smiled, his Mediterranean features creasing with charm and warmth. “I knew you were observant.”

  “I thought you were her boyfriend. So I’m obviously not that observant.”

  Max laughed. “What? I don’t scream gay?”

  Nate’s lips quirked into a half grin despite the situation. “No, I can’t say that you do.” He’d spent his life in San Francisco and it was just another fact of life, it didn’t bother him one way or the other. “How do you know Miranda?”

  Max leaned back in his chair, cupping the bowl of the wineglass in his palm. “I work for her.”

  “Well if you work for her, then you know she doesn’t give me the time of day.” He finished his beer and took another bite.

  “I can honestly say Miranda had no idea you were one and the same.” Max swished his wine before taking a sip.

  Nate laughed. “I know. I’m pretty much a ficus.”

  Max laughed. Again, the sound was rich and full of humor, not derision. “Oh Nathan, you’ll be
good for her. You already know her better than most.”

  Nate pressed his napkin to his lips. “Thanks,” he said to Will as he deposited a frosty beer onto the glass table.

  “No problem,” Will said with a heavy accent.

  Surprised, he twisted off the top.

  “I know, dreamy, isn’t it?” Max said and slid a finger down the other man’s cheek. “He doesn’t talk too much because then everyone wants to know where he’s from, and how long he’s been here.”

  Will grinned, two dimples digging grooves into his sun-darkened skin. “New Zealand, five years. Four of them with Max,” he said succinctly.

  “Cheers,” Nate said and lifted his beer.

  “At least you didn’t say g’day.” Will lifted his fork, twirling linguini and clams through Mickey’s potent garlic sauce. “I will say that I love Little Italy and it’s worth every penny to come to Casey’s.”

  “Amen,” Nate said, resting his beer on his belly. “So tell me, Max, what on earth do you think we have to talk about when it comes to Miranda?” His curiosity was overriding his good sense. He had to know. “Especially when I’m right in thinking I’m no more than a boring plant as far as she’s concerned.”

  “Miranda just doesn’t know what’s good for her.”

  “And you think you do?” Nate snorted and picked up his second slice.

  “I know I do. Which is why I’m going to tell you she’ll be at the Book Haus tonight at nine and I think you should be too.”

  He paused, the sausage, pepperoni and veggie-laden pizza an inch from his mouth. “I’m sorry?”

  “You heard me.” Max filched a garlic knot from his plate. “She goes there every Friday for a discussion group that she just sits and listens to. You need to go save her from boredom.”

  “Because a ficus tree is so much more interesting?” Nate groused.

  “Even if you’re just a ficus tree with phenomenal shoulders, you’re better for her than that group of old maids. Go save her for me, please.” Max leaned forward. “I’m begging here. Ask Will, I don’t beg.”

  Will’s lips slid into a smirk. “Much.”

  “What makes you think I’m interested?” he asked around the lukewarm cheese and toppings.

  “Oh you’re interested.” Max sat back again, toying with the garlic knot before he pulled it apart, popping a piece in his mouth. “I saw you give me the evil eye when you thought I was her boyfriend.”

  Nate just continued chewing.

  “C’mon, Nathan—”

  “Nate,” he corrected.

  “Yes, you would be a Nate.” He waved that away. “Look, she works hard and forgets that everyone needs a little time to play. You’re perfect for that.” He held up his finger when Nate opened his mouth. “You made her hormones come out of hibernation. That’s enough reason to at least see if you can hold down a conversation with the woman.”

  Nate sighed. “I’m not going to deny that I’m interested. A man would have to be dead not to be interested in someone like Ms.—Miranda.”

  “But…” Max said, reaching for another knot.

  Nate snagged it first. At Max’s frown, Nate tore into it. “Look, I’m flattered you think I’m hot enough to talk to her, but I’m not looking for a quick fling.”

  Max steepled his fingers together. “Well, why don’t you go talk to her and then make your decision.”

  “I could be a stalker, a killer or a crazy person, Max. Would Miranda appreciate you siccing me on her?”

  “Nope,” Max tapped his fingers against his lips, “and nope.”

  “Hell,” Nate said and sat back. “Where’s the Book Haus?”

  “That’s my guy!”

  Nate sipped his beer. “I must be out of my mind.” But if this was the only way to get her out of his system, he was willing to do it. He couldn’t look any more like an asshole if he tried.

  Miranda’s shoe dangled from the end of her toe in time to the Springsteen song piping out of the café. She found herself paying more attention to the mix of music the café worker had compiled than the speaker for her women’s group. Usually the Friday night crew of single women was pretty entertaining.

  Some of them were single by choice, some by design and some because their ideal male was just too Prince Charmingly artificial to be real. All of them were witty and had a great way about them that was both self-deprecating and empowering at the same time. Too bad tonight’s topic was so boring.

  Who the hell cared about manning up at work? She owned her own business and if she got any more male in her thinking she was going to have to switch to pants full time. Resisting the urge to dig into her purse and organize it, she sang along to the Bangles in her head, because it was a hazy shade of winter.

  Jayne, the forty-something-year-old of their group, met her eyes from the podium and Miranda smiled encouragingly even though she wanted to make the cartoon sign for choking. As the song changed to Duffy’s throwback to the days of Dusty Springfield voice, she wished she had another latte. Stifling a sigh, she scanned the room to entertain herself.

  The businesswoman looking over her shoulder as she slid into the erotica section caused a quick grin. Then there was a spiky-haired teen at the comic book and manga aisles flipping through the spinners, an armful causing him to list to the left a little.

  Her interest piqued at the span of shoulders that flashed from the shelves along the back of the store. A battered, brown messenger bag bumped his hip, thick-soled motorcycle boots peeked around the end of the aisle followed by navy pants that had the starched look of a working man. Her gaze slid up, enjoying the long line of leg and soft sweater hugging his midsection.

  Something about watching someone unaware always gave her a little spurt of pleasure. The hand resting on the bag had long fingers with blunt ends. Man hands. She pushed up her glasses as her belly fluttered. She was in bad shape if staring at some stranger was getting her all hot and bothered. She hadn’t even seen his—

  Gray eyes met hers and her mouth dropped open. She quickly swung her gaze back to Jayne as she wrapped up her lecture. The questions buzzed with the baker’s dozen of females in the room. Each had a story, of course.

  She would not look back there again. She laughed with the rest of the women, trying to pay attention to their chatter.

  What was he doing there?

  She slowly let her gaze fall to the back again, but he was gone.

  Dammit.

  She shook her head and turned back to her group. She was seeing things. She was just putting a face to the stranger, that’s all. It wasn’t her dance partner-delivery guy. She was still mortified by that, thank you very much.

  “If you don’t recognize me this time, Ms. Woods, I’m taking you to the optometrist.”

  Miranda stiffened at the voice behind her. She twisted around in her chair, looking down at the café from her slightly elevated perch on the book floor. His long, rugged frame was sprawled out on the too-small chair. A large hand swallowed his mug as his lazy, hooded gaze traveled over her body. His face had gone to scruffy, accentuating his long neck and an Adam’s apple that made her mouth go dry. The V-neck of his sweater showed a smooth notch of skin that teased at her memories of their dance.

  Saying nothing, she turned back around and ignored him. If she pretended he wasn’t there, he’d eventually give up. Stuffing her foot back into her shoe, she gathered her untouched notebook and pens, tucking them into her purse.

  “Miranda?”

  She smiled at Jayne, “Hey, great topic tonight.”

  “Right.” Jayne crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you heard a word I said tonight, darlin’.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, I’ve been a little distracted.”

  Jayne peeked over her shoulder and waggled her fingers at the delivery guy. “I’d be distracted if he was trying to get my attention too.”

  Rolling her eyes, she glanced back and saw him in the same spot, with the same sleepy look in his eyes. “He�
�s not trying to get my—”

  “Yes he is,” Delivery Guy called out.

  She pressed her lips together. “I’ll see you next week?”

  Jayne smirked. “Sure, Miranda.” She reached for her briefcase. “But if you’re smart, you’ll have plans next Friday instead of trying to sit through Debbie’s lesson about beefing up your online profile to get more hits on Facebook and other lessons on social networking.”

  “You’re kidding.” Miranda’s hands went limp on the table.

  “I wish I was.” Jayne waved and winked at her delivery guy. “See ya.”

  Sighing, Miranda turned around again and leaned on the railing that sectioned off the two parts of the bookstore. “Are you stalking me, Dance Guy?”

  He stood up. “Nate.” He looped his bag over his head and stuffed it behind his back. “I’m your FedEx guy too, Ms. Woods.” He grinned. “But you knew that.”

  “I did,” she said simply. No use hiding it now. She didn’t lie very well anymore. She was sorely out of practice. “Tell me, Nate,” she emphasized his name, “just why are you here?”

  His chin was lifted to meet her gaze, which only showed off his ridiculously chiseled jawline. Who the hell looked that good all over for God’s sake? “Funny thing happened at Casey’s today.”

  She blinked. “Casey’s?”

  “Yeah, you know the little place on—”

  “Everyone knows Casey’s, Nate,” she huffed.

  “Well, Miranda,” he used the same emphasis, “did you know your coworker Max was going to be there for dinner?”

  Miranda’s heart sank. Yeah, she knew that. Max and Will called Friday night their carb night and went to get their fill from Casey’s or Fertelli’s. “Did Max put you up to this?”

  Nate held up a finger and rounded the tables within the café area, took the two steps that led to the reading area as one and met her at the table. A few of the girls who lingered simply stared, giggled or blatantly purred in his general direction. Miranda groaned. Man, she was never going to live this down.

  He towered over her, his well-worn boots giving him yet another inch on her as his shoulders seemed to block her in against the railing. She fought the urge to escape, or at the very least push him out of the way. He was big in a way that made her uncomfortable and aware all at the same time. She didn’t want to be aware, dammit. “Look, Nate, if Max gave you some sort of indication that I was interested in anything other than that dance we shared, then he’s mistaken.”