“You were a Boy Scout? That’s so cute.”
Cute? He didn’t want Sara to think of him as “cute.” But he supposed “hot and studly” was out of the question.
“Sara, where are we going again?”
She looked around. “Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell you to turn at the last light.”
“No problem.” Reece made a U-turn. “So where is it?”
“I’m not sure of the exact address, but I think I know how to get there.”
“And what’s this place called?”
“I don’t remember, exactly. But I think it’s an Indian place. Or maybe Pakistani. Maybe there’s an elephant on the sign.”
Pakistani food? No, thanks. Despite the fact New York had ethnic restaurants on every corner, he was a meat- and-potatoes man. Spicy, foreign food had never done anything but give him heartburn. He didn’t even like pepperoni on his pizza.
Well, maybe he could get a hamburger. Few restaurants would refuse to cook a hamburger.
“I think you turn left at this next light,” Sara said uncertainly.
“You think?”
“It’s around here somewhere, don’t worry.”
Easy for her to say, but he hated not knowing where he was. It would never occur to him to wander around until he found a restaurant that he sort of knew the location of. If he’d been the one planning dinner, he would have found the name and address of the restaurant, programmed the information into his satellite navigation system and followed the directions.
“Want to look at the map?” He pointed to his GPS, which showed their current location.
“Oh, I can’t make heads or tails of maps. It’s easier for me to find things by feel.”
They wandered around for another fifteen minutes, making what Reece knew were increasingly random turns, until it became clear they were hopelessly lost.
“I saw a steak house back that way,” Reece said. “We could try that.”
Sara wrinkled her nose. “Steak is so boring. I know I can find this place. Give me five more minutes.”
In five more minutes he was going to start eating the leather on the dashboard. But he obliged her and, miracle of miracles, after a couple more turns, they found themselves at a strip shopping center in the middle of which was a sign with a red goat on it. The restaurant was called Sofia, and it was neither Indian nor Pakistani, but Bulgarian.
“That’s it!” Sara cried triumphantly. “I told you I could find it.”
“If we drove every street in Corpus Christi, we’d find it by process of elimination,” he grumbled. “Anyway, I don’t see an elephant.”
She punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be a spoilsport. We’re here, aren’t we? And that goat
They were somewhere. Which was not cause for celebration as far as Reece was concerned. He would’ve preferred the steak house. Yes, he was set in his ways. But he liked his ways.
“I’m not eating goat meat,” he said, though he did pull into a parking place. He could at least give the place a try, since Sara seemed to be so excited about it.
“You’ve never eaten goat?”
He pulled a face. “Have you?”
“Sure. In Mexico,
“It’s
“Well, I’m sure this place serves something you’ll like.”
The restaurant was kind of interesting, he had to admit, reminding him of something you might find in the Village. The decor was dark and red and suitably exotic, and everyone who worked there appeared to be actually from Bulgaria. The mouthwatering smell of grilled meats made Reece’s stomach growl. Maybe this wouldn’t be so horrible after all.
The prices were certainly reasonable. Not that he minded paying premium prices for really good food.
Sara ordered Bulgarian red wine, cold cucumber-yogurt soup, and some kind of pepper stuffed with meat and rice.
“Do you have a hamburger?” Reece asked when the waiter turned to him. “Or a plain beef steak?”
Sara and the waiter wore twin expressions of horror.
“Reece,” Sara said, “you can’t come to a restaurant like this and order hamburger. I’m not sure they even serve beef here. Don’t you want to try something interesting?”
“I don’t really like spicy food,” he said, feeling boring all of a sudden.
“How about this?” Sara asked, pointing to an unpronounceable word on the menu. “It’s supposed to be like a shepherd’s pie.”
That didn’t sound so bad. “Okay.”
Sara smiled, pleased, and Reece suddenly realized he would eat just about anything-even goat-to get that smile.
“Spicy food is an acquired taste,” she said when the waiter had gone. “If you experiment, you’ll find things you like.”
“I might like it, but my ulcer wouldn’t.”
“Ulcer? You have an ulcer?”
“I did two years ago.” It was the most miserable experience of his entire life. “Don’t worry, it’s better now. But I try not to tempt fate by eating weird stuff.”
“Hmm. I’ll bet your ulcer had a lot more to do with your work than your diet.”
His doctor had shared that opinion, but he’d refused to believe it. “Not likely. I love my work.”
“You eat, drink and sleep your work,” she countered. “You always have your cell phone glued to your ear, or your nose against the screen of your laptop. You check your watch constantly.”
He shrugged. “Unfortunately, my department doesn’t run itself.”
Sara’s observations weren’t new to him. He knew he spent more time and energy on his work than was strictly healthy.
He’d thought everything was under control in his department when he’d left almost a month ago for what was supposed to be a two-week leave of absence.
But the job had escalated when ownership of the business came into dispute, and the eventual resolution involved a complex merger of interests among the Remington cousins and Cooper’s soon-to-be wife, Allie Bateman.
Problems had also cropped up at his regular job, problems only he could solve.
“Did I say something wrong?” Sara said. “You suddenly got this look on your face like you swallowed a bug.”
He shook off his dismal thoughts. Tonight, at least, he ought to be able to forget about his job. He forced a smile. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong. You’re right, I do work too hard. But that’s the nature of the beast.”
When their dinners arrived, Reece was pleasantly surprised. His shepherd’s pie was delicious, flavored with a delicate blend of seasonings that weren’t at all hot as he’d anticipated. He did pick out a few suspiciously unidentifiable purple things, but other than that it was fine.
He declined dessert, but Sara ordered a gooey pastry, and he thoroughly enjoyed watching her eat it. She did so with gusto, relishing every bite with her eyes closed.
After watching her lush lips close around the fork a few times, however, he started thinking about things he shouldn’t, and he had to force himself to look away.
“Let me pay it,” Sara said when the check arrived. “I’m the one who ate a lot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He snatched the bill from her hand. “Dinner was my idea.” And he knew she didn’t have a lot of disposable income. Although her room and board were taken care of, her various temporary and part-time jobs couldn’t net all that much extra cash.
“Let me at least leave the tip.” She reached into her big straw bag and pulled out what could only be described as a money ball. She peeled a few ones from it and set them on the table, then dropped the rest back into her bag.
