need medical attention later for a muscle strain.
“Table for two?” the hostess asked breathlessly, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder.
“Please,” Clay said, then stepped back to let Charlie go first.
The polite gesture caught her off guard. Even more unsettling was the hand he put on the small of her back, as if helping guide her to the booth along the side of the restaurant.
She was aware of the touch, of his palm and every finger. Not in a oh-let’s-have-sex kind of way. But just because she honest to God couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her like that. Or, excluding shaking hands, anywhere.
They slid onto the seats and settled across from each other. The hostess leaned toward Clay, offering a flash from her low-cut blouse. She smiled.
“I could give you my number,” she whispered, although the words were still loud enough for Charlie to hear.
Clay didn’t even look at her. “Thanks, but, no.”
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
He picked up the menu, then put it down. “I thought I would be someone else when I got here,” he said when the hostess had given him one last lingering look before flouncing off.
Charlie leaned toward him. “What are we talking about?”
“Sorry. I was thinking about the captain inviting me to be in a calendar to raise money.”
“Not the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The hostess who practically stripped in front of you ten seconds ago?”
His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I didn’t notice.”
“She offered you her number.”
He shrugged.
The gesture was so casual, so dismissive, Charlie had to believe Clay honestly hadn’t been paying attention. Because it happened so much, she thought.
“Phone numbers are the new rose petals,” she said absently, picking up the menu and wondering if she should order the London chicken wrap or try something new.
“Phone numbers are what?”
She put down the menu and grinned. “Sorry. I was thinking out loud. Rose petals. You know, like in Roman times. Throwing petals before the emperor. Now you get phone numbers thrown at you. All Hail Caesar. Or Clay.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly the same ring to it. You might want to change your name to fit in a classic ‘all hail’ better.”
“I’ll suffer with people stumbling through it,” Clay muttered. “What’s good here?”
“Everything,” Wilma said. She’d appeared at the side of their table. Wilma was at least sixty, was a champion gum snapper and had worked at every incarnation of the restaurant since it had first opened its door decades ago. Now she stared at Clay, her penciled brows raised.
“So you’re the pretty one everyone’s been telling me about. Nice. I saw your ass in that movie a while back.” She looked at Charlie. “You with him?”
Charlie did her best not to flush or choke. “We’re friends.”
“Too bad. You make a cute couple. Not as cute as me and my Frank, but that’s a high bar.” Her friendly gaze sharpened. “You eat, right?” The question was addressed to Clay. “If you’re not going to eat, then don’t order.”
Charlie opened her mouth, then closed it. Apparently, Jo’s Bar would have been a safer choice.
Wilma turned back to Charlie. “Diet Coke?”
Charlie nodded.
Wilma faced Clay. “And you?”
“Iced tea.”
She scribbled on her pad. “Charlie usually gets the London chicken wrap. It’s more a Baja wrap but what with this place being called The Fox and Hound, that would look stupid on the menu. It’s good. Get that.”
Clay handed her the menu.
“Fries?” Wilma asked no one in particular.
“Yes,” Charlie told her, passing over her menu, as well.
The older woman patted Clay on the shoulder. “You’ll never be as good as my Frank, but you’re not half-bad, kid.” With that, she walked away.
“Sorry,” Charlie said when they were alone. “I’d forgotten how Wilma could be.”
“Bossy and outspoken?”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
Clay surprised her by smiling. “I like her. She seems like she suffers no fool.”
“She’s an institution. This restaurant has gone through several changes and Wilma has been here for every one of them. She’s one of the first people I met when I moved to town.”
Wilma returned with their drinks, slapped them down on the table, then left.
Charlie pulled the paper off her straw. “You’re not happy about the calendar thing,” she began.
“No, but it’s how my day has been going. I met with the city council this morning. I told them all about my Haycation idea.”
“They must have been happy. It’s going to bring in money. Every town wants more of that.”
“The mayor seemed interested. Some of the others were more intrigued by the idea of me being in an advertising campaign for the town. Starring my ass.”
Charlie winced. “That sounds like Gladys.”
“Are she and Wilma sisters?”
“No, but they share some personality traits. Sorry.”
“Not your fault. I expected this to happen in New York. Given what I do, it was inevitable. I thought it would be different here.”
Charlie studied him. “I guess I’m like everyone else. I would have assumed your life is perfect.”
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Right. Shut up, cash the check and be grateful. I’ve heard that before.” He leaned back in the booth. “Whatever. I can do the calendar.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m trying to fit in. I want to be a part of what’s going on in town. Get accepted into the volunteer program. Saying no isn’t going to help.”
“I
