battling for their own success. Recently Darcy had also been denying herself those brief encounters. Even those had become dangerous to her sanity.
She found the restaurant and parked on a side street, emerged into the too-chilly air and hurried into the small, warm, welcoming space whose dim lighting created nice intimacy. A clean but battered wooden bar, kept on from the Irish pub this place used to be, dominated the room, furnished with booths and a few tables. Nearly every table and booth was taken, the bar three-quarters full. A good sign, though Darcy was attracting more attention than she liked from the mostly male clientele, even wearing an outfit about as revealing as a Girl Scout’s, an outfit which also happened to be pretty ripe from an evening sweating in the kitchen.
Three stools sat empty at the end of the bar. Darcy chose the nearest to the door, leaving two unoccupied seats next to her, hoping no one would sit in search of a chatting partner.
“Hi, there.” Nice-looking bartender, big guy, middle-aged, with warm gray eyes. Ten years and thirty pounds ago, he would have been a serious temptation. “What can I get you?”
“Arak, please.”
He broke into a smile, bushy eyebrows raised, and responded in Arabic.
“No, no.” Darcy shook her head regretfully. “Not native. I just know the drink.”
“Ah, okay. Coming right up.”
“What didja order? Ah-rack?” The pink-faced guy to her right looked as if he’d been at the bar most of the week.
“Arak. Anise liquor. Very dry. Very good.”
He made a face. “Anise, like licorice? Licorice is candy. Sissy drink.”
Darcy snorted. Said he who was drinking rum and Coke.
“Enjoy.” The bartender set in front of her a glass of clear liquid, another of ice and a small carafe of water. “Like a menu?”
“Definitely.” She ignored Mr. Sissy Drink, who was still muttering about alcoholic candy. Darcy would love to see him try to walk straight after a couple of glasses of arak. Strong as well as delicious.
“Here you go.” The bartender handed her a menu.
Darcy opened it and fell in love. Burgers, salads, sandwiches and pizzas, but in each category a twist. You could have a burger with ketchup, mustard and pickle, or with parsley, onion, cinnamon and tahini sauce. Pizza with cheese and sausage or with ground lamb, diced red peppers and halloumi cheese. Iceberg salad with shredded cheddar, croutons and ranch dressing or romaine with toasted pita and feta, dressed with olive oil, garlic and mint.
After a terrible time deciding, she succumbed to the lamb pizza and the romaine salad. The bartender brought her a small bowl of olives, a few tiny round loaves of pita, about the diameter of tangerines, and a dish of a soft creamy white cheese with the tang of yogurt.
Darcy poured water into her arak, which turned it pearly-white, and added a few cubes of ice. She took a small gulp and sighed in pleasure. The anise flavor was clear and light, beautifully refreshing. A few sips later, she mingled the taste with a mouthful of bread stuffed with cheese and an olive. Heaven.
As usual, the experience of good food relaxed her, and she felt ready to check out her surroundings. Good crowd for a Wednesday night. A few couples on dates, a few single men at the bar, groups of guys out for a guy-time, one table of women. Most were neat and presentable, not too different from the crowd she attracted to Gladiolas. Neighborhood people out for the night. What crowd would Raoul get with his fancy backer and address? High prices would mean clientele with money to burn and similarly situated friends who had friends, who had friends …
Movement caught her eye, and she realized she’d been staring at a good-looking guy in a red shirt drinking with friends; he leered and toasted her with his beer.
Ugh. The last thing she needed was some guy thinking she was out trolling for the same thing he was.
Her food came, a happy distraction. The aroma made her stomach growl and her hand reach eagerly for a slice of the pizza, which she immediately launched toward her mouth.
Mmm. The crust was charred appetizingly around the edges, the lamb and peppers fragrant and subtly spiced, the cheese tender, mild and sparingly used so its bland richness didn’t overwhelm the dish.
Delicious. After a few more ravenous bites, she gathered a forkful of the fresh-looking salad, preparing to dive in.
“So I was wondering …” A man’s shape entered her peripheral vision. Red shirt. Ugh again. He leaned on the bar next to her, too close, talking too loudly. His too-sweet aftershave intruded on her smell and taste. “Has anyone ever mentioned that you look like Catherine Zeta-Jones?”
“Yes.” She glanced at him witheringly. “And they didn’t get anywhere, either.”
“Hey, now, don’t be like that.” His ingratiating grin didn’t falter, if anything he was talking louder. She became aware that they were attracting interest from Pink-Faced Sissy-Drink two stools to her right, and from the guy’s table of friends; she wanted to drop to all fours and growl threateningly. “Give me a break here. I’m a nice guy.”
“I’m sure you are, but I’m only interested in food tonight.”
“Aw, c’mon. Help me out here, beautiful. I bet my friends that I could buy you a drink.”
“Really?” She picked up her arak, sipped it leisurely. “Sorry, you lost that one.”
“I’m Jay.” He winked. “And I never lose.”
“First time for everything.”
He chuckled and leaned in. “Seriously, I’m harmless. Just want to buy you a drink. You won’t regret—”
“I already do.” She turned deliberately toward him. “Go away.”
“Wow.” He stared at her for a few seconds, then gave a bitter chuckle. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”
“Yup.” Darcy held his gaze calmly. “But it’s better than being a buttwipe.”
He left, but not before he called Darcy another of her least favorite words. What a jerk.
She turned back to her dinner, having to force herself to resume eating, which was the jerk’s worst offense, because the food was damn good. Halfway through the pizza and salad, two-thirds of the way through her arak and undisturbed further, she managed to regain her composure.
“I’m outta here.” The pink-faced guy seemed to be talking to no one in particular. He moved off his stool and for a second, Darcy expected him to hit the floor, slumped like a sack of potatoes. Miraculously he managed to stay upright.
The bartender reached to shake his hand. “See ya, Fred.”
“See ya tomorrow.” Fred wobbled behind Darcy toward the door. She hoped he wasn’t driving.
“Another arak?”
Darcy looked up to decline, but while the bartender was standing in front of her, he was asking the guy who’d been sitting three chairs down, just
