What was he really like? “A charmer, like it’s second nature. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it. He’s got this way of looking at you so that even when you’re ready to strangle him all you can do is just stand there staring up at him like an idiot."
Tania became very still. “'You’ like hypothetical or ‘you’ like you?” she asked carefully.
“Do I look like an idiot?”
“I’ll pass on answering that just now.”
“He’s so cocky, he thinks he’s God’s gift and he can get you to do whatever he wants you to. ‘This could get interesting,’ my ass,” Cady burst out in frustration. She sprang up from the couch and began pacing.
Tania just watched. “You’re getting awfully excited about a guy you hardly know."
“It doesn’t take long with him. I mean, he leans in and gets right in my face, deliberately, when he knows I’m pissed about him. And he does that thing with his eyes—“
“What thing with his eyes?”
“Like he wants to eat you up,” she responded, moving restlessly to the window. “Like you’re the only person in the world. And he makes you want to believe it.” It was irritating. Beyond irritating, infuriating.
“Let’s go back to the ‘eat you up’ part,” Tania ordered. “You mean he tried to kiss you?"
Cady stopped and flopped back down on the couch. “Give me some credit, will you? I would have stopped that one way before it ever happened."
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated.
Tania forked up a dumpling. “You ask me, you could use kissing. How long has it been, anyway?"
“You know how long it’s been.” Cady took a drink of her Coke. “Since Ed Shaw."
Tania stared. “Ed Shaw was what, three years ago? Cady, sweetie, you’ve got to get out more."
“Maybe I don’t want to,” she retorted. “I mean, it’s fine for you. You’re gorgeous, you’ve always got guys after you. It doesn’t work that way for me."
“That’s because you scare ‘em off with that mouth of yours.”
“Maybe I want to scare them off. Maybe I just don’t want to deal with it.” She didn’t want the nerves, didn’t like the anticipation, despised that feeling of having it suddenly matter whether some guy called or not. And having no control over whether or not he did. Somewhere along the line it had just become easier, more comfortable, less nerve-wracking to avoid guys altogether.
“I think you’re nuts,” Tania pronounced. “I mean, what about Denny Green or Stan Blackman? You’ve had guys interested in you before."
“Not the ones I wanted interested.”
“Maybe that’s because you chose the ones who wouldn’t be.”
“Self-fulfilling prophecy, Ms. Freud?” Cady glanced over from the menu on the screen.
“I just think you haven’t given guys in general much of a chance. Why not try with Hurst?"
“Are you nuts? That would be like sticking a kid with a learner’s permit in a demolition derby. No thanks."
“It would be interesting.”
“So would skydiving without a parachute, at least for the first couple of minutes. Damon Hurst is in and out of here. And no,” she said as Tania’s eyes brightened, “before you start, I don’t need in and out, either metaphorically or literally."
“Well, I think that you’re the one who’s nuts,” Tania said, picking up the carton of broccoli beef. “I’d go for him in a heartbeat."
“Then why don’t you?” Cady asked tartly.
“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just …” Tania trailed off, staring at Cady. “You’ve got a thing for him,” she said with slowly dawning delight.
“I don’t have a thing for him,” Cady retorted. “I told you, I don’t want any part of him."
“Oh yeah, you do.”
“I want him gone.”
“Liar.”
“Watch the movie,” Cady grumbled.
Chapter Three
“No tuna at all?” Damon asked. He sat in the tiny nook off the kitchen that served as his office. Smaller than a phone booth, the space held a little counter just wide enough for a laptop and a phone, high enough that he could either sit on a tall chair or stand and look out across the kitchen.
“No more tuna, not today. We’re already out,” the fish vendor said over the phone.
“How about skate wing?”
“We got some nice scallops,” he offered.
It was an education in what was possible, Damon told himself. “Fifteen pounds of that."
“I got you down for haddock and lobster, also. Standing order. You still want it?"
“For now. Things will be changing soon, though.” He hoped to God. With a scowl, Damon ended the call.
He wasn’t used to not being able to get whatever he wanted delivered to his door, from suppliers no more than an hour or two away. Of course, he also wasn’t used to getting off work at midnight to find that the entire town had rolled up the sidewalks. After hours of fast, hard, demanding work, he needed time to come down. In Manhattan, that had meant a bar or nightclub. In Grace Harbor, it appeared to mean his living room.
Then again, there was something to be said for getting enough sleep to be at work early. The kitchen, at this hour, was quiet. Only Roman was in, standing at the stainless steel counter that paralleled the row of stoves that ran along one side wall; together, the two formed the line, where the bulk of the entrées came together during lunch or dinner service. Opposite the end of the line was the little corner bay where hot and cold appetizers were put together; between the apps station and the end of the line ran a crosswise aisle that led through a doorway to the dishwashing station and the back door and the walk-in.
Which brought him back to fish.
“What kind of a fish market sells out of tuna at seven in the morning, Roman?” he asked.
Roman glanced up, but his knife never ceased moving. “A fish market that sells a lot of tuna to Japan for sushi, Chef. You could probably get some shipped in."
“I’m not going to get it shipped in when it’s fished right here.” He walked past Roman to the boxes of produce that had been delivered that morning. Farm Fresh From California, the labels proclaimed, but how fresh could it
