he never mentioned—his role in Sullivan’s kitchen had been expanded over time. Dana Sue relied on him as her backup and had officially named him as assistant manager just a few weeks earlier.
In his late 30s or early 40s, he had a wry wit, a gentle demeanor and was fiercely loyal to and protective of Dana Sue. Helen liked that about him, almost as much as she liked his pastries and occasionally lusted after his six-pack abs and competent hands. That she lusted after him at all was a surprise, because she’d always preferred polished executives over the strong, silent, athletic types.
Helen was relegated to the most basic duties for the next two hours, but she liked being part of the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. The aromas were delectable, the excitement and stress palpable. If cooking at home were half this much fun, she might do it more often. Instead her culinary endeavors ran to scrambled eggs, when she remembered to buy any, and the occasional baked potato. She did make a damn fine margarita, though, if she did say so herself. That was the result of a few summers in Hilton Head working as a bartender during law school. She’d made great tips, great contacts and learned a lot about human nature.
By the time the last meal had been served and only a few customers were lingering over coffee and dessert, she was exhausted from being on her feet for so long, to say nothing of being half-starved.
“Okay, you two, that’s it,” Erik said, hustling them toward the door to the dining room. “Get in there and sit down. I’ll bring you both dinner in a few minutes.”
Dana Sue shook her head. “Only if you’re going to join us,” she told him. “You haven’t had a break all night, either.”
“Sure,” Erik said. “But you need to eat now and Helen needs to kick off those ridiculous heels she insists on wearing.”
Vaguely miffed by the comment, Helen stuck out her foot in its sexy high-heeled sandal, her most extravagant indulgence. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
Erik’s gaze lingered on her foot with its perfectly manicured pink toenails, then traveled slowly up her leg to the hem of her skirt, now hitched up to show a couple of inches of thigh. “Speaking as a man, there is nothing wrong with those shoes,” he told her, regarding her with amusement. “Speaking as someone who’s watched you hobbling around in here for the past couple of hours, I’d say they’re inappropriate for being on your feet for very long.”
Mollified, she grinned. “You may have a point. If me pitching in around here is going to become a habit, I should probably keep some sneakers in Dana Sue’s office.”
Dana Sue gave her a startled look. “You own sneakers?”
“Don’t be snide. What do you think I wear when I work out?”
“Oh, yeah, those customized things you created online in colors to match your workout clothes,” Dana Sue said.
Erik looked at Helen in amusement. “What’s wrong with the sneakers you buy at the mall?”
Helen gave him a disdainful look. “Everyone has them,” she replied. “Come on, Dana Sue. I can’t possibly deal with a man in faded jeans and a grease-stained T-shirt who doesn’t understand fashion, no matter how sexy he thinks he is.”
Erik chuckled, while Dana Sue said, “Right now, all I care about is that he understands food.” She gave Erik a wink as she and Helen headed for the dining room and a corner booth away from the few remaining customers.
As soon as they were seated, Helen groaned and kicked off her shoes under the table. “Please don’t tell Erik, okay? These things are torture if I’m on my feet too long. They’ll definitely never be my dancin’ shoes.”
“Still, it’s a small price to pay for looking sexy.” Dana Sue grinned. “I haven’t worn shoes like that in years. I’d break my neck.”
“Next time you want to knock Ronnie’s socks off, I’ll let you borrow a pair of mine,” Helen said.
Dana Sue’s eyebrows rose and fell. “I knock his socks off no matter what I wear.”
“Then the honeymoon’s still not over?”
“You can stop asking me that, you know,” Dana Sue said smugly. “Ronnie and I expect to be in the honeymoon phase for months and months. Maybe years. And this time around, I’m going to do everything in my power to see to it that the marriage never ends, even if the glow does wear off.”
Helen regarded her wistfully. “I never thought I’d say this about you getting back together with Ronnie, but I envy you.”
Dana Sue regarded her with compassion, but she quickly shifted to impatience. “Then what are you doing about it? When was the last time you went on a date, and I don’t mean sitting down with some male attorney to discuss torts or writs or whatever else it is you talk about over coffee.”
“Who has time?” Helen said defensively. “Between work, keeping up with things at the spa and trying to exercise more regularly, I don’t have five spare minutes a week.”
“Really?” Dana Sue said skeptically. “You just spent two solid hours in my kitchen. That’s enough for a quality date.”
Helen shrugged. “That’s fun. There’s no pressure in there.”
Dana Sue lifted an eyebrow. “Really? No pressure? Not even with Erik’s exacting orders flying at you? He scared off the last two prep guys I brought in for a tryout.”
“He’s a perfectionist, that’s all. Lord knows, I get that and respect it. And there’s more at stake in there for you and for him. I’m just a volunteer worker bee from time to time. If I mess up, what are either of you going to do about it?”
“I’d probably banish you forever, but I can’t speak for Erik,” Dana Sue said. “By the way, was there some reason you came by tonight other than the chance we’d put you to work?”
“To be honest, I was hoping for a few minutes to talk to you,” Helen admitted.
“About…?”
“Karen.”
Dana Sue’s eyes widened. “You want to talk to me about Karen Ames? Why? Is that why Barb called to set up an appointment for tomorrow afternoon? I thought it was about the spa.” She held up her hand. “Wait. Here comes Erik with our food. If it involves Karen, he probably needs to hear this, too. And he should be at any meeting we have.”
Erik set three plates of grouper, with its garnish of mango-papaya chutney, wild rice and a side of baby carrots in a brown sugar glaze on the table. Everything was as artfully arranged as it was for the paying customers.
“Where’s my pie?” Helen asked immediately.
“Not ’til you’ve cleaned your plate,” he teased, sliding into the booth beside her. “Pie’s your reward, not your meal.”
Helen frowned at him. “Who says?”
“The chef,” he told her. “So. Dig in.”
All three picked up their forks and started eating. After a minute, Erik asked, “What were you two talking about when I got here? You looked awfully serious for a couple of women who were supposed to be kicking back and relaxing.”
“Karen,” Dana Sue told him, her expression somber. She took another bite of food. “Helen brought her up.”
Erik stared at Helen, his expression immediately shifting into something far more cautious. “What do you have to do with Karen?”
“She came to see me today. She thinks she’s about to be fired.”
Dana Sue exchanged a rueful look with Erik that spoke volumes.
Helen sighed. “I see she was on target. It’s because of the amount of time she’s missed lately, right?”
Dana Sue nodded. “It makes me very unhappy, but I don’t have a choice, Helen.