overwhelming.”
Cal watched Penny lean back as if separating herself from him. He could read her mind as clearly as if she’d spoken.
He hadn’t had faith in her.
The statement wasn’t true, but he knew she wouldn’t believe him. His attempts to protect her from Gloria had only widened the chasm in their rapidly unraveling marriage.
Ancient history, he told himself. Better to forget it.
She reached into a battered backpack and pulled out a folder. “Here are some sample menus. I’ve marked the items I want to serve at the big preopening party. The question marks are in place where I’m not sure what will be available that particular day. Inventory changes quickly and my fish people can’t promise the more exotic selections until the day of the party.”
He took the sheets of paper. “The infamous fish people.”
She smiled. “Sometimes they dress in costume.”
“I’d like to see that.”
She laughed.
The sound washed over him in a wave of unexpected heat. He felt it sink into him, warming him, arousing him.
Whoa. Not going there. He didn’t believe in do-overs, not in personal relationships, anyway. He and Penny were simply co-workers, nothing more.
But even as he told himself to back off, sexual energy poured through him, making him aware of the humor in her eyes and the way her skin seemed almost luminous.
He told himself that the former was at his expense and the latter was simply the result of damn good lighting in the restaurant. But even he didn’t believe it.
“Are you even listening?” she asked.
“Yeah. Fish specials depend on the whim of the fish people.”
“No. I was saying that I’ll be building my specials slowly. I won’t want to dump a bunch of new items on the menu at once. I also have a few things in mind for new signature dishes. Once we’re established, I’ll offer them as specials and if they take off, I’ll put them on the menu. I’ve also been working on a seasonal menu. Certain fish is available at certain times of the year. I can build around that. The same with produce.”
“Berries in the summer, squash in the fall,” he said.
She sighed. “I’d like to think I’m more imaginative than that, but yes. That’s the idea.”
He looked over the menu. There were the basics—steamed and grilled fish, soups, salads, sides.
He’d had her garlic smashed potatoes before and his mouth watered at the memory. She put in a secret ingredient that she’d never shared, even with him.
He flipped to the list of specials. “Corn cakes?” he asked. “I thought we were specializing in Northwest cuisine. Isn’t that Southwestern?”
“That depends on how they’re prepared.”
He shrugged, then shook his head. “Fish and chips? Do we really want to do that here? We’re going for an upscale experience, not cheap fast food on the pier.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do I look annoyed?” she asked. “Because you’re really pissing me off here. Did you or did you not want a special menu?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you or did you not hire me to make the dining experience special?”
“Yes, but—”
“Perhaps you’d like to give me a chance to do my job before you start complaining.”
“Penny,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I get final say on the menu. That’s in the contract.”
He could practically hear her teeth grinding.
“Fine. Mark everything you consider questionable. Then be back here in two days. We’ll have a tasting. At that point, you will sample the foods you object to. I will be in the kitchen where you can crawl to me and beg my forgiveness, after which you’ll never, ever question my menu selections again.”
He chuckled. “I won’t be crawling and I will question as I see fit, but the tasting session sounds fine.” He pulled out his Palm Pilot. “What time?”
“Three.”
“Fine. Of course if I’m not impressed, I’ll be calling the shots on the menu,” he told her.
“Only if hell has frozen over.”
“I hear it’s getting cold down there.”
She muttered something he couldn’t hear, which made him hold in a smile.
She’d gotten tough in the years they’d been apart. He liked that about her. He doubted she would have any trouble controlling the kitchen staff. He thought about what Gloria had told him, that Penny had stabbed someone. He wanted to hear the story, but not just yet.
Cal looked over the menu again. “We should price what we’ve agreed on,” he said. “Somehow I think that will be an argument.”
“I have the costs here.”
She pulled out several more sheets, these printed out from a computer. They broke down the approximate size of each serving and the cost to prepare it. Store costs—labor, wait staff and the fixed costs of the building were arrived at by estimating the total number of dinners served per night and dividing that into store costs for the day.
“Your portions are too large,” he said. “We’ll have to charge too much.”
“Better that than they go home hungry and have to stop for a burger on the way.”
He braced himself for the battle to come. “Who needs ten ounces of halibut?”
“Fish is different from meat. A four-ounce portion isn’t normal.”
“We’re talking about a premium product.”
She tapped her pen on the table. “Gee, and I thought this was going to be a premium restaurant. Did I have that wrong?”
Before he could answer, Naomi walked into the dining room with a guy Cal didn’t recognize. Penny’s friend fell back a step, pointed to the newcomer and mouthed, “I want him!”
Cal groaned.
“It’s the wine guy,” Naomi said. “Who’s going to be ordering?”
“I am,” Cal and Penny said at the same time.
CAL WALKED INTO the Downtown Sports Bar a little after nine on Wednesday night. The happy hour crowd had faded with the end of the last game and now there were only the regulars and a few business people who didn’t want to go home. Which meant the crowd was about ninety percent female.
His brother, Reid, stood behind the bar, holding court while a dozen or so large-breasted beauties listened, laughed and openly invited him into their respective beds. Or maybe not so respective. With Reid, one never knew.
He’d always been like this, Cal thought with a grin as he waved at his brother and made his way to a booth in the corner. Back in high school, Reid had had more than his share of interested women. Some of it had been because he was the pitching star on the high school team, and some of it was because he was a Buchanan. The Buchanan boys had never lacked for female companionship.
As he approached the booth he saw his baby sister, Dani, already seated. She had a beer in front of her and an expression of betrayal that warned him she’d heard the news.
“How’s it going, kid?” he asked as he slid in next to her.
“How do you think? I’m still trying to pull the knife out of my back.”
If they’d still been children he would have tugged her close and