Isabel Sharpe – Hot to the Touch (страница 2)

Stubborn, persistent and willing to fight dirty.

1

“RADISHES.” DARCY TAPPED HER PENCIL on the gleaming wooden bar, made from salvaged Wisconsin oak. Her thoughts were drifting from Gladiolas’s emptying dining room around her to the side dish she was imagining for her restaurant’s summer menu, though it being merely the end of May in Wisconsin, summer seemed depressingly far away. Sauteed radishes, smoothed with butter, accented with salt and chives. And something else … sugar snap peas for color, texture and to balance the slight bite with sweetness. Or would a complementing strong taste be better, to deepen the flavor? Chard? Watercress?

“Radishes sound perfect for my mood.”

Darcy snapped out of her vegetable reverie and squinted at Amy Walker, her dining room manager. “What mood, crunchy?”

“Round and bitter.” Amy tipped back the last of the cup of coffee she never seemed to be without. Her plump body was slumped onto her stool, her short, flaming red ponytail shedding strands that hung around her cheeks.

“Bitter? I like that. Maybe we can use that in a menu name. ‘Love failed me—I’m bitter.’ A pork dish with bitter orange, a side of greens and radishes, something like that.” She made a few notes on a paper in front of her, then remembered they were talking about Amy. “Sorry, my brain went AWOL. Why are you bitter? Not Colin …”

“He hasn’t called for two days or answered my emails. I’m thinking I’ve worked my Amy-magic again and am being dumped.”

“No way.” Darcy felt familiar anger churn in her stomach. Yes, she had issues, but it was hard to work through them when men kept providing more and more examples of selfish behavior. “I thought this guy was really into you.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Amy laughed harshly. “And they say women play mind games and are hard to figure out.”

“I’m sorry. But you know men. They have a completely bizarre concept of time. He’ll reappear when you least expect it, without a clue he’d left you hanging.” Darcy pushed her untouched glass of chardonnay over to her friend, and signaled their handsome, burly bartender, Jeff, to get her another. “In the meantime, drink away your sorrows, honey. At least alcohol is dependable.”

“And a depressant.” Amy lifted the glass anyway and took a healthy swallow. “I don’t know. It’s too easy to blame men. Sometimes I think it’s just me, Ms. Man-Poison.”

“You are not—”

“No, really, I’m serious. I think there’s something about me that horrifies them. Until I find out what that is, maybe there’s no point looking anymore. I’m thinking of giving up.”

“No.” Darcy held up a hand for emphasis. “I’m the cynical, damaged one. I’m the one headed for a life of questionable hygiene, living alone in a ramshackle house overrun with cats. Not you.”

“Maybe.” Amy fingered the stem of her wineglass, eyes down. “I want to find a guy who accepts me, warts and all, who’ll consciously work on the relationship and compromise when necessary, someone for whom my happiness is nearly as important as his. Because that’s exactly what I’d do for him.”

“Oh, that guy!” Darcy accepted her new wine from Jeff. “I know exactly where he is.”

“Where?” Amy lifted a skeptical brow.

“Hanging out with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny!”

Amy snorted. “I know, I know. But I can’t totally crush hope the way you have. I wish I could. It would save me a lot of trouble and a lot of pain. I really thought Colin would hang around. Of course I probably thought that about all of them at one time.”

“Uh … yeah.” Darcy nudged her affectionately. “Didn’t we all.”

“It’s just that it can happen, out of the blue, when you least expect it. My sister met her husband on her millionth blind date, sick to death of trying to find someone, and they were both struck stupid with love the second they saw each other. They’re still wildly happy.”

“Because they’re stupid. You said it yourself.”

Amy finally loosened up enough to let out her trademark cascade of giggles. “I did. Now enough of my whining. Back to your radishes.”

“Nah.” Darcy lifted her glass, irritated by the story of Amy’s sister. People who were disgustingly goopy like that made her sick. Or jealous. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which. “Forget the radishes for now. We need to cheer you up first.”

“Good luck.”

“Ooh, I know. Ken, the new Lenson’s sales rep, came by this morning with industry gossip.” Darcy sipped her wine. She’d stick to the gossip that had been pleasant. The rest had been eating at her all day. “The new place down National near Fourth Street? Esmee? The chef is Lebanese. He’s supposedly giving the usual bar food an innovative Middle Eastern kick. Want to check it out? Get your mind off Colin?”

“Oh, that would be—” Amy’s cell rang with the theme to Love Story. She fished it out of her pocket and gasped at the display. “It’s him.”

“Ha!” Darcy smacked the bar with her palm, wanting to tell Amy not to answer it. “Told you he’d show up.”

“Oh, my gosh.” Amy took a deep breath, smoothing her hair, and connected the call. “Hey, Colin! How are you? Good. Yes, I’m fine. But I was worried, since I haven’t heard—”

Darcy shook her head urgently. Rule number one: never let a guy think you’ve been sitting around waiting for his call.

Amy cringed and nodded understanding. “Heard from my family in a while and was thinking you were one of them checking in.”

Darcy gave her a thumbs-up.

“Uh-huh. As far as I know. Oh, tonight?” She looked pleadingly at Darcy. “I’m, um …”

Darcy shook her head again, hard enough that her bobbed hair flew out nearly horizontal. Rule number two: Never be immediately available to a guy who hasn’t been available to you.

“I’d love to.” Amy spoke firmly, turning away from Darcy who rolled her eyes. “I’ve really missed you.”

Darcy let out a sound of disgust purposely loud enough for Amy to hear.

“Yes. I know where that is. Okay. Yes. See you in a few.” She shut her phone with a soft sigh.

“Amy. At least pretend you haven’t been panting after his call for—”

“I know.” She held up a hand to stop Darcy’s lecture. “I know.”

“Seriously, if you want men to stop taking you for granted …” She tried to soften the frustration in her voice. “You have to show them you’re worth better treatment.”

“Yes. But as I said, I have really missed him.” She slid off the stool and squeezed Darcy’s shoulder. “You’re right. I know you are. In a week or a month I’ll be miserable over him again. I just—”

“Have really missed him.”

“Wow, how did you know?” Amy looked like a different person, cheeks flushed, eyes snapping excitement. Even her hair had revived.

“Wild guess.” Darcy managed a smile. “Go. Have fun. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Undoubtedly. And I’ll be screwed over in the end. It’s what men do to me. Then you can say, ‘Ha-ha, told you so,’ and watch in amazement at my masochistic stupidity while I proceed to do it all again with someone else.”

“Gee, um, I’m really looking forward to that.” Darcy rolled her eyes in exaggerated dismay. “Wouldn’t it be easier to stay single?”

“Easier, yes. Better? No.” Amy jumped off the bar stool and strode over to their hostess, Kelly, to ask her to close up.

Darcy watched her go. Easier, but not better … She turned resolutely away and pushed her glass to the bartender. “G’night, Jeff.”

“‘Night, chef. You heading out?”

“Yeah. New place to try tonight.” Darcy had to force the enthusiasm, when she generally loved discovering neighborhood gems. She didn’t mind going out alone, either. In fact, sometimes she preferred the opportunity to concentrate on the food instead of on making conversation.

But tonight …

Among the gossip Ken passed along was that Raoul, Darcy’s unlamented ex-employee, had secured new wads of cash for his restaurant after the original investor had indeed backed out. James Thomas, one of Milwaukee’s wealthiest, had turned Darcy down for Gladiolas, saying women had no place in the restaurant business. She’d had to settle for a lesser amount from the bank, which meant shelving plans for a more elegant downtown address and locating Gladiolas where she could afford to lease.

“Sounds good. Report back.” Jeff, classic stud of few words, acknowledged a patron’s signal and went over to refill his drink.

Darcy slid off her stool and strode through the dining room and into the gleaming stainless kitchen she was so proud of, inhaling the fragrance of food in its many stages of preparation. She collected her things and called out a good-night to the staff, including Gladiolas’s dishwasher, real name Francis McDonald, but everyone called him Ace. Great kid, reliable, could be pulled onto the line when things got crazy busy in the kitchen, but from what Darcy could tell, he lived most of the time in a chemically enhanced universe.

She banged out the alley door, got into her car and drove down National Avenue from her own place on Fourteenth Street to Fourth. Short hop, but she’d been on her feet all day, and while she wouldn’t mind walking over, after a drink and some food, she’d want to get home quickly to her tiny house in Washington Heights, which she’d bought five years earlier after saving every cent she could for the downpayment.