al’s eyes were as dark as chocolate, and Min panicked as he leaned close again. She put her hand on his chest, and said, “No, wait,” and he looked down and said, “Right,” and picked up another piece of doughnut. She opened her mouth to say, “No,” and he slipped the piece in and the heat of her mouth dissolved the icing as she closed her eyes, and the tang went everywhere, melting into pleasure. And when she opened her eyes, he was there.

He leaned forward and kissed her softly, his mouth fitting hers so perfectly that she trembled. She tasted the heat of him and licked the chocolate off his lip and felt his tongue against hers, hot and devastating, and when he broke the kiss, she was breathless and dizzy and aching for more. He held her eyes, looking as dazed as she felt, but she wasn’t deceived at all, she knew what he was.

She just didn’t care.

“More,” she said, and he reached for the pastry, but she said, “No, you,” and grabbed his shirt to pull him closer, and he kissed her hard this time, his hand on the back of her head, and she fell into him, as glitter exploded behind her eyelids. She felt his hand on her waist, sliding hot under her sweater, and her blood surged, and the rush in her head said, THIS one.

Then he jerked forward and smacked into her.

“Ouch?” she said, and he looked behind him, still clutching her with both hands.

“What the hell?” Cal said.

“I said,” Liza said, holding up her leather purse, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I cut my mouth,” Min said, touching her finger to her lip.

Cal turned back to her and pulled her finger away, his face flushed and concerned, and he was so close to her that she leaned forward as her heart pounded, and he did, too, his eyes half closed again, and she thought, Oh, God, yes. Then Liza jerked at Min’s arm and almost pulled her off the table.

“Get down from there, Stats,” Liza said as Min’s head reeled.

“Tony,” Cal said through his teeth.

“Sorry, pal,” Tony said. “She’s uncontrollable.”

“We were just having dessert.” Min scooted back as far as she could with Cal still sitting on her skirt. I know that was dumb, she thought, trying not to look at him, but I want that again.

“Dessert?” Liza looked down at the table. “You’re eating doughnuts?”

“Oh,” Min said, guilt clearing some of her daze.

“What are you?” Cal glared at Liza. “The calorie police? Go away.”

“No,” Liza said. “I think she should eat all the doughnuts she wants. I just don’t want you feeding them to her.”

“Why?” Cal said savagely.

“Because you are Hit-and-Run Morrisey, and she’s my best friend.” Liza tugged on Min’s arm again. “Come on. Bonnie’s waiting.”

“I’m what?”

Min tried to scoot back a little more, but Cal was still on her skirt. Which is all right, really.

“Bonnie’s over there on a park bench talking to Roger,” Tony said to Liza. “She could care less.”

“Couldn’t care less,” Liza said. “And she could.” She fixed Min with a stare. “We’ve talked about this. Get off that table.”

Right, Min thought. I don’t want to.

Across from her, Cal looked even more gorgeous than usual, enraged in the sunlight, but as her daze lifted, she remembered why she wasn’t supposed to be there. “Could I have my skirt back, please?” she said, faintly, and he rolled back enough that she could pull the fabric free. “Thank you very much. For lunch. I had a wonderful time.”

“Stay,” he said, and she looked into his eyes and thought, Oh, yes.

“No,” Liza said and pulled Min off the table so that she stumbled onto the grass.

“She can make up her own mind,” Cal said.

“Yeah?” Liza took a step closer to him. “Tell me you know her. Tell me you care about her. Tell me you’re going to love her until the end of time.”

“Liza,” Min said, tugging on her arm.

“I just met her three days ago,” Cal said.

“Then what are you doing kissing her like that?” Liza turned her back on him. “Come on, Min.”

“Thank you for lunch,” Min said as Liza tightened her grip. She reached back for her sandals on the table and caught the ribbons, and then Liza dragged her away through the trees.

When they were gone, Cal turned to Tony and said, “I can’t decide whether to have you killed or do it myself.”

“Not me, Liza,” Tony said. “And she did call Min’s name and poke you in the side a couple of times before she whacked you in the back of the head with her purse.” His eyes went to the table. “Hey, hot dogs.” He sat on the table and reached for a sandwich.

“That woman is insane,” Cal said, rubbing the back of his head. The heat was subsiding now that Min was gone, but it wasn’t making him any happier. “That was assault.”

“She’s insane?” Tony said, as he unwrapped a brat. “How about you?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal.” Ten minutes more and we would have been naked. That would have been a big deal.

“Tell that to Harry,” Tony said. “That was probably more than he needed to know about what Uncle Cal does with his free time.”

“Harry?” Cal said and looked over to where Harry had been sitting. He was still there, only now there was a thin blonde with him. Bink. Cal closed his eyes and the memory of Min’s heat vanished. “Tell me Bink wasn’t watching us, too.”

“Don’t know. She wasn’t there when we got here so she may just have caught the big finish. What the hell am I sitting on?” He pulled a red-flowered shoe out from under the blanket.

“Min’s,” Cal said, getting a nice flashback to her toes. “Give it to Liza when you get the chance. Down her throat, if possible.”

“Yeah, like I’ll remember,” Tony said and tossed it in the cooler.

Cal dug it out again before the ice could get the flower wet and tried to get his mind off Min. “It turns out that Bonnie’s a good deal, so Roger’s okay.” He turned Min’s sandal around in his hand. It was a ridiculous thing with a little stacked heel that probably sank into the ground when she walked across the grass and that dopey flower that would get screwed up if she wore them in the rain, and that was a turn-on, too.

“Roger’s not okay,” Tony said around a mouthful of brat. “He’s going to get married.”

“It’s not death,” Cal said, trying to imagine why anybody as practical as Min would wear a shoe like that. But then, Min clearly had an impractical streak or she wouldn’t have frenched him on a picnic table. The rush he got from that blanked out sound for a moment. “What?” he said.

“I said, yes, that’s why you’re running like a rabbit from Cynthie,” Tony said.

“Well, marriage is not for me, but it’s probably for Roger,” Cal said, dropping the shoe on the table. “He’s never been big on excitement.”

“True,” Tony said. “And if Bonnie is a nice woman, maybe I’ll live over their garage after all.”

“More good news for me,” Cal said, and thought of Min again, full and hot under his hands— No. He didn’t need any more hostility in his life. If he wanted great sex, he could always go back to Cynthie, who at least was never bitchy. He tried to call up Cynthie’s memory to blot out Min’s, but she seemed gray and white next to Min’s lush, exasperating, heat-inducing, open-toed Technicolor.

“What?” Tony said.

“Are there any hot dogs left?” Cal said. “That you haven’t sat on?”

Tony found one under a fold in the blanket and passed it over, and Cal unwrapped it and bit into it, determined to concentrate on a sense that wasn’t permeated with Min. Then he remembered her face when she’d tasted the brat, and imagined her face like that with her body moving under his, hot and lush, her lips wet—

Oh, hell, he thought.

“So what are you going to tell Harry?” Tony said.

“About what?”

“About you doing Min on a picnic table,” Tony said. “You guys looked pretty hot.”

“I’m going to tell him I’ll explain it when he’s older,” Cal said, and thought, We were hot. And now we’re done. “Much older,” he said, and went back to the cooler for a beer.

“Okay, why did we have to leave?” Bonnie said when they were in Liza’s convertible and Min was banished to the backseat.

“Because Min was swapping tongues with a doughnut pusher.” Liza looked back over the seat at Min the sinner and shook her head.

Bonnie turned so she could see over the seat, too. “You ate doughnuts?”

“Yes,” Min said, still trying to fight her way back from dazed. “Big deal.”

Bonnie nodded as Liza started the car. “Was he a good kisser?”

“Yes,” Min said. “Pretty good. Very good. World class. Phenomenal. Woke me right up. Plus there were the doughnuts, which were amazing.” She thought about Cal again, all that heat and urgency, and as Liza started down the curving drive to the street, Min lay down on the back seat before she fell over from residual dizziness. It felt good to lie down but it was such a shame she was alone.

“Have you lost your mind?” Liza said, over the seat.

“Just for that minute or two,” Min said from the seat, watching the treetops move by overhead. “I kind of enjoyed it.” A lot.

“You know,” Bonnie said to Liza, “he might be legit. He looked really happy with her. Roger even said so.”

“Oh, well if Roger says so,” Liza said.

“Don’t make fun of Roger,” Bonnie said, warning in her voice.

“Okay,” Min said, sitting up again as her world steadied. “I’m fine now. Very practical.” She picked up her shoe to untangle the ribbons. “So how was Tony?”

“Mildly amusing,” Liza said. “Stop changing the subject. What are you going to do about Cal?”

“Not see him again,” Min said, looking for her second sandal. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I left a shoe behind. We have to go back.”

“No,” Liza said and kept driving.

“They’re my favorite shoes,” Min said, trying to sound sincere.

“All your shoes are your favorite shoes,” Liza said. “We’re not going back there.”

“Are you okay, honey?” Bonnie said to Min.

“I’m great,” Min said, nodding like a maniac. “Cal told me all about Roger. You have my blessing.”

“Based on Calvin the Beast’s say-so,” Liza said.

“I have ways of telling,” Min said. “I know how to handle him.”

“Yeah, I saw you handling him,” Liza said. “You’re weak.”

“Oh, come on,” Min said, guilt making her exasperated. “I heard the bet. I know what’s going on. I’m not seeing him again. Especially since you yelled at him and called him names.” She thought about Cal leaning close, how hard his chest had been against her hand, how hot his mouth had been on hers, how good his hand had felt on her breast. “I found out how he gets all those women, though,” she said brightly. “Turns out it’s not just the charm.”

“Maybe you should see him again,” Bonnie said, sounding thoughtful. “I think sometimes you just have to believe.”

That might be good, Min thought.

“Bonnie,” Liza said. “Do you want her to get mutilated by the same guy who broke your cousin’s heart and made that bet with David?”

That would be bad, Min thought.

“No,” Bonnie said, doubt in her voice.

“Then no more pep talks about believing in toads,” Liza said.

“Don’t they turn into princes when you kiss them?” Bonnie said.

“That’s frogs,” Liza said. “Entirely different species.”

“Right,” Min said, trying to shove Cal out of her mind. “Toad not frog. Beast. Absolutely.” Then she sighed and said, “But he really had great doughnuts,” and lay back down on the seat again to recover her good sense.

David was settling down in front of the television on Sunday afternoon when the phone rang. He picked it up and heard Cynthie’s voice.

“Cal and Min were in the park today,” she said. “He kissed her. That’s joy, it’s a physiological cue, that could push them into—”

“Wait,” David said, and took a deep breath. It was that damn bet. Cal would do anything to win that bet. “He fed her doughnuts,” Cynthie said. “He took her on a picnic and—”

“Min ate doughnuts?” David went cold at the thought. “Min doesn’t eat doughnuts. Min doesn’t eat carbs. She never ate carbs with me.”

“And every time he fed her a piece, he kissed her.”

“Sonofabitch,” David said, viciously. “What do we do?”

“We have to work on their attraction triggers, create joy, make them remember why they wanted us,” Cynthie said. “Take her to lunch tomorrow. Make it perfect. Make her feel special and loved, give her joy, and get her back.”

“I don’t know,” David said, remembering Min’s face when he’d dumped her. The idea was for her to come crawling back to him, not for him to go to her.

“I’ll have lunch with Cal,” Cynthie said as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been lying low, hoping he’d come back on his own, but there’s no time for that now. I’ll have him in bed before dessert, and that should finish the whole thing.”

“Min’s mad at me,” David said. “I think it’s too soon for a lunch.”

“Oh, that’s very aggressive.” There was a long silence and then Cynthie said, “Her family. Did you say she needs them to approve of her lovers?”

“Yes,” David said. “Her mother was crazy about me.”

“There you go,” Cynthie said. “Call her mother and tell her the truth about Cal and women.”

“No,” David said, remembering Nanette’s lack of focus on anything not involving calories or fashion. “Her sister’s fiancé. Greg. I’ll call him tonight.”

“How will that help?”

“He’ll tell Diana right away,” David said. “He sees her every night. And she lives with her parents, so she’ll tell her mother and father. Her father is very protective.”

“That’s good,” Cynthie said.

“He fed her doughnuts?” David said, wincing at the thought.

“One piece at a time,” Cynthie said.

Bastard. He was doing it for that damn bet. After all that big talk about being cheap but not slimy, he was going to seduce Min with doughnuts and then come back to collect his ten thousand bucks. The great Calvin Morrisey wins again.

Not if I have anything to do about it.

“David?” Cynthie said.

“Trust me,” David said, grimly. “Min just ate her last doughnut.”

On Monday, Roger came in late to work. Bonnie, Cal thought, which made him think of Min, which was ridiculous.

“What is this?” Tony said. “I’m the last one in to work. It’s tradition.”

“Bonnie.” Roger yawned as he sat down at his desk. “We talked pretty late last night.”

“Talked,” Tony said, sitting on the edge of the work table. “The least you could do is get laid.”

Roger narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, now that we’re all here—” Cal said.

“I’m going to marry Bonnie,” Roger told Tony. “You don’t talk like that about the woman you marry.”

“Sorry,” Tony said. “I’m never getting married so I wouldn’t know.”

“—we need to block out the Winston seminar—”

“You’ll know when you find the right woman,” Roger said.

“No such animal,” Tony said.

“—and get the packets done,” Cal said, raising his voice.

“She has a perfect kiss,” Roger said, looking out the window, probably in what he thought was Bonnie’s direction. “Did you ever kiss like that, where everything was exactly right and it just blew the top of your head off?”

“No,” Tony said, looking revolted.

“Yes,” Cal said, Min coming back to him in all her hot and yielding glory. They both turned to look at him, and he said, “Can we go to work now? Because we’re about a minute away from breaking out the ice cream and talking about our feelings, and I don’t think we can come back from that.”

“I’ll get on the invoices,” Roger said and went to his desk.

Cal leaned back in his desk chair, opened a computer file, and thought about Min. He’d had no intentions of kissing her and then he’d jumped her, some insane impulse shoving him into her lap. And she’d been no help. She should have slapped him silly and instead there she was, saying “More,” egging him on—

,” he said and then rolled his eyes at Cal. “Hey, Cynthie.”

Cal shook his head.

“He’s not here,” Tony said. “I think he’s gone for the morning.” He scowled at Cal, who sighed and leaned back in his chair to look at the ceiling.

“Lunch?” Tony said. “Sorry, he’s got a lunch date. At Emilio’s. With his new girlfriend.”

Cal sat up so fast that his feet hit the floor hard. No, he mouthed at Tony and made a slicing motion across his throat with his hand.

“So you don’t have to worry about him being depressed over losing you,” Tony said. “He got right back on the horse.”

Cal stood up, rage in his eyes, and Tony said, “Gotta go,” and hung up.

“Are you insane?” Cal said.

“Hey, it got rid of her, didn’t it?” Tony said. “I did you a favor.” He frowned. “I think. The whole thing sort of came to me in a flash.” He looked at Roger. “Was that a bad move?”

“I’m not sure,” Roger said. “You might want to stay away from flashes in the future.”

“I don’t want to see Min again,” Cal said, and thought about seeing Min again.

“So? Cynthie doesn’t need to know that,” Tony said.

“So now I have to take Min to Emilio’s because Cynthie will check,” Cal said.

“I don’t see why,” Roger said. “If Cynthie asks, you can say you went someplace else.”

“I try to tell as few lies as possible.” Cal sat down again, trying to feel exasperated about the whole mess. He picked up the phone and dialed Min’s company, tracking her down through the switchboard operator, but her phone was busy and voice mail was not an option. Nobody ever talked anybody into lunch on voice mail.

He hung up the phone and saw Roger and Tony watching him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Roger said.

“Nothing,” Tony said.

“Good,” Cal said and ignored them to go back to his computer screen.

When her office phone rang, Min thought Cal, and then kicked herself. The beast must have the power to cloud women’s minds if she was thinking about him at 9 A.M. on a Monday morning in the middle of a prelim report.

“Minerva Dobbs,” she said into the phone, tapping her red pen on the frosted glass top of her desk.

“Tell me about this man you’re dating,” her mother said.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Min leaned back in her Aeron chair, exasperated.

“Greg says he has a horrible reputation with women,” Nanette said. “Greg says he uses them and leaves them. Greg says—”

“Mother, I don’t care what Greg says,” Min said over her mother’s panic. “And I’m not dating him. We went to dinner and had a picnic in the park and that’s it.” She wrote Cal’s name in block letters on the cover sheet of her report and then drew a heavy red line through it. Gone, gone, gone.

“Greg says—”

“Mother.”

“—that he’s a heartbreaker. He’s worried for you.”

Min started to say, Oh, please, and stopped. Greg probably was worried about her. Greg worried about everything.

Why was Greg worried about her?

“How does Greg even know this guy exists?” Min said as she wrote “Greg” in red block letters and drew two heavy lines through it. Then she wrote “Dweeb” below that and “Snitch” below that.

“I’m worried for you,” her mother was saying. “I know you’re being brave about losing David, but I just hate it. I can’t stand it if you’re hurt.”

Min felt her throat close. “Who are you and what did you do with my mother?”

“I just don’t want you hurt,” Nanette said, and Min thought she heard her voice shake. “I want you married to a good man who will appreciate you for how wonderful you are and not leave you because you’re overweight.”

Min shook her head. “You had me right up to the last line.” She wrote “Mother” in block letters, drew a heart around it, and then, while Nanette talked on, she drew four heavy lines across it.

“Marriage is hard, Min,” Nanette was saying. “There are a million reasons for them to cheat and leave, so you have to work at it all the time. You have to look good all the time. Men are very visual. If they see something better—”

“Mom?” Min said. “I don’t think—”

“No matter how hard you work, there’s always somebody younger, somebody better,” Nanette said, her voice trembling. “Even for Diana, for everybody. You can’t start with a handicap, you can’t—”

“What’s going on?” Min said. “Is Greg cheating on Diana?”

“No,” her mother said, sounding taken aback. “Of course not.”

Min tried to imagine Greg betraying Diana, but it was ridiculous. Greg didn’t have the gumption to cheat. Plus, he loved Diana.

“Why would you say that?” her mother said. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“You were the one who brought up cheating,” Min said. So if not Greg, then who? Dad? Min rejected that thought, too. Her father had three interests in life: insurance, statistics, and golf. “The only thing Dad would leave you for is the perfect four iron, so that’s not it. What’s going on?”

“I want you married and happy and this Cabot isn’t—”

“Calvin,” Min said.

“Bring him to dinner Saturday,” Nanette said. “Wear something black so you’ll look thinner.”

“I’m not seeing him, Mother,” Min said. “That’s going to make it doubtful that he’ll want to meet my parents.”

“Just be careful,” her mother said. “I don’t know how you find these men.”

“He looked down my sweater and saw that red lace bra,” Min said. “It’s all your fault.”

She spent a few more minutes reassuring Nanette, and then she hung up and went back to editing for another five minutes until the phone rang again. “Oh, great,” she said and answered it, prepared to argue with her mother again. “Minerva Dobbs.”

“Min, it’s Di,” her sister said.

“Hi, honey,” Min said. “If this is about Greg ratting out my picnic date, it’s okay, it’s over, I’m never going to see him again.” She drew another line through Greg’s name. As far as she was concerned, there couldn’t be too many lines through Greg’s name.

“Greg says David says he’s awful,” Diana said.

Min sat up a little straighter. “David said that, did he?” The rat fink didn’t even play fair on his bets. She wrote “David” in big block letters and then stabbed her pen into it.

“He told Greg not to tell me he’d told him,” Diana said.

“Right,” Min said, not bothering to follow that.

“He just doesn’t sound like part of your plan,” Di said.

Min stopped stabbing. “My plan? What plan?”

“You always have a plan,” Di said. “Like me. I’ve planned my wedding and my marriage very carefully and Greg fits perfectly. He’s perfect for me. We’re going to have a perfect life.”

“Right,” Min said, and drew another line through Greg’s name.

“So I know you must have a plan and this wolf—”

“Beast,” Min said.

“—frog, whatever, can’t fit your plan.”

“He’s not a frog,” Min said. “I kissed him and he did not turn into a prince.” He turned into a god. No, he didn’t. “Look, I’m never going to see him again, so everybody can relax.”

“Good,” Di said. “I’ll tell Mom you’re being sensible as usual and she won’t worry anymore.”

“Oh, good,” Min said. “Sensible as usual. Nobody mentioned this to Dad, did they?”

“Mom might have,” Diana said.

“Oh, hell, Di, why didn’t you stop her?” A vision of her overprotective father rose up before her like a big blond bear. “You know how he is.”

“I know,” Di said. “I’m still not sure he likes Greg.”

Are you sure you like Greg? Min wanted to say, but there wasn’t any point since Diana would insist it was True Love to the death. “Well, good news, I got you a cake—”

“You did?” Di’s voice went up a notch. “Oh, Min, thank you—”

“—but it won’t be decorated so Bonnie and I are going to do that with Mom’s pearls and a lot of fresh flowers.” Min began to draw a wedding cake.

“You’re going to decorate my cake?” Di said, her voice flat.

“People are going to love it when they taste it,” Min said, adding some doves to the top.

“Taste?” Di said. “What about when they look at it?”

“Are you kidding? Fresh flowers and real pearls? It’ll be a sensation.” Min drew in some pearls. They were easier than doves, and she was experiencing enough difficulty with her morning.

“What does Mom say?”

“Why don’t we ask her at the wedding?” Min said, keeping her voice chirpy.

“Okay,” Di said, taking a deep breath into the phone. “I really am grateful. And it’s good that it’ll taste good, too. For the cake boxes and everything.”

“Cake boxes?” Min said.

“The little boxes of cake that the guests take home for souvenirs,” Diana said. “To dream on.”

“Cake boxes,” Min said and began to draw little squares. “Two hundred. You bet.”

“You didn’t get cake boxes?”

“Yes,” Min said, drawing boxes faster. “I got cake boxes. Will you relax? You sound like you’re strung up on wires. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Diana said, with too much emphasis.

“No trouble with Wet and Worse?” Min said and then winced. “I mean Susie and Karen?”

Diana laughed. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“I’m sorry,” Min said. “It’s...”

“Min, we know about it. Karen overheard Liza say it back when we were in high school. She calls Bonnie and Liza Sweet and Tart.”

Min laughed in spite of herself.

“Don’t tell them,” Diana said. “I’ll go on pretending you don’t call Susie and Karen Wet and Worse if you’ll go on pretending we don’t call Bonnie and Liza Sweet and Tart.”

“Deal,” Min said. “God, we’re horrible people.”

“Not us,” Diana said cheerfully. “It’s our friends who make this stuff up. We’re those nice Dobbs girls.”

“I think that depends on who you ask,” Min said, thinking of Cal. She had to remember to be nicer to him. Except she wasn’t going to see him again so it didn’t matter. Also, when she was nice to him in the park, it went badly. “I’ve been really bitchy lately....” Her voice trailed off as her father loomed in the doorway, looking like an anxious Viking. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Oh, no,” Diana said.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Min said to Diana and hung up. “So, what brings you down here?” she said to her dad. “Air get too thin on the fortieth floor?”

“About this man you’re seeing,” George Dobbs said, glowering at his daughter as he came into her office.

“Don’t even try it,” Min said. “I know you have junior account executives for breakfast, but that doesn’t work with me. I’m not seeing Cal anymore, but if I were, it would be my choice. Come on, Dad.” She smiled at him, but his face stayed worried. “Two and a half million people get married every year in this country. Why not me?”

“Marriage isn’t for everybody, Min,” he said.

“Daddy?” Min said, taken aback.

“This man is not a good man,” George said.

“Now wait just a minute,” Min said. “You don’t even know him. He was a perfect gentleman both times we went out—” Well, there were hands in the park. “—and since we’ve decided not to see each other again, it’s pretty much not a problem.”

“Good.” Her father’s face cleared. “Good for you. That’s smart. Why take chances with a man you know isn’t a good risk?”

“I’m not selling him insurance,” Min said.

“I know, Min,” he said. “But it’s the same principle. You’re not a gambler. You’re too sensible for that.”

He smiled at her, patted her hand, and left, and Min sat at her desk and felt dull, frumpy, and boring. Not a gambler. Sensible as usual. She let herself think about kissing Cal in the park, his mouth hot on hers, his hands hard on her, and she felt the heat rise all over again. That hadn’t been sensible, that hadn’t been a plan. And now she was never going to see him again.

She looked down at her report and realized she’d perforated it. She must have been stabbing it, the Norman Bates of statistical analysis. “Great,” she said, and tried to pull the pages apart. The top sheet ripped, and her phone rang, and she picked it up and snarled, “Minerva Dobbs,” ready to perforate the caller this time.

“Good morning, Minerva,” Cal said, and all the air rushed out of Min’s lungs. “How did you get that godawful name?”

Breathe. Deep breaths. Very deep breaths.

“Oh,” she said. “This is good. Grief about my name from a guy named Calvin.” I do not care that he called. I am totally unaffected by this. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was convinced he could hear it over the phone.

“I was named after my rich uncle Robert,” Cal said, “which turned out to be a total waste when he left everything to the whales. What’s your excuse?”

“My mother wanted a goddess,” Min said faintly.

“Well, she got one,” Cal said. “I take it back, it’s the perfect name for you.”

“And my father’s mother was named Minnie,” Min said, trying to get back to offhand and unfazed. “It was a compromise. Why isn’t your name Robert?”

“I got his last name,” Cal said. “Which is good. I don’t see myself as a Bob.”

“Bob Morrisey.” Min leaned back in her chair, pretending to be cool. “That weird guy in the shipping department.”

“The insurance agent you can trust,” Cal said.

“The used car salesman you can’t,” Min said.

“Whereas Calvin Morrisey is the old fart who started the company in 1864,” Cal said. “Or in this case, the guy who has your shoe.”

“Shoe?”

“Red ribbons, funky heel, big dopey flower.”

“My shoe.” Min sat up, delighted. “I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“Well, you won’t unless you come to lunch with me,” Cal said. “I’m holding it for ransom. There’s a gun to its heel right now.”

“I have lunch at my desk,” Min began, and thought, Oh, for crying out loud, could I be any more pathetic?

“Emilio is experimenting with a lunch menu. He needs you. I need you.”

“I can’t,” Min said while every fiber in her being said, Yes, yes, anything. Thank God her fiber couldn’t talk.

“You can’t let Emilio down,” Cal went on. “He loves you. We’ll have chicken marsala. Come on, live a little. A very little.”

A very little. Even Cal knew she was a sensible, non-gambling, plan-ridden loser. “Yes,” Min said, her heart starting to pound again. “I would love to get my shoe back and have chicken marsala for lunch.”

“Keep in mind, you have to eat it with me,” Cal said. “You’re not seeing that shoe until you eat.”

“I can stand that,” Min said, and felt lighter all over. Then she hung up and looked at her report.

She’d been drawing hearts on it, tiny ones, dozens of them.

“Oh, my Lord,” Min said and put her head on her desk.

When Min got to Emilio’s, a dark-haired teenage boy at the door said, “You looking for Cal?” and when she nodded, said, “He’s at your table,” and jerked his head into the restaurant.

“I have a table?” Min said, but then she saw Cal sitting by the window at the table they’d had Wednesday night, and she lost her breath for a minute. I keep forgetting how beautiful he is, she thought, and watched as he sat relaxed in his chair, his dark eyes fixed on the street outside, his profile perfect. He was tapping his fingers on the table, and his hands looked strong, and Min remembered how good they’d felt on her and thought, Get out of here. Then he saw her and straightened and smiled, his eyes lighting as if he were glad to see her, and she smiled back and went to meet him. Charm Boy, she thought, and slowed down again, but he already had her chair pulled out for her.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, and she slid into the chair thinking, He’s up to something, be careful. Then she noticed him looking at the floor and said, “What?” her voice cracking with nerves.

“Shoes,” he said. “What are you wearing?”

“You sound like an obscene phone call,” she said, trying to keep her treacherous voice steady, but she stuck her foot out so he could see her blue reptile slides, open-toed to show off the matching blue nail polish.

He shook his head. “You can do better. The toes are nice, though.”

“These are work shoes,” she said, annoyance clearing up her nerves. “Also, you have my red shoe so I couldn’t wear those. Can I have my shoe back?”

“Not until after lunch,” he said, sitting down across from her. “It’s my only leverage.”

“Have you had this foot fetish long?” she said, as he passed her the bread basket.

“Just since I met you,” he said. “Suddenly, there’s a whole new world out there.”

“Glad to know I’ve made an impact,” she said, and was appalled to realize that she really was. It was enough to make her nerves come back. He doesn’t matter. She shoved the bread basket back to him, determined to be virtuous in consumption if not in thought, and said, “So who’s the charmer at the door? He needs lessons from you.”

“Emilio’s nephew.” Cal picked up a piece of bread and broke it. “His tableside manner could use some work.”

“Doesn’t Emilio have somebody else to put up front?” Min picked up her napkin to keep her hands off the bread. “He can’t be good for business.”

“Brian’s the socially adept one in the family,” Cal said. “His brothers are back in the kitchen where they won’t hurt anybody. Fortunately, they can cook. I already ordered. Salad, chicken marsala, no pasta.”

“Oh, good,” Min said, “because I’m starving. Did you know that forty percent of all pasta sold is spaghetti?” Geek, she thought, and tried to suppress her statistical instinct while she smiled at him. “I think that shows a huge lack of imag—”

Brian slung a salad in front of her and another in front of Cal. “Your chicken’s up in about fifteen,” he told Cal. “You want wine with that?”

“Yes, please,” Cal said to him. “I thought you were working on your finesse.”

“Not with you,” Brian said. “I know it’s chicken, but for you, red wine, right?”

“Right,” Cal said. “Now ask me what kind of red.”

“Whatever Emilio puts in the glass,” Brian said, and left.

“Just a little ray of sunshine,” Min said. “But enough about him. Give me the ten bucks.”

“Ten bucks?” Cal looked beautifully blank and then shook his head. “There wasn’t a bet. Stop harassing me for cash.”

“You asked me out without a bet?” Min said.

“No money will change hands,” Cal said. “Except for me paying the tab.”

“We can go Dutch,” Min offered.

“No, we can’t.”

“Why not? I can afford it. We’re not dating. Why—”

“I invited you, I pay,” Cal said, his face beginning to set into that stubborn look that exasperated her.

“That means if I invite you, I pay,” Min said.

“No, I pay then, too,” Cal said. “So tell me who Diana, Wet, and Worse are.”

“That’s why you invited me to lunch?” Min said, infusing her voice with as much skepticism as possible.

“No.” Cal put his head in his hands. “Could we just for once meet like regular people? Smile at each other, make small talk, pretend you don’t hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” Min said, shocked. “I like you. I mean, you have flaws—”

“What flaws?” Cal said. “Of course I have them, but I’ve been on my best behavior with you. Except for hitting you in the eye and attacking you on a picnic table. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Min said, putting as much chipper as she could into her voice. “I’m turning over a new leaf. Taking risks. Like having lunch with a wolf.”

“I’m a wolf?” Cal said.

“Oh, please,” Min said. “You picked me up on Friday with ‘Hello, little girl.’ Who did you think you were channeling, the prince?”

Emilio appeared with wine before Cal could say anything, and Min beamed at him, grateful for the rescue. “Emilio, my darling. I forgot to mention cake boxes. Two hundred cake boxes.”

“Already on it,” Emilio said. “Nonna said you’d need them. She said to get four-inch-square boxes for three-inch-square cakes.”

“I’m getting the boxes,” Min said, nodding. “Sure. Great. Fine. Your grandmother is an angel and you are my hero. And of course, a genius with food.”

“And you are my favorite customer.” Emilio kissed her cheek and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“I love him,” she told Cal.

“I noticed,” Cal said. “Been seeing him behind my back, have you?”

“Yes,” Min said. “We’ve been having conversations about cake.”

“Whoa,” Cal said. “For you, that’s talking dirty.”

“Funny.” Min stabbed her salad again and bit into the crisp greens. Emilio’s dressing was tangy and light, a miracle all by itself. “God, I love Emilio. This salad is fabulous. Which is not a word I usually use with ‘salad.’ ”

“Tell me about the cake,” Cal said, starting on his own salad.

“My sister Diana is getting married in three weeks,” Min said, glad to be on a topic that wasn’t dangerous. “Her fiancé said he knew this great baker and that he would order the cake as a surprise. And then the surprise turned out to be that he hadn’t ordered the cake.”

“And the wedding’s still on?” Cal said.

“Yes. My sister says it’s her fault for not reminding him.”

“Your sister does not sound like you,” Cal said.

“My sister is my exact opposite,” Min said. “She’s a darling.”

Cal frowned. “Which makes you what?”

“Me?” Min stopped eating, surprised. “I’m okay.”

Cal shook his head as Emilio appeared with a steaming platter of chicken marsala. When he and Min had assured each other of their undying devotion, he left, and Cal served chicken and mushrooms. “So how do Wet and Worse figure in this cake story?”

“They don’t,” Min said. “Except that they’re my sister’s bridesmaids. But do not tell anybody I called them that.” She ate her first bite of chicken, savoring it, and then teased an errant drop of sauce from her lower lip. “Do you think—”

“Don’t do that,” Cal said, his voice flat.

“What?” Min blinked at him. “Ask questions?”

“Lick your lip. What were you going to ask me?”

“Why? Bad manners?” Min said, dangerously.

“No,” Cal said. “It distracts me. You have a great mouth. I know. I was there once. What were you going to ask me?”

Min met his eyes, and he stared back, unblinking. Oh, she thought and tried to remember what they’d been talking about, but it was hard because all she could think about was how he’d been there once, and how good he’d felt, and how hot his eyes were on her now, and how much she—

“You guys okay?” Brian said.

“What?” Cal said, jerking his head up.

“Is there something wrong with the chicken?” Brian frowned at them both. “You guys looked strange.”

“No,” Min said, picking up her fork again. “The chicken is wonderful.”

“Okay,” Brian said. “You need anything else?”

“A waiter with some class?” Cal said.

“Yeah, right, like I’d waste that on you,” Brian said, and wandered off.

“So anyway,” Min said, scrambling for a safer topic, “when Diana told me about the cake, I turned to Emilio in my hour of need, and he called his grandmother. So he’s my hero.”

“Wait’ll you taste the cake,” Cal said. “She only makes it for weddings and it’s like nothing else in this world.”

“When did you eat wedding cake?” Min said.

“When Emilio got married,” Cal said. “When my brother got married. When everybody I’ve ever known got married. Tony, Roger, and I are the last hold-outs, so there have been a lot of weddings. And now Roger’s going down for the count.”

“Well, at least you and Tony will have each other,” Min said brightly. “So you have a brother. Younger or older?”

“Older. Reynolds.”

Min stopped eating. “Reynolds? Reynolds Morrisey?”

“Yes,” Cal said. “Husband to Bink, father to Harry.”

“Isn’t there a fancy law firm called Reynolds Morrisey?”

“Yes,” Cal said. “My father, his partner John Reynolds, and my brother.” He didn’t sound too thrilled about any of them.

“Cozy,” Min said. “So how is Harry?”

“Permanently scarred from watching us on a picnic table.”

Min winced. “Really?”

“Hard to say. I haven’t seen him since. Bink probably has him in therapy by now. So what’s your take on Bonnie and Roger?”

“They’ll be engaged before fall,” Min said, and they began to discuss Bonnie and Roger and other safe topics for the rest of the meal. When they were finished and Cal had signed the charge slip, he said, “So lunch with me is risky. Does that mean you need an apology for our last lunch?”

“No.” Min smiled and tried to look unfazed. “I’ve been working on the theory that if we don’t talk about it, it didn’t happen. Although a lot of people seem to know about it. Greg, for example. He ratted us out, and now my mother wants you to come to dinner.” Cal looked taken aback for a minute, and she said, “I told her you were a complete stranger so dinner was unlikely.” Then out of the blue, she blurted, “So what was that on Saturday?”

“Well.” Cal took a deep breath. “That was chemistry. And it was phenomenal. I’d be more than interested in doing that again, especially naked and horizontal, but—”

Min’s pulse picked up, but she slapped herself in the forehead to forestall him and her own treacherous imagination.

“What?” he said.

“I’m remembering why you never ask guys to tell you the truth,” she said. “Because sometimes they do.”

“My point is,” Cal said, “that Liza was right, I had no business kissing you like that because I don’t want anything that serious. I just got out of a relationship that was a lot more intense than I’d realized and—”

Min frowned. “How could it have been more intense than you’d realized?”

“I thought we were just having a good time,” Cal said. “She thought we were getting married. It ended okay, there are no hard feelings—”

Min looked at him in amazement. “She wanted to get married, you didn’t, but there are no hard feelings.”

“She said if I wasn’t ready to commit, she’d have to move on,” Cal said. “It was pretty cut and dried.”

“And you’re the guy who’s supposed to be a wizard at understanding women. It was not cut and dried. She either hates you, or she thinks you’re coming back.”

Cal shook his head. “Cynthie’s very practical. She knows it’s over. And so are we because, even though it was great, this is not something either one of us wants to pursue.”

“Right,” Min said, understanding completely if not happily. “It would be different if we were at all compatible. I’m not averse to commitment, especially if it’d be that much fun, but the last thing I need is to fall for somebody I already know is no good for me just because he kisses like a god. Also, I’m waiting for the reincarnation of Elvis and you are not him. But—”

She stopped because Cal had a strange look on his face.

“What?” she said. “I was kidding about Elvis.”

“I’m no good for you,” he said, “but I kiss like a god?”

Min considered it. “Pretty much. Why? Did you have a different take on it?”

Cal opened his mouth and then stopped and shrugged. “I guess not. I don’t think you’d be bad for me, I just can’t take the hassle. You’re not a restful woman.”

“This is true,” Min said. “But you ask for it. You’re such a wolf.”

“I’m retired,” Cal said. “All I want now is some peace and quiet. I just need a break.”

“That’s my plan,” Min said. “I’m taking a break from dating.”

“Until Elvis shows up,” Cal said.

“Right. As far as I can see, there’s no downside to this at all.”

“No sex,” Cal said.

“I can stand that,” Min said.

“Yeah, you’re good at denying yourself things.”

“Hey,” Min said, insulted. “We were doing just fine there and then you had to take a shot at me.”

“Sorry,” Cal said.

They got up to go, Min kissed Emilio good-bye, and they went out into the street.

“Okay, it’s broad daylight and my office is only six blocks away,” Min said. “You don’t have to walk me.”

“Fair enough.” Cal held out his hand. “We’ll probably meet again at Roger and Bonnie’s wedding. In case we don’t, have a nice life.”

Min shook his hand and dropped it. “Likewise. Best of luck in the future.”

She turned to go and he said, “Wait a minute,” and made her heart lurch. But when she turned around, he was holding her shoe, the red ribbons fluttering in the light breeze.

“Right,” she said, taking it. “Thank you very much.”

He held on to it for a moment, looking into her eyes, and then he shook his head and said, “You’re welcome” and let go, and she set off down the street without looking back, full of excellent food but not nearly as happy as she should have been.

Charm Boy, she thought, and put him out of her mind.

On Tuesday, Min looked at the salad on her desk at lunch and thought, There has to be more to life than this. It was Cal’s fault; she’d had real food in the middle of the day and it had tainted her. Until Cal, she’d never thought about food except as something she couldn’t have. Even before she’d started dieting for the bridesmaid’s dress, there’d been no butter in her life. There should be butter, she thought, and then realized the folly of that.

But there could be chicken marsala.

Min shoved her salad to one side, logged onto the net, and did a search for “chicken marsala” because doing a search for “Cal Morrisey” would not have been helpful to her damn plan.

“Very popular dish,” she said when she got 48,300 matches. Even allowing for the weird randomness that more than 48,000 of them would demonstrate if she ever got that far, that was still a lot of recipes. There was one with artichokes, that was insane. One had lemon juice, which couldn’t be right, another peppers, another onions. It was amazing how many ways people had found to garbage up a plain recipe. She printed off two that sounded right and went to log off the net, but instead, on a random impulse, Googled for “dyslexia” instead. An hour later, she logged off with a new respect for what Calvin Morrisey had accomplished.

When she got off work, she stopped by the grocery. There was something about having a plan for dinner, a recipe in hand, that made her feel much less hostile about food. Of course, she was going to have to adapt the recipe. It called for the chicken to be breaded in flour, which was just extra calories, and carb calories no less. Skip the breading. Salt and pepper she already had, and parsley had no calories, so she picked up a jar of that. Skinless, boneless chicken breasts she was familiar with, no problem there, but butter and olive oil? “It is to laugh,” she said and got spray olive oil in a can. Mushrooms were mostly water, so she could have those, and then there was the marsala. She found it in the cooking wine section. Resolutely passing by the bread section, she checked out feeling triumphant, went home and changed into her sweats, cranked up the CD player, and sang her head off to her Elvis 30 album as she cooked.

An hour later, Elvis was starting all over again and she was staring at the mess in her only frying pan trying to figure out what had gone wrong. She’d browned the chicken in the non-stick skillet and then followed all the other directions but it looked funny and tasted like hell. She tapped her spatula on the edge of the stove for a few moments and thought, Okay, I’m not a cook. I still deserve great food, and dropped the spatula to pick up the phone.

“Emilio?” she said when he answered. “Do you deliver?”

The Parker seminar was turning into the worst mess Morrisey, Packard, Capa had ever seen, mostly because the idiot who was in charge of training kept changing the seminar information. “I’m faxing some information over,” she’d say when she called. “Just slot it in somewhere.”

“That bitch must die,” Tony said when she called at ten till five on Tuesday. “I’ve got a date with Liza tonight.”

“I’ll stay for the fax,” Roger said. “Bonnie will understand.”

“You go, I’ll stay,” Cal said. “I’m dateless and too tired to move anyway.”

Tony and Roger left, both heading for warm women, and Cal read the fax and tightened the seminar packet one more time, trying to feel grateful that there wasn’t any place he had to be, no woman demanding his time and attention. At seven, he turned off the computer with relief and realized he was starving.

Emilio’s seemed like an excellent idea.

“Don’t tell me,” Emilio said when Cal came through the swinging doors into the kitchen. “Chicken marsala.”

“I’ve had enough chicken marsala for a while,” Cal said as the phone rang. Emilio turned to get it and Cal added, “Something simple. Tomato and basil on spaghetti—” No. Forty percent of all pasta sold was spaghetti. No imagination. “Make that fettuccine—”

He stopped when Emilio held up his hand and said, “Emilio’s,” into the phone. Emilio listened and then looked back over his shoulder at Cal and said, “We usually don’t, but for such a special customer, we’ll make an exception. Chicken marsala, right? No, no, no trouble at all. You can overtip the delivery boy.”

He hung up and smiled at Cal. “That was Min. She wants chicken marsala. You can deliver it to her.”

“What?” Cal said, dumbfounded.

“You know the way. It’s probably on your way home.”

“It’s not on my way home, it’s not on anybody’s way home except God’s, the damn place is vertical. What gave you the idea I’d do this?”

Emilio shrugged. “I don’t know. She called, you were here, you two are great together, it seemed like a good idea. Did you have a fight?”

“No, we didn’t have a fight,” Cal said. “We’re not seeing each other because I’m all wrong for her and she’s waiting for Elvis. Call her back and tell her your delivery boy died.”

“Then she won’t have anything for dinner,” Emilio said. “And you know Min. She’s one of those women who eats.”

Cal thought about the look on Min’s face when she ate chicken marsala. It was almost as good as the look on her face when she ate doughnuts. Which wasn’t anywhere near as good as the look on her face when he’d kissed her, that had been—

Emilio shrugged. “Fine. Brian can take it to her.”

“No,” Cal said. “I’ll take it to her. Hurry up, will you? I’m hungry.”