iza scowled at the empty doorway. This was not good. When Calvin Morrisey came back in and spoke to David for a moment, it didn’t get better.

“Do you suppose it was the booze?” Bonnie asked.

Liza thought fast. “I don’t know what it was, but I don’t like it. Why was he hitting on her?”

Bonnie frowned. “It’s not like you to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” Liza transferred her scowl to Bonnie. “Think about it. Min sends out no signals, he’s never talked to her so he can’t know how great she is, and she’s dressed like a nun with an MBA. But he crosses a crowded bar to pick her up—”

“It’s possible,” Bonnie said.

“—right after he’s talked to David,” Liza finished, nodding to the landing where a red-faced David was now moving in on the brunette.

“Oh.” Bonnie looked stricken. “Oh, no.”

“There’s only one thing we can do.” Liza squared her shoulders. “We’ve got to find out what Calvin the Beast is up to.”

“How—”

Liza nodded at the mezzanine. “He was with those two guys. Which one do you want, the big dumb-looking blond or the bullet head?”

Bonnie followed her eyes to the landing and sighed. “The blond. He looks harmless. The bullet head looks like all hands, and I’m not up to that tonight.”

“Well, I am.” Liza put her drink on the bar and leaned back. The bullet head was looking right at her. “The last time I saw a brow that low I was watching slides in anthropology class.” She met his stare dead on for a full five seconds. Then she turned back to the bar. “Two minutes.”

“It’s a crowded room, Lize,” Bonnie said. “Give him three.”

David had watched Cal open the street door for Min and felt a flare of jealous rage. It wasn’t that he wanted to kick Cal. He always wanted to kick Cal. The guy never broke a sweat, never made a bad business move, never lost a bet, and never hit on a woman and missed. Your therapist warned you about this, he told himself, but he knew it wasn’t just his need to be first in everything. This time the jealousy had an extra twist.

This time Cal had taken Min. Min who was good, solid wife material except for that stubborn streak which he could have worn down, she’d have come back eventually. But now—

He stiffened as Cal came back through the door and motioned him over.

“We’re going to dinner,” Cal said, holding out his hand. “Ten bucks.”

He sounded mad, which made David feel better as he took out his wallet and handed Cal the ten.

“Smart move not tipping me that she hates men,” Cal said.

Then he was gone, and David went back to the railing and said, “I think I just made a mistake.”

“You, too?” Cynthie said, her voice sad over her martini glass.

David glanced at the door. “So it wasn’t your idea to break up with Cal?”

“No.” Cynthie stared at the door. “I thought it was time to get married, so I said, ‘Now or never.’ ” She smiled tightly up at David. “And he said, ‘Sorry.’ ” She drew in a deep breath and David tried not to be distracted by the fact that she was braless under her red jersey dress.

“That’s lousy.” David leaned against the rail so he couldn’t look down her dress since that would be crass, something Cal Morrisey would do. “Cal must be a moron.”

“Thank you.” Cynthie turned back to watch the bar as Tony got up from the next table and walked down the stairs with Roger following. Her hair moved like TV hair, a dark silky fall that brushed her shoulders. “I’d love to know how Cal met that woman. I could have sworn he wasn’t dating anybody.”

David considered telling her that Cal had picked up Min because of the bet and then thought, No. The bet had not been his finest hour. In fact, for the life of him, he couldn’t think why he’d done it, it was as if some malignant force had whispered in his ear. No, it was Cal’s fault, that’s what it was, and it was a disaster because if Min ever found out he’d made that bet...

“Do you know her?” Cynthie said.

“She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Cynthie put her drink down. “Well, I hope Cal’s sorry he picked her up. I hope he realizes what he’s lost once he gets her back to his place.”

“They’re not going back to his place,” David said. “She won’t.” Cynthie waited, and he added, “She doesn’t like sex.”

Cynthie smiled.

David shrugged. “At least, she wouldn’t try it in the two months we were together. So I ended it.”

Cynthie shook her head, still smiling. “You didn’t give the relationship enough time. What does she do for a living?”

David stiffened at the criticism. “She’s an actuary. And it strikes me that two months—”

“David,” Cynthie said, “if you wanted sex in the first five minutes, you should have dated a stripper. If she’s an actuary, she’s a cautious person, her career is figuring out how to minimize risk, and in your case, she was right.”

David began to dislike Cynthie. “How was she right?”

“You left her over sex.” Cynthie leaned forward, and David pretended not to watch her breasts under the jersey. “David, this is my specialty. If you loved her, you wouldn’t have given her an ultimatum over sex.”

“What is it you do?” David said, coldly.

“I’m a psychologist.” Cynthie picked up her drink, and David remembered some of the gossip he’d heard.

“You’re the dating guru,” he said, warming to her again. She was practically a celebrity. “You’ve been on TV.”

“I do guest spots,” Cynthie said. “My research on relationships has been very popular. And all of it tells me you do not give an ultimatum over sex.”

“You gave Cal one.”

“Not over sex,” Cynthie said. “I’d never deny him sex. And it wasn’t an ultimatum, it was strategy. We’d been together nine months, we were past infatuation and into attachment, and I knew that all he needed was a physiological cue to make him aware of his true feelings.”

“That makes no sense at all,” David said.

Cynthie smiled at him without warmth. “My studies have shown that the process of falling into mature love happens in four steps.” She held up one finger. “When you meet a woman, you subconsciously look for cues that she’s the kind of person you should be with. That’s assumption.” She held up a second finger. “If she passes the assumption test, you begin to get to know her to find out if she’s appropriate for you. If she is, you’re attracted.” She held up a third finger. “If, as you get to know her, the attraction is reinforced with joy or pain or both, you’ll fall into infatuation. And...” She held up her fourth finger. “If you manage to make a connection and attach to each other during infatuation, you’ll move into mature, unconditional love.”

“That seems a little clinical,” David said, faking interest. After all, she was almost a celebrity.

“That doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” Cynthie said. “Take assumption. Your subconscious mind scans women and picks out those that meet your assumptions about the kind of woman you’re attracted to.”

“I like to think I’m not close-minded,” David said.

“Which is why I’m surprised Cal picked up your Min.” Cynthie sipped her drink. “One of his assumptions is that his women will be beautiful.”

“I always thought Cal was shallow,” David said, and thought, He picked her up for the bet, the bastard.

“He’s not shallow at all,” Cynthie said. “Since they’ve passed assumption, they’ll now subconsciously gauge attraction. For example, if they fell into step when they left the bar, that could be a strong psychological hint that they’re compatible.” She frowned. “I wish we could watch them at dinner.”

“And see what?” David said, picking up his drink again. “Them eating in unison?”

“No,” Cynthie said. “If they mirror each other in action, both crossing their legs the same way, for example. If she accepts his touch with pleasure. If they exchange a copulatory gaze.”

David choked on his drink.

“It’s a look that’s held a few seconds too long,” Cynthie said. “It’s a clear sexual signal. All species do it.”

David nodded and reminded himself not to stare in the future.

“If their conversation picks up a rhythm with no long silences, that will be attraction. If they develop enough of a relationship to use nicknames.”

“Min hates nicknames,” David said, remembering a disastrous “honey bun” incident.

“If they have the same tastes in music or film. If they establish shared secrets or private jokes. If they value the same things. Is Min self-employed?”

“No,” David said. “She works for Alliance Insurance. Her father is a vice president there.”

Cynthie’s smile curved across her beautiful face. “Excellent. Cal likes to gamble, so he admires people who take risks. That’s why he refused to go into his father’s business and started his own company instead. He’s not going to be impressed by somebody who’s riding her father’s coattails. He’ll think she’s dull.”

“That’s good,” David said. The superficial bastard.

Cynthie nodded over her glass. “Even her attitude will make a difference. Someone who likes you and likes being with you is attractive.” She looked woebegone for a moment. “And of course your Min will be delighted to be with him.”

“No, she isn’t,” David said, feeling better. “She’s mad at all men right now because I broke things off with her. And she’s got a sharp tongue.”

Cynthie brightened. “So he’ll combine her bad temper with his analysis of her as someone who’s too conservative. This is sounding very good, David. Will she let him pay for dinner?”

David shook his head. “Min insists on going Dutch. She’s a very fair woman.”

“Every species has a dinner date as part of courting ritual,” Cynthie said. “A woman who won’t let you pay for dinner is rejecting your courtship. She may think she’s playing fair, or that she’s being a feminist, but at a very deep level, she knows that she’s crossing you off her list of possibilities.”

“She won’t let him pay,” David said, rethinking his stance on that. When Min came back, he was going to pay for dinner.

“So they’ll fight over the check. That’s wonderful.” She sat back, her face relaxed for the first time. “From what you’ve told me about her, Cal is already regretting asking her to leave with him.”

“That’s good,” David said, cheering up at the thought.

Cynthie’s smile wavered. “So did you want to go to dinner, or did you ask me out just to make Cal mad?”

Dinner. If he took Cynthie to dinner, Tony and Roger would tell Cal he and Cynthie had hooked up. That would serve Cal right. He could walk off with the hot brunette who’d dumped the legendary Calvin Morrisey. He’d win.

He put his drink down. “I asked because I wanted to have dinner with you.”

Cynthie smiled and he was dazzled. Cal was a fool for letting this woman go.

“And you can tell me more about Min,” Cynthie said.

“Of course,” David said.

All about Min. Nothing about the bet.

Min had waited outside while the beast went back in to retrieve whatever he’d forgotten—his morals, maybe—and the cool air of the June night cleared her head and her anger a little. The bar was on one of her favorite streets, full of funky little shops and restaurants and a great revival theater, and a gentle breeze blew through the skinny trees that struggled to grow in their iron cages along the street edge. For a moment, Min watched the trees and thought, I know just how you feel. Well, she didn’t know the skinny part. But the trapped? Yep.

Because she was stuck, no doubt about it. Stuck dateless in a stupid bridesmaid’s dress for her sister’s wedding to a dweeb with her mother sighing at her. Because the truth was, she wasn’t going to be able to play somebody like Cal Morrisey for three weeks. It had been a dumb, dumb idea, fueled by rum and rage. For a moment, she wished that she was back in her attic apartment, curled up on her grandmother’s old pumpkin-colored sofa, listening to Elvis’s Moody Blue album. Maybe she wasn’t the type to date, maybe she should just give in to her well-upholstered genes and become a kindly maiden aunt to Diana’s inevitable offspring. It wasn’t as if she wanted kids of her own. And what other purpose did men serve? Well, sex, but look how they acted about that. Honestly—

A cell phone rang behind her, and she started. When she turned, it was Calvin Morrisey, back again. He reached in his jacket and took out his phone, the kind that had more bells and whistles than any human being needed, and it confirmed her decision: There was no way in hell she was going to spend three weeks with a soulless yuppie just to get a date to Diana’s wedding. She’d go Dutch on dinner and then say good-bye forever; that was a plan.

She crossed her arms and waited for him to impress her with a business call, but he turned the phone off.

Min raised her eyebrows. “What if it’s important?”

“The only person I want to talk to is here,” he said, smiling that GQ smile at her.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Min said. “Can you turn that off, too?”

“Excuse me?” he said, his smile fading.

“The constant line.” Min began to walk again. “You’ve got me for dinner. You can relax now.”

“I’m always relaxed.” He caught up to her in one stride. “Where are we going?”

Min stopped, and he walked a step past her before he caught himself.

“The new restaurant that everybody’s talking about is this way. Serafino’s. Somebody I used to know says the chef is making a statement with his cuisine.” She thought of David and looked at Cal. Two of a kind. “I assumed that’d be your style. Did you have someplace else in mind?”

“Yes.” He put one finger on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push to turn her around, and Min shrugged off his touch as she turned. “My restaurant’s that way,” he said. “Never go any place the chef is trying to talk with food. Unless you want Ser—”

“Nope.” Min turned around and began to walk again. “I want to check out your taste in restaurants. I’m assuming it’ll be like your taste in cell phones: very trendy.”

“I like gadgets,” he said, catching up again. “I don’t think it’s a comment on the real me.”

“I’ve always wanted to do a study on cell phones and personality,” Min lied as they passed the Gryphon theater. “All those fancy styles and different covers, and then some people refuse to carry them at all. You’d think—”

“Yours is black,” he said. “Very practical. Look out for the glass.” He reached to take her arm to steer her around a broken beer bottle, but she detoured on her own, rotating away from him.

He looked at her feet and stopped, probably faking concern, and she stopped, too. “What?”

“Nice shoes,” he said, and she looked down at her frosted-plastic open-toed heels tied with floppy black bows.

“Thank you,” she said, taken aback that he’d noticed.

“You’re welcome.” He put his hands in his pockets and started walking again, lengthening his stride.

“But you’re wrong.” Min took a larger step to catch up. “My cell phone is not black. It’s green and it’s covered in big white daisies.”

“No, it’s not.” He was walking ahead of her now, not even pretending to keep pace with her, and she broke into a trot until she was even with him. “It’s black or silver with a minimum of functions, which is a shame because you never know when you’re going to get stuck somewhere and need a good poker game.”

When she glanced up at him, he looked so good that she stopped again to make him break stride. The key was to keep him off balance, not gape at his face, especially when he was being so annoyingly right about her black cell phone. “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly, folding her arms again. “I know what my cell phone looks like. It has daisies on it. And I know I’m wearing a suit, but that doesn’t mean I’m boring. I’m wearing scarlet underwear.”

“No, you aren’t.” His hands were still in his pockets, and he looked big and broad and cocky as all hell.

“Well, with that kind of attitude, you’ll never find out,” Min said and walked on until she realized he wasn’t following her. She turned back and saw him watching her. “Uh, dinner?”

He ambled toward her while she waited for him, and when he was beside her again, he leaned down and said, “I will bet you ten dollars that your cell phone does not have daisies on it.”

“I don’t gamble,” Min said, trying not to back up a step.

“Double or nothing you’re wearing a plain white bra.”

“If you think I’m that boring, what are you doing with me?”

“I saw the bra when you put the twenty in it. And you have conservative taste, so there’s no way you have a phone with daisies on it. The only exciting thing about you is your shoes.”

Ouch. Min scowled. “Hey—”

“And what I’m doing with you,” he said, clearly at the end of his patience, “is trying to take you to a great restaurant, which is just up ahead, so if we could call a truce until we’re there—”

Min started to walk again.

“No bet?” he said from behind her.

“No bet.” Min walked faster, but he caught up with her anyway, with no visible effort. Long legs, she thought and then kicked herself for thinking about any part of his body. Or the fact that he’d noticed how great her shoes were. Which was just the kind of thing his kind of guy would do. Think about the bet, she told herself. He’s a beast and a gambler.

The beast and gambler stopped in front of a dimly lit storefront window that was covered with red velvet café curtains. Above the curtains, EMILIO’S was written in gold script.

“This is the restaurant?” Min said, surprised he hadn’t picked something flashier.

“Yep.” He reached for the door.

“Wait.” Min squinted at the card on the door. “It closes at ten on weekdays. It must be close to that now. Maybe we should—”

“I’m Emilio’s favorite customer,” he said, pulling the door open. “At least until he meets you.”

“Another line?” Min said, exasperated.

“No,” he said with great and visible patience. “Keep busting my chops all the way through dinner, and Emilio will give you a free dessert.”

“I thought you were his favorite customer,” Min said.

“I am,” he said. “Doesn’t mean he won’t appreciate the show. You coming in or not?”

“Yes,” Min said and walked past him into the restaurant.

It was a minute and a half by Liza’s watch before the bullethead tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, “but I believe you were staring at me.”

Liza blinked at him. “That was disbelief. I couldn’t believe you were so slow.”

“Slow?” He looked insulted. “Nobody could have gotten through that crowd faster than me. I didn’t even have blockers.”

Liza shook her head. “You spotted me a good hour ago. What did you do, sit down and think about it?”

He rolled his eyes. “I heard redheads were hard to handle.” He leaned on the bar. “I’m Tony. And you owe me.”

Okay, here we go, Liza thought, and leaned on the bar, too, mirroring him. “I owe you?”

“Yes.” He grinned at her. “Because of chaos theory.”

Liza shook her head. “Chaos theory.”

He moved closer to her. “Chaos theory says that complex dynamical systems become unstable because of disturbances in their environments after which a strange attractor draws the trajectory of the stress.”

Liza looked at him, incredulous. “This is your line?”

“I am a complex dynamical system,” Tony said.

“Not that complex,” Liza said.

“And I was stable until you caused a disturbance in my environment.”

“Not that stable,” Liza said.

Tony grinned. “And since you’re the strangest attractor in the room, I followed the trajectory of my stress right to you.”

“That’s not what you followed to me.” Liza turned so that her back was against the bar, her shoulder blocking him. “Give me something better than that, or I’ll find somebody else to amuse myself with.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the other guy, the vacant-looking blond, lean down to Bonnie. “Is she always like this?” he said to Bonnie, and Liza turned to size him up. Big. Husky. Boring.

“Well, your friend isn’t exactly Prince Charming,” Bonnie said, giving him her best fluttery smile.

He beamed back down at her. “Neither am I. Is that okay?”

Oh, come on, Liza thought, and caught Tony-the-bullethead’s eye.

“He means it,” Tony said. “Roger has no line.”

“After the chaos theory debacle, that’s a plus,” Liza said.

“Poor baby,” Bonnie was saying as she put her hand on Roger’s sleeve. “Of course, that’s okay. I’m Bonnie.”

Roger looked down at her with naked adoration. “I’m Roger, and you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Bonnie’s smile widened, and she moved closer to him.

“Which doesn’t mean he’s bad with women,” Tony said, sounding bemused.

“I begin to see his appeal.” Liza turned back to Tony. “What’s yours?”

“I’m great in bed,” Tony said.

“Right,” Liza said. “You’re hopeless, but you can buy me a drink and tell me all about yourself. And your friends.”

“Anything you want,” Tony said, and waved to the curly-headed bartender. When she came down the bar, he said, “Hey, Shanna, you playing on my side of the street yet?”

The bartender shook her head. “No, but when I do, you’ll be the last to know.”

“Just so I’m somewhere on the list,” Tony said. “Shanna, this is Liza. We need refills all around here.”

“You know him?” Liza said to Shanna.

“He hangs out with my next-door neighbor,” Shanna said. “I get him by default because of Cal.”

“Cal?” Liza said, and thought, Damn, I could have just asked the bartender about him without picking up this yahoo. Well, later for her.

“You don’t want to know about Cal,” Tony was saying. “He’s no good. Women should stay far away from him.”

Shanna rolled her eyes and moved away.

“That’s interesting,” Liza said, smiling at him. “Tell me all about Cal and why he’s no good.”

“I lied. He’s great,” Tony said. “We met in summer school—”

“You went to high school together?” Liza said, taken aback.

“We went to third grade together,” Tony said. “Although why you think this is interesting—”

“I want to know everything about you, sugar,” Liza said. “I find you fascinating.”

Tony nodded, accepting this as fact. “I was born—”

“You and your friends,” Liza said. “So you and Roger and Cal—”

Tony began to talk, while behind her, she heard Bonnie say, “You know my mama would like you,” and Roger answer, “I’d love to meet your mother.”

Liza jerked her head toward Roger. “Does he say that to every woman?”

“What?” Tony said, startled out of his story about being a football star in the third grade.

“Never mind,” Liza said. “Let’s fast forward to puberty. You and Roger and Cal...”

Cal watched the shock on Min’s face as she caught the full force of Emilio’s for the first time, seeing his favorite restaurant in all its funky glory, the wrought-iron chandeliers with the amber flame bulbs, the old black and white photos on the walls, the red and white checked tablecloths on the square tables, the candles in the beat-up Chianti bottles, the hand-lettered menus and mismatched silver. He waited for her lip to curl and then realized it couldn’t because her mouth had fallen open. Well, she deserved it for being such a pain in the—

“This is great,” she said, and started to laugh. “My God, how did somebody like you ever find this place?”

“What do you mean, somebody like me?” Cal said.

She walked over to look at the photos of Emilio’s family for the past eighty years. “Where did they get this stuff?” She smiled, her soft lips parted and her dark eyes alight, and then Emilio came up behind him.

“Ah, Mr. Morrisey,” Emilio said, and Cal turned to meet his old roommate’s glare. “How excellent to see you again.”

“Emilio,” Cal said. “This is Min Dobbs.” He turned back to Min. “Emilio makes the best bread in town.”

“I’m sure you make the best everything, Emilio,” Min said, offering him her hand. She looked up at him from under her lashes, and her wide smile quirked wickedly.

Emilio cheered up, and Cal thought, Hey, why didn’t I get that?

Emilio clasped her hand. “For you, my bread is poetry. I will bring my bread as a gift to your beauty, a poem to your lovely smile.” He kissed the back of her hand, and Min beamed at him and did not pull her hand away.

“Emilio, Min is my date,” Cal said. “Enough kissing already.”

Min shook her head at him, with no beam whatsoever. “I’m not anybody’s date. We don’t even like each other.” She turned back to Emilio, smiling again. “Separate checks, please, Emilio.”

“Not separate checks, Emilio,” Cal said, exasperated beyond politeness. “But a table would be good.”

“For you, anything,” Emilio said to Min and kissed her hand again.

Unbelievable, Cal thought, and kicked Emilio on the ankle when Min turned to look at the restaurant again. The guy was married, for Christ’s sake.

“Right this way,” Emilio said, wincing. He showed them to the best table by the window, slid Min into a bentwood chair, and then stopped by Cal long enough to say under his breath, “I sent the servers home half an hour ago, you bastard.”

“You’re welcome,” Cal said loudly, nodding to him.

Emilio gave up and went back to the kitchen, while Cal watched Min examine the room in detail.

“It’s like an Italian restaurant in the movies,” she told Cal. “Except not. I love it. I love Emilio, too.”

“I noticed,” he said. “You’re the first woman I ever brought here who was on a kissing basis with him before we sat down.”

“Well, he’s going to feed me.” She picked up her napkin. “That’s always a good sign in a man.” She spread the napkin in her lap, and then her smile faded and she looked tense again. “Except...”

Cal braced himself for her next shot.

She leaned forward. “I can’t eat the bread or pasta, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Can you order something else?”

“Sure,” Cal said, surprised. “Salad. Chicken marsala, there’s no pasta with that.”

“Thank you.” Min smiled at him. “I wouldn’t want to ruin his evening.”

“I think you just made his evening,” Cal said. Her lips were full and soft, and when she smiled her gratitude at him, her face changed from grim prison warden to warm baby doll, but the wicked glint she’d had in her eyes when she’d flirted with Emilio was gone, which was a real shame.

Emilio brought the bread, and Min leaned forward to see it. “Oh, that smells good. I missed lunch so this is wonderful.”

“It is good,” Cal said. “Emilio, we’ll have the house salad to start and then the chicken marsala.”

“Excellent choice, Mr. Morrisey,” Emilio said, and Cal knew it was because everything was simple to make. “And a nice red wine to accompany?”

“Excellent,” Cal said, knowing they were going to get whatever Emilio had left over and open in the kitchen.

“Ice water for me,” Min said with a sigh, still looking at the bread.

When Emilio was gone, Cal said, “The bread’s excellent. He makes it here.”

“Carbs,” Min said, her scowl back in place, and Cal had heard enough about carbs in his nine months with Cynthie so he let it drop.

“So,” he said, picking up one of the small loaves. “What do you do for a living?” He broke the bread open and the yeasty warmth rose and filled his senses.

“I’m an actuary,” Min said, the edge back in her voice.

An actuary. He was on a dinner date with a cranky, starving, risk-averse statistician. This was a new low, even for him.

“That’s... interesting,” he said, but she was watching the bread and didn’t notice. He held half the small loaf out to her. “Eat.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I have this dress I have to fit into three weeks from now.”

“One piece of bread won’t make that much difference.” He waved it, knowing that the smell of Emilio’s bread had driven stronger Atkins people to their knees.

“No.” She closed her eyes and her lips tight, which was useless because it wasn’t looking at the bread that was going to bring her down, it was smelling it.

“This might be your only chance to eat Emilio’s bread,” he said, and she took a deep breath.

“Oh, hell.” She opened her eyes and took the bread from him. “You really are a beast.”

“Who, me?” Cal said, and watched her tear off a piece of the bread and bite into it.

“Oh,” she breathed, and then she chewed it with her eyes shut, pleasure flooding her face.

Look at me like that, he thought, and felt something nudge his shoulder. He looked up to see Emilio standing with a half bottle of wine, staring at Min. He nodded at Cal and whispered, “Keeper.”

Min opened her eyes and said, “Emilio, you are a genius.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Emilio said.

Cal took the wine from him. “Thank you, Emilio,” he said pointedly and Emilio shook his head and went back to the kitchen for the salads.

When he’d brought them and was gone again, Cal said, “So you’re an actuary.”

She looked at him with contempt again. “Please. You don’t care what I do. Take the night off, Charm Boy.”

“Hey.” He picked up his bread. “I don’t do this nightly. It’s been a while since I picked up anybody.”

Min looked at her watch as she chewed. She swallowed and said, “It’s been twenty-eight minutes.”

“Besides you. My last relationship ended a couple of months ago, and I’ve been enjoying the peace and quiet.” She rolled her eyes and he added, “So of course, when I decide to start dating again, I pick up somebody who hates me. What’s all the hostility about?”

“Hostility? What hostility?” Min stabbed her fork into her salad and tasted it. “God, this is good.”

She chewed blissfully, and Cal watched her, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. She should be liking him. He was charming, damn it. “So what are your interests in life besides great shoes?”

“Oh, please,” Min said, when she’d swallowed. “You talk. I know why I picked you out, tell me why you picked me.”

He stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth. “You picked me up?”

Min shook her head. “I picked you out. I saw you on the landing. Well, my friend Liza saw you first, but she gave you to me.”

“Thoughtful of her,” Cal said. “So you were expecting me when I showed up?”

away from me, I’m making a fool of myself.”

He pulled the basket toward his plate. “Then why did you give me such a hard time?”

Min snorted. “You think that was a hard time? You must not get much grief from women.”

“Well, not in the first five minutes,” Cal said. “They save that for the future.”

“Yes, but we don’t have a future,” she said, looking longingly at the bread. “I had to be proactive.”

Cal pushed the basket back to her. “Why don’t we have a future?” he said, even though he’d come to the same conclusion about thirty seconds after he’d said hello in the bar.

“Because I’m not interested in sex.” Min tore off another piece of bread and bit into it, and Cal watched while the pleasure spread across her face.

You lie, Cal thought.

“And that means you’re not interested in me,” Min said when she’d finished chewing.

“Hey,” he said, insulted. “What makes you think I’m only interested in sex?”

“Because you’re a guy.” She picked up the bread again. “Statistics show that men are interested in three things: careers, sports, and sex. That’s why they love professional cheerleaders.”

Cal put his fork down. “Well, that’s sexist.”

Min licked a crumb off her lip, and his irritation evaporated. She was fun to look at when she wasn’t scowling: smooth milky skin, wide-set dark eyes, a blob of a nose, and that lush, soft, full, rosy mouth....

“Yes, I know,” she said. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“What?” Cal tried to find his place in the conversation. “Oh, the sports and sex thing? Not at all. This is the twenty-first century. We’ve learned how to be sensitive.”

“You have?”

“Sure,” Cal said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t get laid.”

She rolled her eyes, and he picked up the bottle and filled her wineglass.

“I can’t,” she said. “I had too much to drink at the bar.”

He slid her glass closer. “I’ll make sure you get home okay.”

“And who’ll make sure I get away from you okay?” she said and he put the bottle down.

“Okay, that was below the belt,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.

She met his eyes, and he thought, Oh, hell, here we go again. Then she nodded and said, “You’re right. You’ve done nothing to deserve that. I apologize.” She frowned, as if thinking about something. “In fact, I apologize for the whole night. My boyfriend dumped me about half an hour before you picked me up—”

“Ah ha,” Cal said.

“—and it made me insane with rage. And then I realized that I’m not even sure I liked him anymore, and that the person I’m really mad at is me for being so stupid about the whole thing.”

“You’re not stupid,” Cal said. “Making mistakes isn’t stupid, it’s the way you learn.”

She squinted at him, looking confused. “Thank you. Anyway, this evening is not your fault. I mean, you have your faults, but you shouldn’t pay for his. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he said, confused, too. What faults? “Now drink your wine. It’s good.”

She picked up her glass and sipped. “You’re right. This is excellent.”

“Good, we’ll come here often,” he said, and then kicked himself because they weren’t going anywhere again.

“Another line,” Min said, without venom. “We’re not going anywhere again and you know it. What is it with you? You see a woman and automatically go into wolf mode?”

Cal sat back. “Okay, was that because of the ex-boyfriend, too? Because I’m usually not paranoid, but you are definitely out to get me.”

“Don’t be a wimp,” Min said as she tore the bread. “You’ve got that gorgeous face, and a body that makes women go weak at the knees, and then you whine.”

Cal grinned at her. “Do I make you go weak at the knees?”

Min bit into her bread and chewed. “You did until you whined,” she said when she’d swallowed. “Now I know. The magic is gone.”

Cal watched her lick her full lower lip, and two months of celibacy plus a lifetime of habit kicked in. “Give me a chance,” he said. “I bet I can get the magic back.”

She stopped with the tip of her tongue on her lip, and her eyes met his for a long, dark, hot moment, and this time that glint was there, and sound faded to silence, and every nerve he had came alive and said, This one.

Then her tongue disappeared, and he shook his head to clear it and thought, Not in a million years.

“I never bet,” Min said. “Gambling is a statistically impractical form of generating income.”

“It’s not a method of generating income,” Cal said. “It’s a way of life.”

“Could we be any more incompatible?” Min said.

“Can’t see how,” Cal said, but then her eyes went past him and he watched while she drew in her breath.

Cal turned and saw Emilio, this time with a fragrant platter of chicken marsala, golden-brown filets and huge braised mushrooms floating in luminous dark wine sauce.

“Oh, my Lord,” Min said.

Emilio beamed at her as he served. “It’s a pleasure to serve someone who appreciates food. Taste it.”

Min cut into the chicken and put a forkful in her mouth. She looked startled and then she closed her eyes and began to chew, her face flushed with pleasure. When she’d swallowed, she looked up at Emilio, her eyes shining. “This is incredible,” she said, and Cal thought, Me, look at me like that.

“Try the mushrooms,” Emilio said, happy as a half-Italian clam.

“Go away,” Cal told him, but Emilio stayed until Min had bitten into one of the huge mushrooms and told him with heartfelt passion that he was a genius.

“Can I get some credit for bringing you here?” Cal said when Emilio was gone.

“Yes,” Min said. “You are a genius at restaurants. Now be quiet so I can concentrate on this.”

Cal sighed and gave up on the conversation for the rest of the meal. There was a skirmish at the end when Min tried to insist on separate checks, but Cal said, “I invited you, I pay. Back off, woman.” She looked as though she were going to argue for a moment, and then she nodded. “Thank you very much,” she told him. “You’ve given me a lovely meal and a new favorite restaurant,” and he felt appreciated for the first time that night.

When they left, she kissed Emilio on the cheek. “Your bread is the greatest, Emilio, but the chicken is a work of art.” Then she kissed him on the other cheek.

“Hey,” Cal said. “I’m right here. I paid for the chicken.”

“Don’t beg,” Min told him and went out the door.

“Morrisey, I think you just met your match,” Emilio said.

“Not even close,” Cal said, grateful to be without her for a moment. “This was our first, last, and only date.”

“Nope,” Emilio said. “I saw the way you looked at each other.”

“That was fear and loathing,” Cal said, opening the door.

“God, you’re dumb,” Emilio said, and Cal ignored him and went out into the dark to find Min.