“Hmm, that could be fun.”
“He runs them downtown, and it’s four couples. He pairs the meal with wine, and you get to eat what you create, so it’s dinner as well.”
The more he talked about it, the more I liked it. “Do you think he could fit us in on such short notice?”
“You wound me. Of course. Hold on.” He picked up his phone and tapped out a message. “It should only be a moment.”
As predicted, his phone buzzed, and a smirk teased Frisco’s lips. “Tonight at seven. You’re all set and so am I.”
Puzzled, I finished the last of my turkey bacon. “What do you have to do with it?”
“You get your dinner with Nate, and I get my night with a hot Italian chef. A win-win for both of us as I see it.”
Maybe the Friscos of this world had the right idea to not take life or people too seriously.
“Thanks. Give me the address. I know it’ll be the perfect thing for us to do together.”
* * *
“Cooking class?” Nate’s dubious voice and twist of his brows had me second-guessing my decision, but only for a moment.
“Yes,” I said firmly and pushed the button on the door to the building in SoHo. It buzzed almost instantly, and I held the door open. “After you.”
“All right.”
The creaking elevator groaned us up to the third floor and opened directly into a brightly lit loft, which had been transformed into a huge kitchen. An island over twenty feet long ran down the center of the room, boasting four industrial cooktops, two on each side. Bowls, pots, and pans sat next to each space, along with slim bottles of olive oil and vinegar. Fresh green, leafy herbs sat in pots, and two large wineglasses rested at each cooking station. One couple, both in their midforties, stood sipping white wine, while a younger man with an older woman hung up their coats on a rack set off to the side.
“Come in, come in.” A dark-haired, craggy-faced man in his late forties, dressed in a black chef’s coat and gray jeans, waved to us. His dark eyes swept over Nate first, then me. “Which one of you is Presley?”
“That would be me. I’m Frisco’s friend. Thanks for taking us on such short notice.” I extended my hand, but he brushed me off with a hug I knew I’d feel for days.
“For that one, I’d do almost anything. With one review, he put my restaurant on the map. I’m Sergio, if he didn’t say.” He kissed me on the cheek.
“He didn’t,” I answered faintly, trying to ease the breath into my lungs.
“I’m not surprised. Francisco thinks of two things only: food and pleasure, sometimes together.” Sergio’s throaty chuckle warmed his coffee-brown eyes, and I could see why Frisco liked the man. And because I wanted to get a little insight into my friend who kept his personal life under wraps, I couldn’t help but do a little digging of my own.
“Are you two close?”
His generous mouth folded downward in a frown. “No. We enjoy each other, and he is a wonderful friend, but nothing further. Now come and meet the Logans. They are a lovely couple celebrating their twentieth anniversary. And Carl and his girlfriend, Diane, got engaged last week. Sweet, no?” He hooked his arm into Nate’s. “Now tell me about you two. Dating long? Engaged? What’s your story?”
I wondered how Nate felt about such a gregarious person nosing around his personal life, but he seemed surprisingly comfortable.
“Press and I are dating. We’re taking it slow.”
“Why? Carl and I got engaged after knowing each other only three months,” Diane said a bit sharply.
Carl put a hand on Diane’s shoulder and squeezed. “Not everyone’s as anxious as I was.”
Her face flushed, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m so lucky I found you.”
“Okay, my lovely couples. Join me around the center here, and we will begin. I have a nice chicken pizzaiola meal for you to prepare. Who doesn’t love that?”
Nate made to lift up his hand, but I grabbed it and held him tight. “Don’t be rude,” I murmured. “Why don’t you like it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it.” His lips touched my ear, and I had to restrain a shiver.
“Time to live dangerously, Nate Sherman.”
