Mama mia.
I had about three seconds to decide whether to fake a heart attack on the sidewalk or go inside and face my roommate, who would absolutely never let me live this down.
My heart was beating fast but was otherwise fine. And I was pretty hungry. I took his arm.
“This place just got a Michelin star,” Dane said. “It’s supposed to be great.”
The inside was beautiful, with rough stucco walls mimicking an old Tuscan villa. Flickering candles on the tables made the well-polished wood gleam. It was busy but open enough that it didn’t feel packed. Abby had described it as controlled chaos during her excited rants about finally working at one of the hottest places in the area, but it seemed like a well-oiled machine.
We were seated at a table with a perfect view of the kitchen.
Of course we were.
I scanned the line of chefs, and there she was. Abby was in her chef’s whites, her hair pulled back, completely focused on plating something that looked like it belonged in an art museum.
She looked up, saw me, and her eyes went wide.
I put one finger to my lips in a “be quiet” gesture and tilted my head slightly toward Dane.
Abby’s gaze slid to my dinner companion. Recognition dawned on her face. Her mouth fell open and I shook my head frantically, begging her to be cool about this. She grinned like the Cheshire cat and went back to her plating.
I was doomed.
“Everything okay?” Dane asked, studying his menu.
“Perfect. Everything’s perfect. Just admiring the kitchen.”
Dinner was extraordinary. Freshly made pasta was a giant step up from the microwaved spaghetti-o’s I sometimes made when I was feeling extra lazy. We started with crusty bread drizzled with olive oil and herbs, and if that was the only thingCandelabraserved, I would walk out of there a happy woman.
Why the hell wasn’t Abby bringing loaves home with her? She and I were going to have a long talk about being a better friend.
Next came the calamari, which tasted a lot fresher than the squid we got in Wyoming. Some lightly fried ravioli. Then I had chicken marsala and he got a dish that looked like spaghetti but was called something I couldn’t pronounce.
All of it was a symphony. Dane was warmer than he’d been before. But maybe it was just because we were in public. If it was all an act, I didn’t care. The food was great and I was having fun talking to him. I confirmed that he had never seenBreaking Bad. He asked me if it was a movie, and he looked adorably clueless, wide eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
“Good evening,” Abby said, approaching our table with a covered dish. “The chef wanted to send out a special dessert for you to try. It’s extra decadent.”
Her voice was professional, giving no indication that we were roommates.
“This is our sous-chef, Abby Canton,” our server said. “She’ll explain the dish.”
Abby set down the plate and revealed the triple-layer tiramisu. She explained the special touches, like coffee dust from Sumatran beans, but the whole time she was talking, her eyes kept flicking to me. I could see she was having a ball, watching me squirm. I had a feeling she was making up half these ingredients. Tonka beans couldn’t be real. Wasn’t that a toy truck?
At the same time, Abby had brought me a dessert fit for a queen, and I silently took back all the mean things I’d ever thought about her. Bringing me sweets made her a far better roommate than I’d ever been. I promised myself I’d be better.
When Abby finished explaining, Dane thanked her politely. She started to walk away, then turned back and looked directly at me with the most innocent expression I’d ever seen on her face.
“Enjoy, lovebirds,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen in a fit of giggles.
Oh, I was so going to kick her ass. This tiramisu better blow my tits off.
“That’s your roommate,” Dane said. It wasn’t a question.
I looked at him, startled. “How did you know?”
He smiled and shook his head. “When I went to Norma to sort out the insurance stuff, she said there was an issue with one of your claims. They were confused about whether you still worked for me since you wrotesous chefon the urgent care information.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling numb.
