Flavor of the Month. Tori Carrington

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СКАЧАТЬ business license hung.

      The front door opened, letting in another customer. Reilly looked in his direction. Another man. It was a given that the majority of her customers were female, aside from the men who stopped for coffee before eight. After eight, men were pretty scarce.

      The expensive shine of rich leather shoes caught her attention first. Then her gaze moved up crisply ironed tan slacks, a belt that matched the shoes and up over a crisp brown-and-white striped shirt rolled up to reveal wrists peppered with dark hair. Mmm…if the rest of him matched what she’d seen so far…

      Ever hopeful, she looked up into the handsomely familiar face that bore a passing resemblance to Tom Cruise.

      She nearly dropped the phone.

      Reilly swung away so she was facing the wall. Deciding that wasn’t enough, she ducked through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, dropping the empty trays she held as she went.

      She cringed at the earsplitting clanging that echoed through the kitchen and, undoubtedly, the rest of the shop.

      “What was that?” Mallory asked as Reilly could do little more than stare at the noisy trays lying askew at her feet.

      “You’ll never believe who just walked in here.”

      “Are you whispering? You’re whispering. So it must mean it’s a star.”

      Reilly waved her hand as she restlessly paced one way then the other. “No, he’s not a star.”

      “At least we’ve established it’s a he.”

      “I mean, he’s not a star in the conventional sense.” She caught her bottom lip briefly between her teeth and peeked out the round door window to find the man in question wearing an amused closed-mouth smile as he considered the goodies displayed behind the counter. He turned his head in her direction and she ducked out of the way again and flattened herself against the wall.

      “Well, for God’s sake, Reilly, who is it?”

      She cupped her hand over her mouth and the receiver, “None other than Ben Kane himself.”

      Mallory’s sigh filled her ear. “Here I was ready to ask you to get Russell Crowe’s cell phone number for me. Ben Kane? He’s just a restaurant owner. And why are you whispering anyway?”

      Why was she whispering? She was in the kitchen. In her kitchen, in her shop, and there was certainly no one around to notice her, much less overhear her.

      “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s the piece.”

      “What, mentioning you and Kane in the same sentence?”

      That didn’t sound quite right, either. “Yeah.”

      “I think you need a nap.”

      Reilly dared another peek through the window to find Ben Kane staring pointedly at his watch.

      “Oh, God, he’s expecting service.”

      Mallory’s throaty laugh filled her ear. “Of course, he is, silly. He’s in a shop that sells stuff. Which means he’s probably interested in buying some of that stuff.” Reilly rolled her own eyes. “Now go sell him some of that stuff so, you know, you can make some more of that green stuff.”

      “Very funny.”

      “I am, aren’t I? Oh, and Reilly?”

      “Lord forbid I ask, but what?”

      “Triple your prices. He can afford it.”

      “I can’t do that!”

      “You don’t have your prices displayed, right?”

      No, she didn’t. She figured her biggest sales point was her baking skills and display case.

      “It wouldn’t be right.”

      Mallory sighed. “Fine, then. Be a good girl.”

      God, how she hated being called that.

      “I’ll call you later,” Mall said. “You know, after you’ve served Mr. Hot-Pants Kane and after I get back from scouting that shoot site.”

      “Okay.” Reilly told her friend goodbye then turned to hang up the phone. Only the base for the phone was on the other side of the door.

      She closed her eyes wondering just how juvenile she looked. Even her fifteen-year-old niece, Efi, would probably shake her head in shame.

      BEN KANE watched as the door to what he guessed was the kitchen opened a few inches. But rather than a person appearing, a slender hand snaked out holding a corded telephone receiver, blindly trying to hanging it up on the base.

      He rubbed his chin. Odd. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the girl who’d disappeared into the kitchen upon his arrival was trying to avoid him. But that didn’t make any sense, because this was his first time inside the Art Deco-Style shop with its black and white floor tiles and pink and white color scheme.

      He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t planned on this errand taking any more than a few minutes. Actually, he hadn’t planned on the errand at all until he’d arrived at the restaurant to find his pastry chef in a tizzy about someone having used his pastry knives to cut meat. He’d tried to calm the high-strung French immigrant, but instead he’d made things worse by referring to him as a cook and the chef had thrown his apron over Ben’s head and up and quit.

      Friday night and no dessert? A definite no go.

      Which had led him straight to the doorstep of the place that had been mentioned along with Benardo’s Hideaway in Hollywood Confidential that morning.

      He considered the fare offered up in the display cases. While all good, they weren’t the same crème brûlée and the chocolate cheesecake his customers were used to indulging in.

      A dull clang sounded from the kitchen. He imagined that whoever had made the commotion before was cleaning up their handiwork. He looked around for a bell he could ring for service but found none. With a glance at the half dozen other people seated around the place enjoying coffee and reading the paper—he nodded at the one guy in the corner typing madly away on a notebook computer—he stepped toward the stainless steel door to the kitchen and peeked through the window.

      A woman’s head popped up directly on the other side of the glass, all big hazel eyes, pouty kissable lips and soft blond hair, startling him. Hell, startling them both as she shrieked. He watched as the woman’s head disappeared again, followed by more commotion.

      Okay…

      He stepped back from the door then slid his hands into his pockets. Surely whoever was in there had seen him and would come out to take care of him.

      One minute…two minutes…

      Ben grimaced. What kind of ship were they running here, anyway?

      He tugged his right hand out of his pocket, knocked briefly on the kitchen door, then pushed it slightly СКАЧАТЬ