Лори Касс - Lending А Paw

“You are an evil woman,” I muttered.

“And you, sir?” she asked, turning to Tucker. “Do you have any questions about the menu?”

“Not the menu, no.” He looked from Kristen to me, then back again. “But I’m getting the impression there’s something going on here that I don’t know about.”

Kristen’s smile went even wider. “Our menu has a considerable depth—it’s one of our trademarks.”

“Something in here is deep,” I said. “Not sure it’s the menu.”

Kristen batted her eyes at me. “Let me treat you to an amuse-bouche. On the house. The smallest of quiches with pesto, cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes. Yes?” She beamed. “Of course, yes. I’ll be back directly with your wine.”

Tucker frowned after her. “But we didn’t order any wine.”

I rarely did, not at Kristen’s restaurant. The day she’d caught me drinking a glass of white zinfandel had been a memorable one. She hadn’t let me near her wine list since.

“Um,” I said. “I should probably tell you that—”

“Hey, Minnie!” Josh appeared, escorting a young woman over to our table. “This is Megan.”

Well, well, well. So after months of soulful sighs, Josh had finally taken Holly’s and my advice and found the courage to ask Megan out. Wonders never did cease. “Nice to meet you,” I said to the girl, and introduced Tucker. Megan’s freckles and open countenance made her look cheerful and warmhearted. I hoped looks didn’t deceive and that she wouldn’t break Josh’s heart.

“Josh says you drive the bookmobile,” Megan said, her tone rising at the end, making it sound like a question. “That must be like the coolest job ever!”

I spared Tucker a glance. While I’d told him I was a librarian, I hadn’t gone into detail. He looked almost as interested as Megan. “Two or three days a week,” I said. “We don’t have the staffing to do more than that.”

She was starting to ask more bookmobile questions when Kristen came back with our wine. With a professional expertise, Kristen shooed Josh and Megan off to their table and presented us with the wine she’d chosen.

“Malbec from the Chateau Chantal label. You’ll enjoy it.” She popped the cork and poured a swallow for Tucker. He sniffed, tasted, and got a happy look on his face.

“As I said”—Kristen filled our glasses to the appropriate height—“you’ll enjoy it. As to your dinner selection, Miss Hamilton here is going to have a simple yet elegant meal of filet mignon, medium rare, with roasted red-skin potatoes and fresh young carrots steamed long enough to be tender yet cooked lightly enough to retain a slight bit of crispness. For you, sir, I’d like to suggest the same. Yes? Yes. Your amuse-bouche is being prepared this very moment by Chef Larry. Enjoy your wine.” She wafted off.

Tucker took another sip of wine and his slightly furrowed brow smoothed. “Is this kind of service typical?” he asked. “I know things are different up here, but even so . . .” He looked at me expectantly.

“Well,” I said, “this restaurant in particular is—”

“Minnie, is that you?” boomed a male voice.

I closed my eyes.

Quincy, I thought. Please let him be with Paulette. If he wasn’t, if he was still infatuated with the much-too-young Dena, Aunt Frances’s summer plans were not in a good place. Aunt Frances was already upset enough over Stan. She didn’t need matchmaking guilt piled on top of that.

“It is you!” Quincy said. “Didn’t you hear me calling? Hey, you all right?”

I opened my eyes. “Hey, Quincy. How are you?” My gaze drifted to his companion. Not Paulette. I smiled. “Hi, Zofia.” I made the introductions.

“Lovely, lovely.” Zofia’s flowing dress billowed as she turned. “Our table’s over there, Quince. Nice meeting you, Tucker. Come on , Quincy.” She tugged on his arm so hard that he almost lost his balance.

Tucker looked at me. “Do you know everybody in this town?”

“I’ve only been here three years,” I said. “That’s not nearly long enough to—”

“Good evening, Minnie,” Mr. Goodwin said, his cane tapping as he drew near. “Are you having a nice dinner?”

• • •

The entire meal went like that. Every time Tucker and I would start a typical first-date conversation—where did you grow up, where did you go to school, sisters, brothers, do you ski/bicycle/hunt/kayak/run?—someone would pause at our table to talk to me or Kristen or Chef Larry would barge in to serve more courses.

The only things I learned about Tucker were that he didn’t have any allergies and that he’d never been to the Grand Canyon. And I’d only learned that because Kristen asked about allergies and because a passing Louisa and Ted Axford happened to mention their spring trip to Arizona.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” I muttered as the restaurant’s door shut behind us and we started walking to the marina.

“What’s that?” Tucker asked.

“Sorry. Nothing. It’s just—”

“Yo! Minster!” Mitchell Koyne called through the open passenger window of his pickup. “Your car break down? You guys want a ride or something?”

“Thanks,” I said, waving, “but we’re good. Nice night for a walk.”

“Sure?” He revved the truck’s engine. “I can get you home in a flash.”

“Thanks, anyway.”

Mitchell roared away and I thought I heard Tucker make an odd noise.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Did you say something?”

“No, it’s just—”

“On your left,” a male voice called. “Oh, hey, Minnie.” Cookie Tom, riding past on his bicycle, braked to a squeaking stop. “I’ve been thinking, if you want cookies for the bookmobile, give me a call and we’ll set something up. Discount rate, and you can come to the back door and not have to stand in line.”

“Tom,” I said, “you are the love of my life.”

“Ah, that’s what they all say.” He waved and was off.

“So,” Tucker said. “Your bookmobile. It’s a new addition to the library?”

“Practically brand-new. It’s only—”

One of the hardworking Friends of the Library waved at me from the other side of the street. “Minnie, hey, glad I caught you. Got a second? Did I hear that you’ve convinced Caroline Grice to do an art show? However did you do that?”

• • •

Almost an hour later, we’d finished walking the route that usually took me fifteen minutes. Between various Friends, library patrons, coworkers, business owners, and marina rats, I was pretty sure we’d been stopped by everyone I knew. As a first date, the evening was a complete bust. Any element of romance that managed to bloom had been squashed within seconds. I would never find someone to date in this town. There were mail-order brides; maybe I could find a mail-order husband.

We came to a slow stop at the dock that ran out to my boat. “Would you like to come in?” I asked without much hope.

“That would be nice,” he said, “but I have to be in the ER early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. Sure. I understand.”

We stood there, not talking. Boats moved gently in the water, straining against the lines that held them in place. Waves lapped, distant voices murmured, and a boat far out on Janay Lake puttered past. All peaceful, calming nighttime noises, all summer sounds that I loved, but tonight I hardly heard them at all.

A handshake. I’d be lucky to get a handshake, let alone a peck on the cheek. I was doomed to die alone.

I took a deep breath. “Look—”

“Minnie.” Tucker moved close. Took both of my hands. Rubbed the backs of them with his thumbs. “There’s just one thing I want to do right now.”

Go back in time and change his mind about asking me out, probably.