heavy green velvet curtains at the end. She pushes past them and they give way to a room with soaring ceilings. Aside from the wooden beams overhead, the entire space is exposed brick.
To her left, a long wooden bar is just visible through the crowd milling around it. On the other side of the room, a huge adobe oven spits fire. A teenager not much younger than Cort wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, picks up a long wooden pole, and slides a pizza round into the flames.
Cort shoulders his way through the crowd to the hostess stand. After a few seconds of animated conversation with the skinny blonde behind it, he beckons Andie to follow him.
The blonde, wearing tight black pants and a white shirt knotted at the waist, leads them toward the back of the room. Here, away from the press of the bar, it’s quieter. A few tall ficus plants along the back wall glow with necklaces of tiny white lights.
The hostess drops their menus on a small round table, revealing a small slice of her perfectly flat stomach in the process, and departs with a toss of her hair. Screened by a ficus tree on one side and an outcropping of brick on the other, the table is an oasis from the hubbub surrounding them.
Cort pulls out her chair, and Andie slides into it. He sits across the table from her and studies her face.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asks.
“It’s definitely different. To tell the truth, I thought we’d wind up at Johnny’s.”
“Nah. That’s for second dates.”
Andie studies the menu to avoid a reply, and finds herself surprised again. It’s short—just one page, without a fried item in sight. There’s a list of pizzas, and a handful of entrees with ingredients like capers, creme fraiche, and olives. She’s debating what to order when a short, plump man with a shaved head and the start of a goatee appears at their table and drapes an arm around Cort’s shoulders.
“Hey, buddy!” says the man, dressed in the black and white pants and white smock of a chef. “How’s it going?”
“Hey.” Cort gives the man an affectionate whack on the back. “Andie, I’d like you to meet my friend Chris. He likes to pretend he’s the cook at this dive.”
“Nice to meet you, Andie. Pay no attention to our friend, here—he’s unskilled in the ways of the world, doesn’t realize you should never insult the man preparing your food. Make sure the waitress tells me which meal is for you when she brings the order back.”
“I’ll do that,” she says.
“C’mon, Chris, if I wind up with food poisoning, there goes your one-star rating.”
“Watch yourself, funny guy,” Chris says. “Andie, enjoy yourself, despite the company, and I’ll try to pop out here later and provide a little intelligent companionship for you as a change of pace.”
He claps Cort on the back once more and strides away.
“How do you know him?” Andie asks. Her napkin is slipping out of her lap, and she stops its descent by catching it on the toe of her shoe.
“Chris? We met last fall through some hunting buddies.”
“I didn’t know you hunted.”
“Yep. Been going out with my dad since I was a kid,” he says.
She’s about to reply when the waitress arrives. The woman sports the same black pants and white shirt of the hostess, but the pants aren’t stretched as tightly and the shirt is securely tucked into the waistband. She sets two glasses of sparkling wine and a small plate on the table.
“Compliments of the chef,” she says. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
“Thanks, Mary,” Cort says, and the waitress nods and hustles away.
“Do you know everybody here?”
“Just Chris and Mary. And Janet, the, ah, hostess.”
The way he lingers over the name makes Andie suspect he’s a little more familiar with Janet than with the others. Surprisingly, she finds it’s a train of thought she’d prefer not to follow. Instead, she examines the small white plate’s offering. There are two squares
To her left, a long wooden bar is just visible through the crowd milling around it. On the other side of the room, a huge adobe oven spits fire. A teenager not much younger than Cort wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, picks up a long wooden pole, and slides a pizza round into the flames.
Cort shoulders his way through the crowd to the hostess stand. After a few seconds of animated conversation with the skinny blonde behind it, he beckons Andie to follow him.
The blonde, wearing tight black pants and a white shirt knotted at the waist, leads them toward the back of the room. Here, away from the press of the bar, it’s quieter. A few tall ficus plants along the back wall glow with necklaces of tiny white lights.
The hostess drops their menus on a small round table, revealing a small slice of her perfectly flat stomach in the process, and departs with a toss of her hair. Screened by a ficus tree on one side and an outcropping of brick on the other, the table is an oasis from the hubbub surrounding them.
Cort pulls out her chair, and Andie slides into it. He sits across the table from her and studies her face.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asks.
“It’s definitely different. To tell the truth, I thought we’d wind up at Johnny’s.”
“Nah. That’s for second dates.”
Andie studies the menu to avoid a reply, and finds herself surprised again. It’s short—just one page, without a fried item in sight. There’s a list of pizzas, and a handful of entrees with ingredients like capers, creme fraiche, and olives. She’s debating what to order when a short, plump man with a shaved head and the start of a goatee appears at their table and drapes an arm around Cort’s shoulders.
“Hey, buddy!” says the man, dressed in the black and white pants and white smock of a chef. “How’s it going?”
“Hey.” Cort gives the man an affectionate whack on the back. “Andie, I’d like you to meet my friend Chris. He likes to pretend he’s the cook at this dive.”
“Nice to meet you, Andie. Pay no attention to our friend, here—he’s unskilled in the ways of the world, doesn’t realize you should never insult the man preparing your food. Make sure the waitress tells me which meal is for you when she brings the order back.”
“I’ll do that,” she says.
“C’mon, Chris, if I wind up with food poisoning, there goes your one-star rating.”
“Watch yourself, funny guy,” Chris says. “Andie, enjoy yourself, despite the company, and I’ll try to pop out here later and provide a little intelligent companionship for you as a change of pace.”
He claps Cort on the back once more and strides away.
“How do you know him?” Andie asks. Her napkin is slipping out of her lap, and she stops its descent by catching it on the toe of her shoe.
“Chris? We met last fall through some hunting buddies.”
“I didn’t know you hunted.”
“Yep. Been going out with my dad since I was a kid,” he says.
She’s about to reply when the waitress arrives. The woman sports the same black pants and white shirt of the hostess, but the pants aren’t stretched as tightly and the shirt is securely tucked into the waistband. She sets two glasses of sparkling wine and a small plate on the table.
“Compliments of the chef,” she says. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
“Thanks, Mary,” Cort says, and the waitress nods and hustles away.
“Do you know everybody here?”
“Just Chris and Mary. And Janet, the, ah, hostess.”
The way he lingers over the name makes Andie suspect he’s a little more familiar with Janet than with the others. Surprisingly, she finds it’s a train of thought she’d prefer not to follow. Instead, she examines the small white plate’s offering. There are two squares
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