interested in a perfectionist like Jake, but that had been when she'd been convinced he wasn't interested anyway. Knowing he was indeed interested changed everything.
She cursed her capricious feelings. Didn't she really have more resolve than that? Did she cling to her principles only as long as they weren't challenged? She leaned over the wheel and fiddled with her keys in the ignition, her gaze darting from the windshield to Jake.
"We'd better be getting back," she mumbled at last. "I've got to take a snake to Sylvie's bathtub drain."
Sylvie Lieberman had a natural flare for the dramatic. Once upon a time she had been a chorus girl on Broadway. That was where her Sid, God rest his soul, had first seen her. He'd hung around the stage door until she'd finally wandered out with other cast members, then followed her over to Sardi's. Stricken with unprecedented shyness, he had been unable to bring himself to speak to her, but had followed her home, walking ten paces behind her all the way until she screamed for the police. Somewhere between booking and finger-printing, they had straightened out the misunderstanding and they'd been married a month later. That had ended Sylvie's career in the theater. She had transferred her creative verve to her dinner parties.
Dixie looked around the living room-dining room of Sylvie's cottage with a smile and a warm spot in her heart. The theme of their group dinner this month was Cafe Internationale. Sylvie had spent the better part of the day decorating, draping the tables with red checked cloths, putting on display the bric-a-brac she had gathered during her world travels with Sid--African tribal masks, German beer steins, an Eiffel Tower paperweight, Staffordshire china spaniels, a small Chinese gong. Candles drooled wax down the sides of chianti bottles and yards of colorful Indian silk muted the lamplight. The centerpiece on the dining table was a Waterford vase holding a dozen miniature flags of various nations. Everyone had been instructed to bring a different course of the meal, using a recipe from a foreign cuisine.
For the first time in days Dixie felt settled. She would be in the bosom of her closest friends here. An evening with them would give her a chance to relax, to push away the tumult of feelings Jake had stirred up in her. They would soothe her and she would come away with a renewed sense of perspective.
Dwelling on that thought, she turned the corner into Sylvie's kitchen and very nearly dropped her Black Forest cake to the floor. Leaning over the stove, testing the Chinese cabbage soup, was Jake.
Sylvie spun toward her like a human tornado, a brilliant smile splitting her mouth and showing off her caps. She was swathed in a purple silk sari that fluttered with the speed of her movement.
"My God, Dixie, it's about time! I thought you would never get here!" she exclaimed, setting the cake on the counter. "It's like waiting for that schmuck from the telephone company. He might come Tuesday, he might come Wednesday. Maybe in the morning, maybe not." Not breaking her commentary, she latched on to Dixie's arm and propelled her forward. "Look who I invited, Dixie. Jake! Doesn't he look handsome tonight?"
Handsome didn't begin to cover it. Dixie stared at him, feeling strangely shy in the wake of what had happened between them that morning. Speechless for one of the few times in her life, she merely stared at him, taking in the crisply pressed dress shirt the color of caf� au lait, the neatly knotted paisley silk tie. Even the crease in his tan chinos was impeccable. The steam from the soup had brought out a flush of color across his high cheekbones. Handsome? Shoot, he looked good enough to sprinkle parsley on and eat.
Sylvie elbowed her in the ribs, smile still firmly in place. "Tell me, is he to die for, or what?"
Jake set the spoon down on the stove, a sexy half-smile tilting his mouth. "Now, Sylvie, all that flattery is going to go to my head," he said
She cursed her capricious feelings. Didn't she really have more resolve than that? Did she cling to her principles only as long as they weren't challenged? She leaned over the wheel and fiddled with her keys in the ignition, her gaze darting from the windshield to Jake.
"We'd better be getting back," she mumbled at last. "I've got to take a snake to Sylvie's bathtub drain."
Sylvie Lieberman had a natural flare for the dramatic. Once upon a time she had been a chorus girl on Broadway. That was where her Sid, God rest his soul, had first seen her. He'd hung around the stage door until she'd finally wandered out with other cast members, then followed her over to Sardi's. Stricken with unprecedented shyness, he had been unable to bring himself to speak to her, but had followed her home, walking ten paces behind her all the way until she screamed for the police. Somewhere between booking and finger-printing, they had straightened out the misunderstanding and they'd been married a month later. That had ended Sylvie's career in the theater. She had transferred her creative verve to her dinner parties.
Dixie looked around the living room-dining room of Sylvie's cottage with a smile and a warm spot in her heart. The theme of their group dinner this month was Cafe Internationale. Sylvie had spent the better part of the day decorating, draping the tables with red checked cloths, putting on display the bric-a-brac she had gathered during her world travels with Sid--African tribal masks, German beer steins, an Eiffel Tower paperweight, Staffordshire china spaniels, a small Chinese gong. Candles drooled wax down the sides of chianti bottles and yards of colorful Indian silk muted the lamplight. The centerpiece on the dining table was a Waterford vase holding a dozen miniature flags of various nations. Everyone had been instructed to bring a different course of the meal, using a recipe from a foreign cuisine.
For the first time in days Dixie felt settled. She would be in the bosom of her closest friends here. An evening with them would give her a chance to relax, to push away the tumult of feelings Jake had stirred up in her. They would soothe her and she would come away with a renewed sense of perspective.
Dwelling on that thought, she turned the corner into Sylvie's kitchen and very nearly dropped her Black Forest cake to the floor. Leaning over the stove, testing the Chinese cabbage soup, was Jake.
Sylvie spun toward her like a human tornado, a brilliant smile splitting her mouth and showing off her caps. She was swathed in a purple silk sari that fluttered with the speed of her movement.
"My God, Dixie, it's about time! I thought you would never get here!" she exclaimed, setting the cake on the counter. "It's like waiting for that schmuck from the telephone company. He might come Tuesday, he might come Wednesday. Maybe in the morning, maybe not." Not breaking her commentary, she latched on to Dixie's arm and propelled her forward. "Look who I invited, Dixie. Jake! Doesn't he look handsome tonight?"
Handsome didn't begin to cover it. Dixie stared at him, feeling strangely shy in the wake of what had happened between them that morning. Speechless for one of the few times in her life, she merely stared at him, taking in the crisply pressed dress shirt the color of caf� au lait, the neatly knotted paisley silk tie. Even the crease in his tan chinos was impeccable. The steam from the soup had brought out a flush of color across his high cheekbones. Handsome? Shoot, he looked good enough to sprinkle parsley on and eat.
Sylvie elbowed her in the ribs, smile still firmly in place. "Tell me, is he to die for, or what?"
Jake set the spoon down on the stove, a sexy half-smile tilting his mouth. "Now, Sylvie, all that flattery is going to go to my head," he said
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