London Broil by Linnet Moss Page B

tie that almost matched her dress. When he kissed her,
     she could tell that he had just shaved-- presumably at work.

 
    On the way to the
     restaurant, she complimented him on his flat. "How long have you
     lived there?"

 
    "Since my divorce
     three years ago. But I've owned it for quite a while. My uncle
     left it to me, and I found some tenants because it wasn't big
     enough for Claire and Chanda, and then Magda didn't want to live
     there. It was a bit of luck that I hung onto it, as property
     values have risen so high in London. It's worth a tidy sum now."

 
    They were
     standing on the tube traveling east, hanging on to the overhead
     grab bars. "Will we go back there this evening?" she asked, and
     felt his arm circle her waist and pull her closer to him.

 
    "If you want
     to," he said, looking into her eyes. She nodded her head slowly.
     "I do."

 
    Olivera was a
     brightly lit place with a lot of blond wood and big windows.
     They were shown to a table for two with a chair and a banquette
     seat; couples sat closely spaced on either side of them. She
     hesitated, wondering if he had a seating preference, until the
     gentle pressure of his hand on the small of her back propelled
     her toward the banquette. They nibbled some marinated olives as
     a starter while they perused the menu. She asked for a Guinness
     on draft, and he ordered a Bethnal Pale Ale. "They brew it in my
     neighborhood," he said. "You'll have to taste it. But I didn't
     know you liked beer. I've only seen you drink wine."

 
    "It's true. I
     don't know much about beer, but sometimes I get a mighty thirst
     for it. It's so good with cheese, better than wine, often. I saw
     you raise an eyebrow when I ordered the Guinness, James.
     Probably a lager would be better with pizza, but I haven't had a
     Guinness since I left the States. And besides, if it's not a
     match for pizza, why'd they put it on the menu?"

 
    "For Yank
     tourists," he said, teasing her.

 
    "I'm curious to
     taste the pizza here," she went on, ignoring his little jab for
     the moment. "It all looks very upscale compared to pizza at
     home, or even in New York. Oh, they have expensive artisan
     pizzas there, but I mean American-style pizza. And I see that
     everyone here eats with a knife and fork. No picking up the
     slices."

 
    He laughed. "Is
     that how you eat it? That's something I'd like to see. It sounds
     very sensuous."

 
    "Well, the pizzas
     here might not be the right type. In order to really savor a
     slice eaten from the hand, you have to have big slices with a
     thin crust that you fold in half to hold in the gooey cheese.
     And then the strings of cheese stretch out when you take a bite.
     It's one of the best foods on earth."

 
    Their drinks
     arrived and she tasted the Guinness. It was cool but not
     chilled, with a thick, dense head of foam. "This is better than
     what we get at home. The foam is so creamy, it's almost like a
     dairy product."

 
    "When you lick
     your lips and close your eyes like that, it reminds me of last
     Saturday," he said, setting down his menu.

 
    "Does it? I'm
     glad. Did you spend time during the week thinking about what we
     did?"

 
    "Oh yes," he
     answered, his eyes widening and focusing on hers. She had his
     full attention now.

 
    "I thought about
     it often. Especially when I was in the shower," she said. He was
     about to speak when the server came up to take their order.
     Afterwards, it seemed the moment had passed. He glanced at the
     people talking and eating close on either side of them, and she
     could tell he was thinking that they might hear.

 
    "Do you often
     think... along those lines while you're showering?" he asked
     softly. She nodded, smiling. "You have fantasies," he said. She
     nodded again, as one of the women next to them looked over with
     slight smirk.

 
    "We'll continue
     this discussion later," he said firmly, picking up his ale. They
     talked for a few minutes