Suede to Rest by Diane Vallere Page B

go.”
    â€œI heard.”
    â€œWho told you?” I asked, wondering which version he knew.
    â€œWord gets around,” he said. “When the hostess came over to tell me you canceled, the couple at the table next to me said they heard somebody named Polyester was taken to the police station.”
    â€œThat’s what people are saying?”
    He smiled. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes, I guess it is.”
    â€œI called Officer Clark. He told me what happened and said you walked back here.” He shrugged like it was the most normal turn of events he’d heard. “Now, since you’re obviously dressed for dinner,” he said, pausing to glance back down at my sweatshirt, “the only thing left is for me to set the table and serve it.”
    â€œTrust me. This is a vast improvement over what I was wearing two hours ago. Follow me,” I said, turning away from him.
    Now, where to eat? I’d spent the previous night in the apartment upstairs and while I knew the polite thing to do would be to invite Vaughn up and eat at a table like civilized people, I wasn’t ready to let him into my personal space just yet. But for all the fabric and trim that the store housed, it was short on chairs. I hadn’t entirely recovered from the cold-shower incident and had little desire to sit on the concrete floor, even if we covered it with fabric.
    I tapped my palm on the top of the cutting table. “How’s this?” I asked.
    â€œLooks good to me.” He set his bags down and pulled a white eyelet tablecloth from inside one of them, then spread it out over the top of the laminate counter. Next, he pulled out two candleholders and fitted them with long tapers. I found a pack of matches in the drawer under the register and worked my way through half of the pack before one of the matches caught. I lit the tapers while Vaughn set out a small basket of bread, salt and pepper shakers, and a bottle of wine.
    â€œWhere did all of this come from?” I asked.
    â€œI asked you to dinner at the Waverly House. Since you couldn’t get to the restaurant, I brought the restaurant to you.” He withdrew two plates, then three containers that were definitely not disposable. “It’s a silly dinner. Truffle mac and cheese, pommes frites, spinach artichoke dip, and calamari.”
    â€œNo steaks?” I asked with a smile.
    â€œI didn’t know if you were a vegetarian and figured I’d play it safe. Besides, the kitchen was closing and this was the best they could do. I hope it’s okay.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. Understatement of the year, I thought to myself. According to Carson, a person could not live on appetizers alone, though if given the chance I’d prove him wrong.
    Vaughn poured red wine into two stemmed glasses and handed me one. I wondered exactly how much influence the McMichael family had in San Ladrón that something like this was doable on short notice?
    As we sat across from each other, cross-legged, plates on our laps, eating a meal that might have come from the kids’ menu, I realized that this was the first time since I’d arrived that I had dropped my guard and was enjoying myself.
    â€œHow are the kittens?” he asked between bites.
    â€œGood. They got dinner before you arrived. I should consider myself lucky. I forgot to eat all day and the only thing here is a few more cans of Fancy Feast.”
    â€œYou remembered to pick up cat food but nothing for yourself?”
    â€œI thought I was getting dinner.”
    â€œThen I’m glad I delivered. Literally.”
    â€œSo am I.”
    I set my plate down and spun to the side so I could hop down. Aches in my muscles were starting to announce themselves, from oiling the fence and cleaning the interior of the store, to knocking over the shower unit at Charlie’s. I suspected I’d feel ten times worse tomorrow after a