Total Rush by Deirdre Martin

practically touched an amplifier. She touched Sean’s arm.
    â€œDo you think we could find a different table?” she asked loudly.
    Sean surveyed the room. “I think this might be it.”
    Gemma did a quick circuit of the room. He was right. This was it.
    Out of the whirlwind a waitress appeared, handing each of them a menu. “What can I get you to start?” she asked in an Irish brogue so thick Gemma thought she had to be putting it on.
    â€œA Guinness,” Sean replied easily. The waitress turned to Gemma expectantly.
    â€œGin and tonic, please.”
    â€œMade with Tanqueray,” Sean added. The waitress nodded and disappeared into the crowd.
    â€œHow do you know this place?” Gemma asked.
    â€œIt’s a popular FDNY hangout.” He glanced around the room. “I’m surprised no one I know is here.”
    Gemma suspected as much. She felt like a fish out of water. The last time she’d been in a place like this . . . wait: Had she ever been in a place like this?
    Sean smiled at her, and she flipped open the menu, skimming the selections. Corned beef and cabbage. Bangers and mash. Fish and chips. Meat pies. Burgers. Gemma closed the menu.
    â€œKnow what you want already?”
    â€œThere’s a small problem.”
    Sean dragged his chair closer to hers. Obviously he was having as tough a time hearing as she was. “What’s that?”
    â€œI’m a vegetarian, remember?”
    â€œShit. I didn’t even think . . .” He trolled the menu, his easygoing expression slowly giving way to mild embarrassment.
    â€œIt’s okay,” Gemma assured him, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure I can find something.” She leaned over so their shoulders were touching, taking another look at the menu. “There: cheese and onion pie. I’ll have that.”
    Sean closed the menu, looking miserable. “I’m so sorry, Gem. I should have remembered.”
    â€œNot a big deal.”
    The waitress returned, plonking their drinks down on the table. “Do you know what you want, then?”
    â€œI’ll have the cheese and onion pie,” said Gemma.
    â€œSorry, love, we’re all out.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œDo you have any salads?” Sean asked.
    The waitress bit down on the tip of her pen impatiently. “What you see on the menu is what you get. Sorry.”
    â€œIn that case,” said Gemma, “I guess I’ll just have a plate of chips.”
    The waitress looked testy. “That’s it? Chips?”
    â€œYes.” Gemma shot Sean a baffled look.
    â€œI’m not sure you can do that, you know. Just have chips.”
    â€œOh,” Gemma repeated, confused. “Why not?”
    â€œBecause chips go with something.” The waitress clucked her tongue in frustration. “Fish and chips. Sausage and chips. We’ve never had anyone ask for ‘just chips’ before. I’ll have to ask the chef if it’s okay.”
    Gemma looked at the waitress warmly. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
    â€œIt might not be.”
    â€œLet’s just see how it goes,” Sean intervened, a big, fake smile cruising its way onto his face. It made Gemma want to laugh.
    The waitress, now in a snit, peered down at Sean. “And what would you like, sir? ”
    â€œBangers and mash, please.” Sean closed his menu and handed it back with a knowing wink. “You can also tell the chef it’s a New York City firefighter who wants that plate of chips.”
    â€œVery good,” she bit out. “Thank you.”
    With that she left.
    â€œGuess she doesn’t care about getting a tip,” Gemma joked.
    â€œCustomer service doesn’t seem to be her strong point,” Sean agreed.
    Gemma sipped her drink. It was watered down, more tonic than gin. The evening was not starting out on the most auspicious note. Still, all might not be lost. So what if