Steamed by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant Page A

would be five courses, each a sample of what he could do.
     
    “I’m up for anything,” I replied excitedly.
     
    Garrett left to work some magic, I hoped, and I turned to Eric. The sights and aromas of the kitchen, as well as the fun of meeting the owner and the chef, had changed my mind about Eric’s harping about his insider knowledge. Now I wanted to hear the secrets of the restaurant world.
     
    Instead, I got a boring lecture on Eric’s business (something incomprehensible about financial planning) and a monologue about his professional success, which, he emphasized, had afforded him the opportunity to drive a Land Rover and invest in Essence. Eric took my hand in his. “It is so wonderful to have you here with me tonight. The beautiful Chloe, here helping me with one of the biggest decisions of my life. I couldn’t ask for a more perfect companion on this special evening.” Inappropriate though the words were on a first date, and a blind one at that, they would have sounded touching if Eric had been looking at me instead of over my shoulder as he spoke. Not big on eye contact, this guy.
     
    I slid my hand from his and drained what was left of my wine. “So, a chef ’s tasting should be fun, huh?” What was he looking at? I turned around to see a couple at a nearby table who were having an acrimonious discussion with their waiter.
     
    “I’m going to help out here, my dear. Ian seems to have gotten himself in another jam,” Eric announced as he leaped up and rushed to the other diners’ table.
     
    Good God, he was irritating. This wasn’t his restaurant, and whatever was going on over there was none of his business. The meal had better be outstanding. The romance wasn’t going to be. Maybe I’d go to Adrianna’s after dinner and spend the night there—so Noah would see that I hadn’t come home.
     
    Eric’s undistinguished build began to look lumpy, his skin pasty, as if his looks were morphing before my eyes from mediocre to outright unattractive. And was that a nose hair I’d seen peeking from his left nostril? Oh, help me. For now, I’d just get through the dinner. So I refilled my wineglass and spun around on my stool to get a good view of the dispute.
     
    “What seems to be the trouble here, my friends?” Eric had assumed an air of affable authority.
     
    The diners, who I assumed were husband and wife, must quite reasonably have mistaken Eric for an owner or manager, because they launched into a complaint about their bill. The man, well-dressed and probably in his late fifties, spoke impatiently. “There seems to be a mistake here. We’ve been charged for some sort of ‘miscellaneous item,’ whatever that means, which we did not order. With the amount of money we’re spending here, I’d expect our bill to be correct.”
     
    The waiter, Ian, began apologizing profusely. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry for this error. This is obviously a cashier’s mistake, and I’ll correct the problem immediately.”
     
    “Maybe while Ian is fixing your check, you’d like some dessert? On the house, of course.” Eric smiled genially at the two guests. For a free dessert, I’d happily ignore a cashier’s goof that was being corrected.
     
    The woman smiled politely and addressed Ian. “It’s not a problem, but dessert would be nice, thank you.” She shot a look at her husband that said he’d better shut up or dessert would be all he’d get that night. “Honey, just let it go. It’s just a little mistake,” she assured her husband.
     
    “Excellent, folks. I’m glad I could help here. Now let’s get you those desserts,” Eric said. He gripped Ian’s arm and led him past me, toward the kitchen. “You’d better be careful. Remember what we talked about,” Eric growled angrily as he flashed Ian a quick but ominous look. Ian nodded with understanding and rushed off to order the appeasing desserts.
     
    My date returned to his seat beside me, suddenly relaxed and exuding composure