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  He hung up, changed out of his work clothes, and started for Emilio’s, trying not to think about Min. That didn’t work, so he switched over to chaos theory, of which he had only vague memories. The Butterfly Effect, he remembered that, the idea that a butterfly flapping its wings in Hong Kong could cause a hurricane ten years later in Florida or prevent a tornado ten years later in Texas, take your pick because it was unpredictable. That was Min; she’d looked harmless that first night, and then she flapped her wings two weeks ago and now he was a mess. She was a goddamn stealth butterfly.

  He looked down the block at the front of the Gryphon Theater, half expecting to see Min standing there since it was the first night of the Elvis revival week. Nope. Which made sense, since events did not repeat in chaos theory. Somehow, the idea that it was science made the whole thing a lot less worrisome. He wasn’t insane, fate wasn’t stalking him, he was just standing on the edge of chaos. Much better.

  He turned down the street to Emilio’s, trying to remember what “the edge of chaos” meant. It was something about flipping a coin, something about the edge being the moment when the coin was in the air. The point at which the system was pure potential, about to choose a path. Or something about a pile of sand, adding sand a grain at a time, and the edge of chaos being the point at which the critical grain landed and the pile either shifted or turned into an avalanche . . . Cal slowed as he remembered a grad assistant in a baggy blue sweater, his hair standing on end from his complete earnestness about the subject, saying that the edge of chaos was a time of turbulence, mental chaos if the system was a human being, but also the time of greatest potential, possibly the place where life starts. “The place,” the grad student had said, “where the system cascades into a new order and moves from being to becoming.”

  Cal shook the grad student out of his head, and pulled open the door to Emilio’s. When he got inside, he heard Roger say, “Cal!” and he stopped, frozen, knowing before he turned that Min would be there, strange attractor, effective butterfly, locus of fate. He turned and saw her, sitting at a table with everybody else, looking like a startled cherub, her beautiful lips open in surprise, her dark eyes wide, and he felt his breath go again, felt his blood heat, his entire system rushing about insanely, bouncing off the inside of his skin, his future impossible to predict, everything riding on his next lurch through chaos.

  Min bit her lip and smiled at him ruefully, and without another thought, he walked across the room to her, feeling almost relieved as the avalanche began.

  Chapter Nine

  Cal pulled a chair from another table, and Min scooted over to let him in. She was wearing another soft shirt, this one in panels of different colored sheer prints, and she looked pretty and warm and more desirable than he could have imagined.

  Beyond her, Tony shrugged and looked apologetic.

  “Tony said you’d told him you were going to work late tonight,” Min said as he sat down.

  “I lied.”

  Min shifted a little more to give him room, and he caught the faint scent of lavender and felt dizzy again. “Well, at least you’re honest about your dishonesty.”

  “ ‘I was raised to be charming, not sincere,’” Cal said, and relaxed as she smiled at him.

  “You know Into the Woods?” Min said, “That’s my favorite Sondheim.”

  “Mine, too,” Cal said, watching her face. “Tony likes Sweeney Todd, and Roger’s is Sunday in the Park with George, but—”

  “You’re kidding me,” Min said, blinking those dark eyes at him. “You’re all Sondheim fans?”

  “We roomed with a drama minor in college.” God, you look good.

  “There was a fourth roommate?” Min said, and then she closed her eyes. “Of course there was. Emilio. It was his restaurant you worked in when you were in college.”

  “No,” Cal said. “It was his grandpa’s restaurant. He went out on his own about two years ago.”

  “And he’s not setting the world on fire.” Min nodded. “That’s why I brought Liza here. It took me all night to talk her into it, but I think she likes the place.”

  “Good,” Cal said, not following and not caring. It felt too damn good to be sitting next to her again to insist on clarity, too.

  “Liza’s a fixer,” Min said. “She finds businesses that need help and then she . . . helps them.”

  “So, she advertises that she can fix things,” Cal said, not caring.

  “No,” Min said. “She chooses. There are a lot of places that need a kick in the butt to get going, and Liza gets a job and provides the kick. She’s not good for the long term, once things are good she leaves, but for the year she stays, magic happens.” She grinned at him. “Sort of like you and women.”

  “Hey,” Cal said, but then he caught sight of Emilio, gesturing to him from the kitchen door. “Be right back.”

  Emilio dragged him through the door when he got there. “There’s a woman out there,” Emilio said. “The redhead with Tony. She just told me she’s thinking about working here. Is she delusional?”

  “Not even a little bit,” Cal said. “Tony knows her better than I do, but if you’re asking, I vote you hire her. It can’t hurt, and Min says she’s a genius at what she does.”

  “What does she do?” Emilio said.

  “I’m not sure,” Cal said, looking through the round window on the door to see Min. “I’m just going on what Min says.”

  “Min.” Emilio nodded. “Min I trust.”

  “Me, too,” Cal said and followed Emilio back to the table in time to hear Min say, “So here’s something I just found out. These guys are Sondheim freaks.”

  “What?” Liza said, turning to Tony in amazement.

  “What?” Tony said back. “I can’t have facets?”

  “Because of Emilio,” Min said. “Which I bring up because I want to hear his voice.”

  “Uh,” Emilio said.

  “Don’t fight it,” Cal said, sitting down next to Min again. “She gets what she wants, too.”

  “I like the ‘Moments’ song,” Min said, grinning at Emilio. “Or ‘Into the Woods.’ That’s peppy.”

  “Nah,” Tony said. “ ‘Sweeney Todd.’ ” He sang the first line of “Sweeney Todd” in a surprisingly true bass, and Roger joined in on the next line, and they sang until Emilio gave up and helped them finish on “the demon barber of Fleet . . . Street,” while Cal watched Min smile and thought, Kiss me.

  “Probably not the best thing to sing in a restaurant,” Cal said when Min was done clapping, and Emilio winced.

  “You don’t sing?” Min said to Cal.

  “Only in the shower,” Cal said, and imagined Min in the shower.

  “Wuss,” Tony said, breaking the moment. “He can sing, he’s just a coward.”

  “But you are not,” Liza said, turning back to Tony. “You are multi-talented. Who would have guessed it?”

  “What else does he do?” Bonnie said, and Tony grinned at her.

  “He has skills we’ll discuss later,” Liza said. “This is excellent pasta, Emilio. This place should be packed every night.”

  “Which is your job,” Min said to her. “Save Emilio. I love him.”

  “I think so,” Liza said. “Let me check out the kitchen first.”

  She got up, walked past Emilio, and pushed her way through the swinging doors.

  “Is she—” he said to Min.

  “She’s the best waitress you’ll ever have,” Min said. “And she will get you business. She’s checking out your kitchen now. If you pass muster, you’ve got her.”

  Emilio went to protect his kitchen from Liza, and Cal poured more wine into Min’s glass. “Drink this. I’m about to try to talk you into something, and I need you juiced.”

  “I kind of miss the charm,” Min said, picking up her glass. “Listen, I was thinking about the snow globe and the movies and everything, and I apologize for calling you the devil. They were all coincidences.”

  “Yeah,” Cal said. “Tony t