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  He smiled at her, patted her hand, and left, and Min sat at her desk and felt dull, frumpy, and boring. Not a gambler. Sensible as usual. She let herself think about kissing Cal in the park, his mouth hot on hers, his hands hard on her, and she felt the heat rise all over again. That hadn’t been sensible, that hadn’t been a plan. And now she was never going to see him again.

  She looked down at her report and realized she’d perforated it. She must have been stabbing it, the Norman Bates of statistical analysis. “Great,” she said, and tried to pull the pages apart. The top sheet ripped, and her phone rang, and she picked it up and snarled, “Minerva Dobbs,” ready to perforate the caller this time.

  “Good morning, Minerva,” Cal said, and all the air rushed out of Min’s lungs. “How did you get that godawful name?”

  Breathe. Deep breaths. Very deep breaths.

  “Oh,” she said. “This is good. Grief about my name from a guy named Calvin.” I do not care that he called. I am totally unaffected by this. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was convinced he could hear it over the phone.

  “I was named after my rich uncle Robert,” Cal said, “which turned out to be a total waste when he left everything to the whales. What’s your excuse?”

  “My mother wanted a goddess,” Min said faintly.

  “Well, she got one,” Cal said. “I take it back, it’s the perfect name for you.”

  “And my father’s mother was named Minnie,” Min said, trying to get back to offhand and unfazed. “It was a compromise. Why isn’t your name Robert?”

  “I got his last name,” Cal said. “Which is good. I don’t see myself as a Bob.”

  “Bob Morrisey.” Min leaned back in her chair, pretending to be cool. “That weird guy in the shipping department.”

  “The insurance agent you can trust,” Cal said.

  “The used car salesman you can’t,” Min said.

  “Whereas Calvin Morrisey is the old fart who started the company in 1864,” Cal said. “Or in this case, the guy who has your shoe.”

  “Shoe?”

  “Red ribbons, funky heel, big dopey flower.”

  “My shoe.” Min sat up, delighted. “I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

  “Well, you won’t unless you come to lunch with me,” Cal said. “I’m holding it for ransom. There’s a gun to its heel right now.”

  “I have lunch at my desk,” Min began, and thought, Oh, for crying out loud, could I be any more pathetic?

  “Emilio is experimenting with a lunch menu. He needs you. I need you.”

  “I can’t,” Min said while every fiber in her being said, Yes, yes, anything. Thank God her fiber couldn’t talk.

  “You can’t let Emilio down,” Cal went on. “He loves you. We’ll have chicken marsala. Come on, live a little. A very little.”

  A very little. Even Cal knew she was a sensible, non-gambling, plan-ridden loser. “Yes,” Min said, her heart starting to pound again. “I would love to get my shoe back and have chicken marsala for lunch.”

  “Keep in mind, you have to eat it with me,” Cal said. “You’re not seeing that shoe until you eat.”

  “I can stand that,” Min said, and felt lighter all over. Then she hung up and looked at her report.

  She’d been drawing hearts on it, tiny ones, dozens of them.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Min said and put her head on her desk.

  When Min got to Emilio’s, a dark-haired teenage boy at the door said, “You looking for Cal?” and when she nodded, said, “He’s at your table,” and jerked his head into the restaurant.

  “I have a table?” Min said, but then she saw Cal sitting by the window at the table they’d had Wednesday night, and she lost her breath for a minute. I keep forgetting how beautiful he is, she thought, and watched as he sat relaxed in his chair, his dark eyes fixed on the street outside, his profile perfect. He was tapping his fingers on the table, and his hands looked strong, and Min remembered how good they’d felt on her and thought, Get out of here. Then he saw her and straightened and smiled, his eyes lighting as if he were glad to see her, and she smiled back and went to meet him. Charm Boy, she thought, and slowed down again, but he already had her chair pulled out for her.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said, and she slid into the chair thinking, He’s up to something, be careful. Then she noticed him looking at the floor and said, “What?” her voice cracking with nerves.

  “Shoes,” he said. “What are you wearing?”

  “You sound like an obscene phone call,” she said, trying to keep her treacherous voice steady, but she stuck her foot out so he could see her blue reptile slides, open-toed to show off the matching blue nail polish.

  He shook his head. “You can do better. The toes are nice, though.”

  “These are work shoes,” she said, annoyance clearing up her nerves. “Also, you have my red shoe so I couldn’t wear those. Can I have my shoe back?”

  “Not until after lunch,” he said, sitting down across from her. “It’s my only leverage.”

  “Have you had this foot fetish long?” she said, as he passed her the bread basket.

  “Just since I met you,” he said. “Suddenly, there’s a whole new world out there.”

  “Glad to know I’ve made an impact,” she said, and was appalled to realize that she really was. It was enough to make her nerves come back. He doesn’t matter. She shoved the bread basket back to him, determined to be virtuous in consumption if not in thought, and said, “So who’s the charmer at the door? He needs lessons from you.”

  “Emilio’s nephew.” Cal picked up a piece of bread and broke it. “His tableside manner could use some work.”

  “Doesn’t Emilio have somebody else to put up front?” Min picked up her napkin to keep her hands off the bread. “He can’t be good for business.”

  “Brian’s the socially adept one in the family,” Cal said. “His brothers are back in the kitchen where they won’t hurt anybody. Fortunately, they can cook. I already ordered. Salad, chicken marsala, no pasta.”

  “Oh, good,” Min said, “because I’m starving. Did you know that forty percent of all pasta sold is spaghetti?” Geek, she thought, and tried to suppress her statistical instinct while she smiled at him. “I think that shows a huge lack of imag—”

  Brian slung a salad in front of her and another in front of Cal. “Your chicken’s up in about fifteen,” he told Cal. “You want wine with that?”

  “Yes, please,” Cal said to him. “I thought you were working on your finesse.”

  “Not with you,” Brian said. “I know it’s chicken, but for you, red wine, right?”

  “Right,” Cal said. “Now ask me what kind of red.”

  “Whatever Emilio puts in the glass,” Brian said, and left.

  “Just a little ray of sunshine,” Min said. “But enough about him. Give me the ten bucks.”

  “Ten bucks?” Cal looked beautifully blank and then shook his head. “There wasn’t a bet. Stop harassing me for cash.”

  “You asked me out without a bet?” Min said.

  “No money will change hands,” Cal said. “Except for me paying the tab.”

  “We can go Dutch,” Min offered.

  “No, we can’t.”

  “Why not? I can afford it. We’re not dating. Why—”

  “I invited you, I pay,” Cal said, his face beginning to set into that stubborn look that exasperated her.

  “That means if I invite you, I pay,” Min said.

  “No, I pay then, too,” Cal said. “So tell me who Diana, Wet, and Worse are.”

  “That’s why you invited me to lunch?” Min said, infusing her voice with as much skepticism as possible.

  “No.” Cal put his head in his hands. “Could we just for once meet like regular people? Smile at each other, make small talk, pretend you don’t hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you,” Min said, shocked. “I like you. I mean, you have flaws—”

  “What flaws?” Cal said. �€