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With a shake of her head, she headed out the back door to finish her landscaping. Once completed, she went upstairs to shower and dress for dinner. At seven o’clock, she left the house and stood on the front porch. George Mills, Jess’ husband, honked the horn of his car as he turned onto the cobblestone entryway to her property. They were carpooling to dinner, since the Mills lived down the street.
George drove them into town and parked in the lot next to Pietro’s Fine Dining. The establishment made a mockery of its own name, since there was no Italian chef named Pietro in Wilder, nor would anyone associate with fine dining the flatware rolled in paper napkins, the brown, plastic cups, and the vinyl, red-and-white-checkered tablecloths. But hands down, the food couldn’t be beat.
Pulling the door open, George stood back and let everyone inhale the rich aroma wafting their way. Reese’s stomach growled in a very unladylike fashion. Always the reaction to the creations of the chef and owner, Mike Jones. His wife Ruby manned the hostess podium and also doubled as a server when it got busy. Which was pretty much all the time.
She was a lively sort, with red hair and a robust figure. Known for her surly wit and her homemade aprons with zany sayings on them—this evening’s black one insisting “Surrender to the Sausage” in white block letters—she was one of Wilder’s most beloved characters.
Reese sniffed the air again, her ability to dissect ingredients and spices with a very keen nose being an uncanny one. “Please tell me tonight’s special is Lasagna Bolognese.”
“Can’t fool you,” Ruby said.
Clearly Tommy had, but she refused to dwell on that this evening.
“I have your table ready. The others are here. Care for menus?”
“Special,” Reese told her, her mouth practically watering.
“Us too,” Jess said.
“Hmph. Someday I’m going to stop offering the menu, you’re not going to want the special, and then you’re going to be shit out of luck because you’ve never bothered to look at any of the regular items.”
“Not want the special?” Reese raised a brow. “When have we ever not wanted Mike’s special?”
“Yeah, well, the man’s been storin’ up sick days for some time now. He just might decide to use them.”
“Why would you torture us with that notion?” Jess quipped.
“I’m willing to do just about anything to get someone to read the menu so I won’t be kicking myself every night for having ‘em printed up.”
George laughed. “Maybe next time.”
“Yeah, right.” She led them into the dining room and pointed toward the far window. “The round eight-top over there.” She eyed Reese and said, “I don’t like empty seats at my tables. Next time bring a date.” She nudged her in a friendly way, then ambled away.
Reese let out a long-suffering sigh. “Y’all can nix any ideas of fixin’ me up. I’m going stag from here on out.”
They wound their way through the dining room, greeting the Reverend and Lydia Bain, along with Mayor Grant and his Southern-belle wife Emelda, before reaching their party.
Those previously seated stood and hugs ensued. No one had returned to their chairs yet when Ruby came back and cleared her throat.
“I’ve got a straggler,” she said. “Mind if he joins?”
Reese turned to find sky-blue-eyed Caleb standing off to the side. Her stomach flipped once again.
He was quick to say, “No, no, I don’t want to impose. You said I could have that table for two in the corner.”
Ruby shrugged. “Waste not, want not, is my thinkin’. I can put a couple over there. Besides, you’re staying at the B&B, right? So you already know Reese.”
“Man, there are no secrets in this town,” he said, looking a bit bewildered.
“Told you.” Reese gestured to the chair next to her. “We have no problem with you joining us. Please.”
Ruby’s expression was a smug one before she waddled off.
“Really,” Caleb said, “I’m not looking to crash your party. And,” he gave Reese a pointed look, “I’m not stalking you. I swear. I just came from the ranch. Nadine had suggested this place.”
She laughed, a sound that reflected too much excitement, in her opinion. Especially for a woman who’d only two minutes ago proclaimed she was henceforth a permanent singleton. So what was with the flirtatious giggle?
“Best restaurant in town,” she told him, striving for a normal tone of voice, not the breathy one that seemed to come out whenever she spoke with him. “You were bound to end up here. Let me introduce you around.” She turned to the group. “This is Caleb Bennett. Just closed on the Painted Horse Ranch, if you haven’t yet heard.”
