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How was it possible? That wasn’t how Danny worked. He wouldn’t want to be unfair to Maggie. She was a good friend. He wouldn’t want to start something with her until he was ready. Was there a world in which he was ready so soon? Maybe I was a complete fool, but I didn’t buy it. I still thought there had to be another explanation.
I poured myself a large cup of coffee and was about to call Danny, when Ethan walked back in the door, a bag from John’s Pancake House in one hand, a tray of coffee cups in the other.
He motioned toward the mug I was holding. “I definitely wouldn’t drink that,” he said.
I put my phone away. “If you’re judging me for drinking coffee while I’m pregnant . . .”
“I’m judging you for drinking that coffee,” he said. “I haven’t used that coffeemaker since the early eighties.”
He handed over his tray of drinks.
“Sugared. Decaf. Caf,” he said. “Wasn’t sure which way you’d want to go.”
“Thanks. What’s in the bag?”
“Egg sandwich. That’s for me, though. I need the sustenance.”
“And why’s that?”
“I’m driving to New York today to meet with some investors.”
He pulled the sandwich out of his bag, unwrapped it, the steam pouring out.
“We’re thinking of expanding to a few restaurants in Southern California. Los Angeles, primarily. That was the dinner I took at 28,” he said.
I looked longingly as he held up the greasy sandwich, piled high with cheese and tomatoes.
“What? I’m not running a bed-and-breakfast here.”
I must have looked terribly disappointed, because he rolled his eyes and handed over half.
“Apparently, I am.”
I took a large bite, stuffing most of my half into my mouth. He waited for me to swallow and then smiled.
“Sexy,” he said.
In response, I shoved the rest of my half right in behind it.
“So I didn’t want to tell you last night,” he said.
“Though five A.M. feels like a good time?”
He took a bite of his eggs. “Amber is having a fancy cookbook release party over on Tyson Lane tonight. That’s why she’s in town.”
I immediately regretted the sandwich. “How do you know that, exactly?”
“Her publicity person was trying to get a discount. And she used Amber’s name, talked about the party and all the people who would be eating our fish.” He kept talking, mouth full. “I guess she’s having stations set up. Each station is going to serve one of the recipes in the book. The station she wants us to supply fish for is a ceviche station.”
“What is she supplying? The toast?”
“I asked the publicist the same thing.”
I laughed. “Did you really?’
“Yep. Apparently she doesn’t share our sense of humor.”
I thought about what that party would entail. Everyone would be there. Louis, food journalists, folks from the Food Network. Everyone who had turned their backs on me, and who were now thrilled to be honoring her.
