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Sandy returns with our food and slides it between us. The different plates crowd the table, and we scramble to fit everything. Lenore scoops a bit of each onto her plate before I can and smiles in triumph, surveying the smorgasbord.
Inevitably the topic of our relaxed lunchtime turns to her car.
“I thought I heard you talking to some customers this morning, but did you have a chance to take a peek at my car yet?”
I finish the last wing before she can grab it and clean my fingers off before tentatively reaching for one of the fried pickles.
“I did. The codes are pointing toward something in the engine.”
I eyeball the thing and glance up like a kid checking to see if their parents are watching them eat.
She’s slightly green. “That’s probably expensive, right?” Her eyes dart between the slice of pickle carefully held between my two fingers and my face. “Try dipping it in the ranch.”
I plunk the thing into the dipping bowl near her hand and study it again. Somehow, I don’t think the ranch will improve the taste.
Circling back to the original question, I try to be honest. “Depends, but I put a call into the warranty center to see where it’s at. It might still be covered. It’s a Chevy, so I should be able to take care of it for you. Otherwise, we’ll have to haul it over to a certified mechanic or another dealership in the area.”
I pop the pickle in my mouth, immediately overwhelmed by the taste of ranch and vinegar brine.
“Let’s hope that, for once, I get lucky.”
I can’t tell if her laughter is in reaction to my pained expression from the pickle or my choking on the stupid thing at her unintended double entendre.
I cough and grab my drink, thinking that if she showed even one sign that she was interested in that type of relationship, I’d be all over it. Boss and employee relationship be damned.
“Sorry, that came out wrong.” She hides her smile behind her hand, and I can’t resist reaching over to her side of the table and pulling it away. I give it a squeeze before letting go, basking in the light of her happiness.
“Don’t worry about it.” She looks shell-shocked at the unexpected contact but recovers her composure quickly.
“How long do you think it will take to fix?”
“Well, if it’s just the sensors, it should only be a couple of hours after I get them delivered.” She looks relieved. “If I can find them locally, it could be done as soon as tomorrow.”
I purposely leave out a more serious and common problem in this car model that could take several days to fix.
“I sense a but in there somewhere.”
“I get the feeling something else is going on. I’ve had a few of these come in, and the computer wasn’t pinpointing the right problem.”
She twists the cloth napkin between her fingers. “I’m guessing it's also a more expensive and time-consuming problem.”
I don't even attempt to minimize it this time. I have a terrible poker face with her anyway, so she’d be able to tell I was hiding something. “Yes, to both.”
“Well, that’s fun.”
I unlace her fingers from the napkin and squeeze her hand. She doesn’t jump this time, so I keep holding it. Steve wanders over—probably to snoop—and I know he sees our hands. He leans against Lenore’s side of the booth. “How was everything?” There’s not much left so he can tell we’ve eaten all of it.
“Great. Matt said you have a new chef?”
Steve nods.
“Please tell her thank you. It was delicious.”
“My pleasure! She’ll appreciate that.” He starts on a leading trail of questions, and, like Annie the night before, I have to threaten him with the death glare before he gets the message and leaves us alone for the rest of the meal. He heads back toward the kitchen, presumably to relay Nore’s message.
When we get up to leave, I stealthily snag the bill before Lenore can look at her half.
“My treat. Consider it a thank you for reorganizing my disaster of an office so quickly.”
