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Sadie studied Dante intently, then glanced up at the speakers on the ceiling. “That's Bruno Mars, hun.”
“Ha, of course, silly me! What was I thinking?” Dante babbled nervously. “It shouldn’t be a surprise. I once mistakenly thought Hilary Swank was Jennifer Garner. Can you imagine?”
“I made the same mistake! What a coincidence,” I said, trying to cover for Dante.
Fortunately, Sadie didn’t look suspicious at all.
After she took Dante’s order and walked away, the two of us discussed my agenda for the week as we waited for Grace. Luckily, with the lively ambiance of the restaurant and the music, nobody could hear our conversation.
Fifteen minutes later, with perfect timing, Sadie set the plates of food down and left, just as Grace breezed into the restaurant.
Dante waved her over, and with purposeful strides, she wove between the crowded tables in our direction.
Her eyes widened at the sheer amount of food spread across our tables, then widened even further when she saw what I was wearing.
“Looks like someone had a head-on collision with a souvenir shop,” Grace said wryly.
I stood and said in a low voice, “I’m just trying to fit in. A necessary precaution to avoid the paparazzi.”
Grace glanced around the crowded restaurant. “Somehow, I doubt they’re stalking casual soul food joints. They’re probably all down in Hollywood or Beverly Hills.”
“You may be right, but all it would take is a simple phone call from one person to have them swarming around here like locusts,” I said, gesturing to the space across from me in the booth. “Please. Have a seat.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Grace slid in, eyes roving over the heaping platters of food that crowded our table. “Hungry?”
“Famished,” I replied, sitting back down. “I took the liberty of ordering a sweet tea for you as well as a variety of their most popular dishes. I hope there’s something here that looks appealing to you.”
Grace surveyed the table. “Pretty much all of it.” She reached for her sweet tea.
“Good,” I said. “Let’s eat, darlin’.”
Grace choked on her sweet tea.
“My goodness,” I said. “Are you all right?”
She nodded adamantly. “What did you call me?”
My stab at Southern charm was a complete failure.
“What did I call you when?” I said, giving my best effort at stupidity.
“Just now!” she said. “Did you call me darlin’?”
“There is a lot of noise in here, isn’t there?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “Let’s eat.” I tucked a napkin into the collar of my T-shirt and smoothed it over my chest.
Grace shook her head. “Uh-uh . . . Nix the napkin. That is not fitting in, unless you’re eating crab legs or barbecued ribs.”
I glanced around at the other diners, none of them with napkins tucked into their shirts, then removed mine. “Good to know.”
Grace dove into the feast, piling her plate precariously high with fried chicken, collard greens, mac and cheese, and biscuits, for starters.
I watched in amusement as she took her first bite of fried chicken and let out an indecent moan of delight, before following it up with a bite of a buttermilk biscuit.
“The food is to your satisfaction, I take it?” I chuckled.
With her mouth full, Grace nodded enthusiastically.
She ripped off a piece of buttermilk biscuit and held it in front of my mouth. “Mmm, you’ve got to try this. Open up.”
