Sunday, September 23

Back from a successful trip to Russia, Rebecca walked

into Alimentary to pick up dinner for her and O.E. She

inhaled the savory scents and waited for the maître d' to

finish making some notes.

"How may I help you?"

"I have an unusual request. I had dinner here recently

with someone named O.E."

The maître d' smiled. "Of course. And how is he?"

Sexy and built. No, that was not the answer she needed

to give right now, although it was the first thing that

popped into her mind. "Not very well. He broke his jaw and

had to have it wired shut."

The smile vanished. "Oh my. I'm sorry to hear that. Will

he be all right?"

"Yes, he'll be fine. But right now, he's recovering at

home, and I'm bringing him something to eat." Rebecca

grabbed a menu from the host desk. "So here is what I'd

like. I want an order of your spicy lamb ragout, to go. But I

want you to purée it into a liquid so he can drink it through

a straw. Can you do that?"

The maître d' winced. "You want us to blend a meal? I

can't do that-it will destroy all of the character!"

Spare me from your precious character. She knew he

would balk at the suggestion. And he was right-what

restaurant wanted their meals to become baby food? But he

was going to have to swallow his pride if he expected O.E. to

swallow his cuisine.

She pressed her case. "It's the only way he'll be able to

eat it, and we both know he likes your food very much. I'm

sure that he'll forgive the lost character, given the

circumstances."

The maître d' puckered his lips and stood up straight.

"Very well. And what would you like to eat? I assume we

won't have to blend your dinner, too." Rebecca ignored his

attitude and made her selection.

Soon, she was standing at the door to Dan Avery's place,

a take-out bag of food in her hand. Still unsure how far she

was willing to go with him, she had dressed as casually as

possible. Sneakers, a loose, blue and teal green cable knit

sweater with cropped sleeves, and a baggy pair of black

jeans. The outfit broadcasted a we're-just-friends message

that she knew O.E.'s good fashion sense would hear. She

also knew that he would probably ignore the message. She'd

be okay with that, too.

What do I want from him? She had been looking

forward to seeing him for days and had thought about him




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