A Pinch of Ooh La La by Renee Swindle Page B

described the specials. “Tonight’s special is Samuel Sterling Howard. Thirty-seven. Six feet tall with a sexy, toned body. He’s been a partner with Gibson Davis McCarthy for several years. Unlike other men you’ve dated in the past, he does not come with the requisite artist’s baggage, which, let’s face it, once appealed to you. He follows politics, reads
The
Economist
, and listens to NPR. He’s not a fan of Brussels sprouts or broccoli. If you notice the phone on his left, he’s obviously a man who loves his mother.”
    â€œI’ll let you look over the menu and decide?” She bowed slightly and left the table.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    W e chatted about anything and everything, letting the conversation fall on whatever topic it wanted to land on. Something about the way Samuel ate his food—with exact movements, his long fingers like a praying mantis over his knife and fork, which he used at the same time—completely charmed me. He chewed thoroughly between bites and sat up properly. He ate, in short, like a man who’d grown up in a series of boarding schools. But I knew he’d gone to public schools in Alameda and later El Cerrito: nothing fancy. He was shy in telling me he’d earned a 4.0 and was valedictorian of his class.
    Halfway through the meal and the bottle of wine, we were flirting heavily, tasting each other’s food, and laughing and talking in overlapping sentences. The men in the restaurant shook their heads and thought,
Looks like
he’s
getting laid tonight,
while the women sighed with envy:
I remember when my husband/boyfriend/partner looked at me like that. She’s so lucky.
    When his phone dinged, he held up his finger and apologized. “It’s my mother. Mind if I take it?”
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œMother? Yes. Hello. No, I told you that wouldn’t be possible. No, Mother. I told you I didn’t have time.” I wasn’t sure if I thought it was odd or endearing that he addressed his mother as Mother. He shot me a look, then turned slightly. “I can’t right now,” he said in a muted voice. “No, I’m not.” He glanced my way and mouthed,
One second.
    I decided to stop staring and check my messages so that I wouldn’t appear to be eavesdropping, even though that’s exactly what I was doing.
    A text from Bendrix:
????????!!!!
    I texted back:
Hot smart nice!
    My second message was from Carmen. Her appointment forthe pregnancy test was tomorrow, and, as promised, I was taking her. She wanted to know if she could sleep over tonight. I texted back a yes. Carmen spending the night was a win-win, actually. The old Abbey had a habit of sleeping with a man before she knew his middle name or how he liked his coffee. I was determined to date responsibly, and I liked that I was now locked into my decision: No matter how attractive I found Samuel, he would not be coming home with me.
    â€œNo, Mother. Saturday. Yes. Father told you he would pick them up directly. How was your doctor’s appointment? What did she tell you? Good. Glad to hear it.”
    Okay, yes, he might have sounded like he belonged in an era when men wore black tie to dinner, but it was obvious that he cared about his mother and looked out for her.
    â€œI’ll call later tonight to see how you’re doing. Because.
Because,
” he said, lowering his voice further. “I’m out. It doesn’t matter where. If I have time, but I’m not sure right now. Yes. I’ll call you later. Yes, I
promise
. Bye.” He hung up. “Sorry about that.”
    â€œDidn’t want to tell her you were on a date?” I teased.
    â€œ
Date
is a dangerous word as far as I’m concerned. I use it around my mother and she’ll immediately jump to marriage.”
    â€œIt’s nice that you look after her.”
    â€œI feel it’s my duty. I have a lot of respect for