Apple Brown Betty by Phillip Thomas Duck

back from a million miles away, tried to smile with comfort. “Yes, let’s go and see what Mr. Desmond Rucker has for us here.”
    Cush had a deep burgundy awning, an elaborate sign with the cursive Cush insignia that could be lighted at night. A thick carpet, the color of the awning, led up the small slope of sidewalk directly to the front door. The door was some rich heavy wood with a polished brass handle and had a menu screwed to the frame and enclosed in sturdy plastic casing. To the left of the entrance was a little window with a picture of Desmond Rucker and a second picture of his staff displayed like jewelry in some fine jeweler’s storefront.
    Stephon stopped and looked at the picture. Cydney did as well.
    â€œThat’s Desmond Rucker?” Cydney said.
    Stephon wheeled toward her. “Yes, it is.” He clenched his teeth and made his jaw muscles bulge. “Why?”
    â€œSurprised to see he’s so young,” she said. “I was expecting a much older man.”
    â€œYou know that cliché about wine getting better over time,” Stephon said. He pulled at his necktie, tightened it. He was a handsome, influential man. Just over forty years of age. He wasn’t in his late twenties like Desmond and Cydney, though. Looking at how Cydney looked at the picture of Desmond Rucker, Stephon was happy his instincts had forced him to come with her.
    â€œYou ready to go in?” Cydney asked.
    Stephon hesitated. “Yes, I’m ready.” Cydney moved to open the door. Stephon rushed across her. “Let me get that for you,” he said.
    Desmond Rucker was standing by the entrance podium engaged in a deep conversation with the hostess. His head was down, looked as if he’d just been scolded. Cydney could feel her pulse in her fingertips as she got a good look at him. He was fine with a capital F. She immediately regretted the decision to come with Stephon.
    The woman at the podium with the silky hair and the warm smile greeted Stephon and Cydney. “Welcome to Cush. Party of two?”
    â€œYes, just the two of us,” Stephon said. Cydney did a double take. Was it her or did Stephon’s voice deepen even more than usual?
    â€œSmoking or nonsmoking?” the silky-haired woman behind the podium asked.
    â€œNonsmoking,” the suddenly Barry White-esque Stephon answered.
    Cydney stood back, trying to keep her eyes from drifting to Desmond Rucker. When he finally did look up, and held his gaze on her, she made sure to scan the restaurant and act nonchalant. Desmond stepped forward.
    â€œI’m Desmond Rucker, the proprietor,” he said, extending his hand to Stephon.
    â€œNice place you have here, Mr. Rucker,” Stephon said.
    â€œThank you,” Desmond replied. He looked to Cydney. “I hope your wife agrees.” Desmond eased his hand from Stephon’s firm grip and extended it to Cydney.
    â€œI most certainly agree,” she said. She turned her left hand, held it up. “And wife isn’t on my résumé.” They held eyes for a moment, a connection taking place. Nothing else needed to be said.
    â€œYour table is right this way,” Karen said. She took up two menus, shot Desmond a stabbing glare as she walked off with Cydney and Stephon.
    Stephon pulled out Cydney’s chair for her to sit. She never remembered him doing that before. She placed the linen napkin on her lap and opened her menu. She could feel unspoken words hanging over her, Stephon’s eyes watching her. It took a great deal for her to keep from smiling.
    â€œI’ll be right back,” Stephon said after a moment. “I have to make a quick phone call.”
    â€œChecking in on the wife?” Cydney asked. Stephon gritted his teeth before walking toward the restroom where the phones were nestled in the hallway.
    No sooner had Stephon left than Desmond Rucker took his place. “I hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind