Black Ember by Ruby Laska

and shorts today, since the weather was warm and getting warmer, but the T-shirt looked as though it had been pressed and the shorts were the expensive sort that men wore to play golf in.
    Caryn saw well-dressed men every day in her line of work: people in the fashion industry, well-heeled customers looking for gifts for their wives or girlfriends, and her mother and Harry’s friends.
    And still, she didn’t know anyone who wore their clothes quite as well as Zane did. It wasn’t just that he could be a model himself—he was every bit as handsome as the men on billboards and magazines—but he had an ease that was positively electrifying. Something about the way those big hands and dexterous, callused fingers worked with the shiny ribbon…it was all too easy to imagine those same hands on her skin, sliding down her body—
    Zane finally got the knot tied and threw the program into the basket of finished programs.
    “I’d rather work a double than make these stupid bows,” he grumbled.
    “Well, you weren’t much help with the swans, either,” Caryn said. “Do you have any useful skills at all?”
    “Very funny, Barracuda,” Zane said, folding his arms and glaring at her. “Where did you learn to set a table like that, anyway?”
    Caryn looked down at the neatly arranged place settings, with their assortment of flatware, the glasses and bread plates placed just so. It wouldn’t do to tell Zane that she’d been sent to Miss Erica’s Etiquette Academy when other middle schoolers were on the soccer field or taking piano lessons.
    “I, um, watch a lot of TV. You can learn all kinds of things on HGTV.”
    Not exactly true—Caryn almost never turned on the television after her long work hours—but she was familiar with the home and garden network from when her designs were featured on a fashion reality show.
    “Is that right,” Zane said blandly. She could tell he didn’t believe a word she said.
    Which was fine, as long as he continued to bark up the wrong tree. He’d been fishing for information all morning, trying to figure out where she’d come from and what she’d done before becoming a cocktail waitress. Caryn had deflected as well as she could, lied when she couldn’t, but now she wanted to turn the conversation back on Zane, especially since she knew little more about her bio-dad now than when she arrived almost twenty-four hours ago.
    “So, Zane…” she said casually, moving to the next place setting. “Seems like you guys are regulars down at Buddy’s.”
    Zane shrugged. “It’s the only bar between here and town—and the only one that isn’t overrun every night. Plus, the beer’s cheap. Too bad the service sucks.”
    Caryn ignored the jab. “Do you know Buddy very well?”
    More shrugging. “I guess so. I’ve had a beer at closing time with him once or twice. Shot the shi—, er, the breeze with him.”
    “Can you tell me about him? Just because he’s my new boss, and I’d like to know something about him before he comes back on Monday.” She could see the skepticism on Zane’s face, so she embellished nervously. “I really want to hang onto this job.”
    “Yeah, I can see where you’ve probably had personality clashes before. Given your complete lack of customer-service skills.”
    Caryn rolled her eyes. “I was just overwhelmed. I’ll do better today, I’m sure. So, Buddy…what’s he like?”
    “I don’t know…he’s a guy. Guys don’t think about stuff like this the way women do.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “We don’t, you know, obsess about our feelings and so forth.”
    “Okay.” She spoke slowly, with exaggerated patience. “You don’t have to tell me about your feelings. Or his. Just a few details about his life would be great. I mean, I don’t even know what he looks like.”
    “Well, he’s…kind of average, I guess. Maybe around fifty or so—”
    Fifty-six , Caryn amended automatically in her mind; his age was one of the few