Gluten for Punishment by Nancy J. Parra

her hand to cut
     off Tasha. “We’ll settle things next book club.” She gave me another hug and was gone,
     checking on customers and urging her waitstaff to keep on its toes.
    Our waitress, Emmi, was a tall college student in her early twenties. She had long
     brown hair, which she wore in a ponytail at the back of her neck. The drinks in her
     hands were in tall glasses with ice and a lime slice hanging off the edge. She placed
     them down in front of us. “Chips and salsa will be right out. Lucy said you wanted
     the GF chicken casserole, right?”
    I nodded and wrapped my hand around the drink.
    “What are you having?” Emmi asked Tasha.
    “I’ll have a club sandwich with fries, thanks.”
    I sipped the tall, cold drink and enjoyed the tang on my taste buds. The drink was
     light on the tonic and heavy on the gin. Lucy made it medicinal strength.
    “Oh, my, this is good,” Tasha said. “Drink up. I want to see the color come back into
     your face.”
    “I didn’t know the color had left my face.”
    She patted my hand. “Of course you didn’t. I bet you’ve been pushing yourself to work
     so you don’t have to think. Right?”
    Thankfully, at that moment Emmi brought over a large bowl of hot, fresh chips and
     two small bowls of salsa so I didn’t have to answer Tasha’s question. The second and
     third sips of gin and tonic went down easy and I relaxed a bit.
    “Now.” Tasha dipped a chip and popped it into her mouth. “Tell me everything. Don’t
     leave out the juicy parts.”
    I sighed and grabbed a chip. Munching, I realized I was hungrier than I thought. Armed
     with liquor and snacks, I told Tasha the whole sordid tale, adding how I’d had to
     give away coffee the first hour until Grandma Ruth showed up and helped move the crowd
     inside.
    I was halfway through my drink when Tasha stopped me with a hand to my wrist.
    “Oh, my, look who came in for dinner.”
    I looked over my shoulder to see the handsome rancher from the other night.
    “Yum!” Tasha whispered.
    “Hey, I thought you were dating Craig.”
    “I am but Sam Greenbaum can put his shoes under my bed any day.”
    “Sam Greenbaum,” I repeated. Huh, the handsome guy had a name. I watched him settle
     an old woman into a chair at a table next to the window. He noticed me and waved.
    I waved back. He moved in our direction and I ducked back into the booth. Tasha’s
     mouth hung open and her eyes went wide. “Do you know him? You must know him, you waved,
     and now he’s heading our way.”
    Discretion was not one of Tasha’s best qualities. The heat of a blush rushed up my
     cheeks. Being a redhead, I’m certain it showed like a glowing fire. Why could I never
     look calm, cool, and collected?
    “Hey,” he said, approaching the table. The man had a way of walking that could bring
     a tear to your eye.
    I swallowed hard. “Hi.” My drink was in my hand before I knew it and I sipped in a
     poor attempt to cool off. I might have even pressed it against my heated cheek.
    “You’re the bakery lady from last night, aren’t you?” His eyes twinkled—actually twinkled,
     mind you. I tried to keep from drooling.
    “Yes. How did your grandma and her friends like the sample platters?” Hooray for me
     for being able to make conversation when I was face to waist with the handsome hunk
     who was probably married . . . or gay.
    “She and her friends loved it. They took several of the cards to call you for catering
     jobs. I’d say that made it a success. I’m Sam, by the way.” He held out his hand.
    “Toni.” I shook. Darn it, his hand was big and warm and callused in all the right
     places. “Toni Holmes.”
    “Nice to meet you, Toni.” He squeezed my hand gently. His gaze made the blush on my
     cheeks that much hotter.
    “I’m Tasha,” Tasha said, breaking the silent admiration in his gaze. Or was that my
     gaze? Anyway, thank goodness for Tasha. “Tasha Wilkes, Toni’s best friend since grade
     school.