The Importance of Being Alice by Katie MacAlister Page B

where people are leaving the air rife with cannabis smoke cause an issue for you?”
    â€œNo, I’m fine around a little pot smoke. Patrick used to indulge now and again, and although it probably wouldn’t be smart to smoke a bowl, or whatever the latest pot slang is these days, the buzz you get off of secondhand smoke is really minor. At least, that’s what Patrick always said, and I have never had reason to argue with that opinion.”
    â€œVery well, but I hope you don’t have any drug tests scheduled in the next twenty-four hours.”
    The waitress appeared at their table.
    â€œWhat do you mean? Oh, hello. Do you speak English?”
    When the woman shook her head, Elliott offered to help. “I don’t speak Dutch per se, but I could probably find enough words common to German that I could make myself understood.”
    â€œNo, no, I said you weren’t going to have to tax your brain tonight, and I meant it. I have a Dutch/English translator app on my phone. Let me just look up the dining-out section, and we’ll be set.” Alice bit her lower lip as she tapped on her phone’s screen for half a minute. Elliott watched the little pink lip, and felt a familiar drawing sensation in his groin.
    Dammit, he was becoming aroused just by watching those white teeth take possession of the deliciously soft lip, a lip that he himself wanted to gently bite, then suck into his mouth, and caress with his tongue. He shifted in the chair, telling himself that thoughts like that were going to ensure the evening was a painful one.
    â€œDo you mind if I order for us both?” Alice asked.
    â€œIf you feel up to doing so, then by all means go ahead. I look forward to trying the stew you mentioned.”
    â€œAwesome. You won’t be sorry. OK, here we go.” Consulting her phone, Alice stumbled over a collection of words that didn’t sound to him as if they were correct, but perhaps the app she was using was having her speak more formally than colloquially. The waitress nodded, collected the used dishes and cups that had been scattered around the table, and left them.
    â€œI think you’re really going to like the wat. At least I hope you will—it depends on how good this place makes it, but Ricardo swore it was worth the visit. Although . . .” She frowned and idly played with the mouthpiece of one of the hookah hoses. “Maybe he recommended it because he could smoke pot here rather than because it had great wat. I’ll be really annoyed if that’s true, because my mouth is all set for spicy goodness.”
    â€œIf we are to eat with our right hand and not utensils, then I suggest you wash your hands before the meal arrives.”
    â€œOh, they should bring us a bowl of water to wash with. If they don’t, I’ll hit up their bathroom.” She looked curious. “Was that just a general warning, or are you hypersensitive to germs?”
    â€œNeither.” He nodded toward the mouthpiece. “They generally change those for new customers, but the waitress didn’t bring a clean one. Judging by the contents of the pipe, the people who were here before us were using it.”
    She looked in horror at the mouthpiece, and flung it away from her, exclaiming she would be right back. He reached into his jacket pocket for a small travel bottle of hand sanitizer that he carried for just such situations—although he had to admit, he’d never used it before for a water pipe—when his phone began buzzing.
    He held the phone a bit away from his ear, well aware of his mother’s habit of speaking loudly into all telephones. “Hello, Mum. Is anything the matter?”
    â€œElliott, dear, how nice to hear from you.”
    â€œYou called me,” he pointed out. Usually, his mother only called him when trouble was brewing. “What has happened? Is anyone bleeding? Have parts of the castle collapsed?”
    â€œNo