Untitled by Unknown Author Page B

to see you."
       When I made a move to get up, Lavoie stopped me, one hand on my arm. "No, no, no. You must not bother him. He is an artist, yes? An artist with food. We must not disturb him when he is creating."
       Lucky for me, Lavoie had to move his arm to grab mine. I saw what he was writing on his notepad.
       "Celery. Bread crumbs. Lemon. Monsieur!" I looked at him in wonder. "You're trying to steal Jim's recipes!"
       "No, no, no!" He denied it instantly. What else did I expect? What I didn't expect was that Jim would walk out of the kitchen at that very moment. He caught sight of Lavoie and, don't ask me how, but I think he knew exactly what his old boss was doing there. Lavoie pushed his chair back from the table and sprang to his feet.
       A little too fast.
       He knocked over his water glass, which knocked over the bottle of wine he'd ordered, and I jumped up to avoid getting soaked. My chair fell over and crashed into the table behind us, sending it rocking. The chair smacked into one of the sandalwood screens, and it crashed to the floor.
       Eve had been rolling silverware in napkins for the next day's lunch crowd. She came running. Heidi, Marc, and Damien dashed out of the kitchen. Afraid that I'd been hurt, Larry, Hank, and Charlie jumped off their barstools and offered to help. The other folks at the bar swung around to watch, their mouths open in wonder.
       Perfect. It meant we were all there, all watching, when Doctor Masakazu lurched out of the kitchen.
       He scampered into the center of the restaurant, burped loud enough to wake the dead, and promptly barfed all over our beautiful white ceramic tile floor.

Six
O

    Q " MY POOR ITTY-BITTY DOC. HE'S SO SICKY-WICKY. POOR
           little sweetie." Eve had the dog in her arms. She rubbed her nose against his. We were in the examining room at the local emergency pet clinic waiting our turn to see the vet, and I was so not in the mood. I paced between the examination table and a desk that was built into the wall.
       "Maybe poor itty-bitty Doc is so sicky-wicky because you were feeding him cakey-wakey. Did you ever consider that?" I asked her.
       Eve did not take criticism well. Or very seriously. I knew that, given the choice, she'd do it all again. In a heartbeat.
       "The whipped cream must be bad," she said. "You really should call Jim and tell him. Before he serves it to somebody else."
       "Calling Jim is probably not something either one of us wants to do right about now." I hugged my arms around myself, but even so, I shivered. Angry didn't begin to describe the conniption fit of a Scotsman who discovers a dog in his restaurant. Jim's last words still rang in my ears. The way I remember them, they started out with something about Eve and me being aff o ur heids and ended with y e canna bring a dug inna a restaurant and ye best git him out now afore I take the little blighter and—
       I cringed one moment and smiled the next. Even Jim's anger hadn't been enough to stop him from looking up the address of the clinic for us. He called ahead and told them we were on our way, too.
       All of which made me feel even more terrible: a bad situation could have been even worse.
       "We're really lucky it was Monsieur Lavoie at that table and not Michael O'Keefe," I told Eve and reminded myself. "Can you imagine it, Eve? Can you even begin to think of the damage you could have done? That would have been the end of Bellywasher's for sure."
       "I know." She hugged the dog, who burped, then settled into the crook of her arm. "I'm sorry. I really am. I told Jim before we left. I promised it would never happen again, and I swear, it won't. I'll send him a bottle of really expensive wine tomorrow to apologize. I just didn't think—"
       "Exactly."
       Eve nodded. "I deserve that. I know I do. And I'm willing to take responsibility. If Jim wants to fire me, I'll understand."
       "You know he's too