Light of Day Read Free

smiled. “Gerald must have told you I ate this five nights out of seven while I worked here.”
    He inclined his head, a very small smile showing the long lines around his mouth.
    “Allow me,” she said, picking up the serving spoon.
    As they began to eat, he asked, “Where are you from, Miss Waters?”
    “Oh, call me Lila, please,” she protested. Settling a heavy linen napkin in her lap, she continued, “I’m originally from Oklahoma, but I left when I was seventeen.”
    “And your family?”
    “All still there.” For a moment she savored the bite of the herbed sauce, a flavor that mingled exquisitely with the light, crisp Fumè on her tongue, just as the candle, the music and the rainy night blended well. She found herself letting go of a long-held breath. “They would never appreciate Washington.”
    “No?”
    She smiled. “No. This is a subtle climate. Nothing subtle about Oklahoma. Rains in torrents with lots of thunder and lightning or the sun shines like there’s a contest on. You ever been there?”
    He, too, seemed relaxed. He shook his head with an outsplaying of hands. “Please. Go on.”
    “Nothing subtle about the people, either. Ranchers and Indians and a lot of stubborn Irishmen. A handful of Italians thrown in for drama.” She grinned. “I tell you, I think God laughs when he sees Oklahoma.”
    She won an honest smile—a little off-center and not nearly as intimidating as the rest of him. “And which are you?”
    Lila laughed. “Every last one of them.”
    Samuel laughed with her as she ruefully lifted a stand of curly hair as if to illustrate her words. In the candlelight her light green eyes held almost no color against sweeping dark lashes. Not a hint of makeup marred the fresh, clear features, and he found he didn’t mind. Even her lips, washed clean by her motorcycle ride, needed no assistance, for they were watermelon ripe and pouty and full. A mouth a man would not want a woman to paint, for even unadorned, it was impossible to avoid imagining the taste of it.
    He glanced away, lifting his wineglass to distract himself. He tasted the pale gold liquid, then looked again at Lila. “One day I shall have to see for myself.”
    The teenage dishwasher loped out of the kitchen toward them. “Got it all done, I think,” he said, shaking too-long hair from his eyes. “You need anything else?”
    “No, thank you, Jesse,” Samuel answered. “You did well tonight. I hope to have a second dishwasher here for you tomorrow.”
    The boy grinned. “Whatever you think, Mr. Bashir. Thanks for your help.”
    Samuel inclined his head. “Good night.”
    Lila watched the exchange with interest. When the boy left, she asked, “Did you wash dishes tonight?”
    “Yes.” He smiled, leaning back comfortably in his chair to light an after-dinner cigarette. “I also cooked, bused tables and seated customers. As you may have heard, we are a trifle shorthanded.”
    “I heard.” She ate another bite of her cod, then glanced at him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to cut the dead weight a little at a time?”
    “I don’t think so. Each time a customer receives bad service or an improperly prepared meal or is dissatisfied with his experience, business falls. Better to sweep away all the trouble and begin anew.”
    Lila finished her meal and, with a sigh, blotted her lips neatly. “I suppose it’s all a matter of philosophy.”
    “Your chocolate-cherry cake sold out tonight, by the way.”
    “Did it?” Lila smiled. “It’s a new recipe. I wasn’t sure how well it would do.” She paused. “I tried various methods—upside-down cake was the first step—but wasn’t satisfied with the way the cherries lost color. Did you try it?”
    “Unfortunately I had no opportunity.” He exhaled and shifted. “We’ll need several new desserts tomorrow to see us through the weekend. Can you manage?”
    Lila nodded. “I have deliveries to make at several places in the morning. I’ll come by here and let