“Ha. Funny you are not. So, which is less obvious?” Al turned around so John could analyze his backside.
“Really, you want me to look at your butt now?” John rolled his eyes, then took the job seriously. “I can’t tell there is anything on the left side. Is that helpful?”
“Folded paper it is.” Al nodded.
“How is writing on paper less obvious than typing? Unless she’s blind and stupid, she’ll notice.”
“I thought I’d go to the loo before and after dinner to jot down some notes. I’ll dine there again, so I really just want my initial impressions.”
“Can I go next time?”
“No.”
“I’ll behave. I promise.”
“Will you shave your beard?”
John gasped. “No.” His eyes widened in horror, as if Al were wearing acid-washed jeans with black socks and sandals.
“Then no.”
“You are a cruel, cruel man.”
• CHAPTER ELEVEN •
Al fidgeted, trying to shift the pen in his back pocket. It poked at him in an unseemly manner, a little like his conscience. He didn’t know Lou well, at least not well enough to share his secret, but he still felt guilty hiding anything from her. Oh, there—that felt better.
Al and Lou shared a table at The Good Land, a restaurant located in Walker’s Point, not far from the lakefront. The restaurant exceeded all his expectations. The service staff attended to their needs without intruding, the wine list would impress the pickiest oenophile, and the menu explored the very best of Wisconsin cuisine in small-batch cheeses, local vegetables, and handmade sausages.
Rather than mask any flaws, the dining room lighting enhanced the beautiful woodwork, muted natural colors, and crisp white linens. Local artists had painted landscapes of Milwaukee that hung on the walls, providing a pictorial history of the area’s development, which a note on the menu explained. Inexplicably, he saw stills from the movie Wayne’s World decorating the restroom. It must be a private joke with the owner.
Lou looked beautiful in her brightly colored dress, kind of an orangey-pink—John would know the color. Her hair draped past her shoulders, dancing against her bare skin each time she moved. His imagination kept distracting him from their conversation, picturing his lips in place of her tresses. It was a short path from shoulders to neck to lips.
“You okay? You’re kind of wiggly,” Lou said.
“Just settling in. I think we’ll be here a while.” Al tried not to choke out the words.
“I hope so. I’ve been dying to eat here.”
While the waiter filled her wineglass, Lou said, “Could you tell Chef Tom I’d like a grilled cheese without cheese?”
The waiter’s baffled expression matched Al’s.
“Trust me. Just tell him. Feel free to mention how crazy I seem.”
“Okay,” the waiter said, and rushed toward the kitchen doors, eager to see Chef’s reaction.
“What are you doing?” Al looked around to see whether anyone had overheard her request.
“I went to school with Chef Tom ages ago. We worked together before moving on to grown-up jobs. At one restaurant, I washed dishes and he worked the line, and a customer actually ordered that. Grilled cheese with no cheese! It’s been a joke ever since.”
“Lou!” A booming voice rang over the dining room’s quiet bustle. A man roughly the size of a Packers lineman rushed like a freight train across the restaurant with arms wide. Lou hopped out of her chair into those arms.
“How ya doing, kid? I never thought I’d see you here. I didn’t think Devlin would allow it.” He looked around, searching for the odious man, perhaps to toss him out. Al approved.
“Devlin and I broke up a while ago. I’m here with my good friend Al.” Lou gestured toward Al, who felt a little uncomfortable under the large man’s firm gaze. Lou sat back down.
“At least he has good taste in restaurants. But what took you so long? It’s been months.”
“Work’s been a little time consuming. I’m sure you understand.”
“I heard. You’ll be fine. You always are. Let me know if I can help.” Chef Tom squeezed her elbow reassuringly.
“Thanks, Tom.”
“So, what did you order? Not that it matters, ’cause I’m making you something special.”
“We’re still trying to decide. You don’t make it easy.”
Tom laughed loud enough that the customers who weren’t already staring now turned to look.
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll send out the perfect meal with the best the kitchen has today. No plain old meal for you. I’ll even make it myself.”
“Don’t do that. That’s not why we came here.”
“Bullshit. What’s the point of knowing the chef if you don’t let him show off for you?”
“Don’t overdo it, then.”
“Me? Overdo? Of course not.” Chef Tom gave a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous and returned to his kitchen.
“I like him,” was all Al said, nodding his head toward the swinging kitchen door.
• • • • •
“Bloody hell, I can’t remember when I’ve eaten that much food.” Al wiggled, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his waistband. “Chef Tom has a gift. The way he took simple ingredients like cheddar and mushrooms and made them exciting. Or turning the duck egg and whitefish into a familiar and comforting dish. Thank God we’re walking to Summerfest. Even the wine paired brilliantly. I didn’t know Milwaukee had restaurants like that.”
Al patted his back pocket, checking on his notes. Writing on his leg in the loo had been trickier than expected, and his notes resembled a toddler’s scribbles. He kept thinking of details he didn’t want to forget. The Good Land ranked as one of the best restaurants he’d ever dined at. Anywhere. His palate still reeled from the decadent braised venison.
“I knew you liked food, but I didn’t realize you were so into it.”
“My mum’s culinary knowledge began and ended with the side of a box, so I appreciate good food after a childhood of deprivation.” The half-truth didn’t lie easy on his tongue. Al had acquired the cooking duties as soon as he could see the countertop, much to his father’s delight. As Al experienced more cuisines with his friends’ families, his cooking repertoire expanded. But he couldn’t and wouldn’t get into his past with Lou—not tonight. With so many little omissions building up, it was no wonder a new one could slide out so easily.
“Ha! My family was the opposite. My grandma could teach Chef Tom a thing or two about cooking.” Lou adjusted her bag so it crossed her body. “I’ll have to make you dinner sometime.”
“I would love that.” Al hoped she could hear the truth in those words, at least.
• • • • •
Lou looked around as they walked. She hadn’t been in this part of town recently. Several warehouses lined the streets, mingling with bars and boutiques. Over the past decade, Walker’s Point and the Third Ward, south of downtown, had evolved as hot spots in the city. Trendy shops, packed bars, bustling restaurants, and pricey riverfront condos brought new life to one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city. Intermingled with the new and updated stood older buildings, still serving the city’s industrial backbone.
A soft breeze ruffled Lou’s coral summer dress, and her purse’s long strap crossed her upper body—ideal for walking. Stars surely sparkled beyond the orange night glow the city emitted—Lou just couldn’t see them. The moon still hid beyond the horizon but should rise before midnight. The air lacked summer’s usual humidity and promised perfection for the rest of the evening. Being used to the heat in the kitchen, she enjoyed feeling the air whisper over her skin, caressing the goose pimples already there. She didn’t want to think about the real reason her skin reacted to every waft of air in the small distance between her and Al. The space between them seemed ten degrees warmer than the air.
This was their fourth outing. If they were dating, she�
��d be planning to ask him back to her apartment. But they weren’t, Lou reminded herself, and she wouldn’t. She frowned, acknowledged the disappointment, and added it to the other disappointments of the past few months.
Lou peered at Al as they walked past Alterra, a local coffee roaster. She closed her eyes to inhale the rich smell of coffee—a nice break from the usual city smells of exhaust, asphalt, and occasional waft of garbage. Devlin had called earlier today, this time at the restaurant. She let voice mail answer it, but her heart still wrenched when she listened to his message.
“Elizabeth, you’ve made your point. I’ll make amends. Now call me so I can help.”
Lou had reached for the phone, tempted to let Devlin clean up the mess of her failing business. It would be easy for him to pay vendors, fire employees, and get out of contracts. She could move in with him tomorrow; he’d asked her a million times. It would be so easy to fill the role he had created for her, to sell her dreams for their safe, comfortable routine. Wasn’t that what she’d been doing before she found him with Megan? But then she imagined bumping into Al, his expression when he saw her with Devlin. Lou shuddered. He would know she had taken the easy route—and so would she.
“Are you cold?” Al asked, breaking into her thoughts.
They hadn’t said much during the last few blocks. Al turned his head to Lou, waiting for her response.
“A little.” Lou gave a small smile and put her sweater on. As she stepped off the curb to cross the street, a small car screeched around the corner. Al grabbed her right wrist and hauled her back toward him, using his right arm to wrap around her back and hold her steady against his chest. The car zoomed away, missing them by a wide margin. Lou found Al staring into her face with wide, fiery blue eyes. His hand pressed against her lower back, holding her firmly against him, all of him. His other hand still grasped her wrist. Lou’s left hand landed on his chest, spread against the cool cotton of his shirt. She still had yet to breathe after the surprise of finding herself so close to him. Both froze, no breath between them, only the heat where their bodies touched.
She could feel the pulse on her wrist where Al began circling his thumb. Lou’s fingers pressed into his shirt, not pushing him away, but trying to grab on to him. Their eyes still locked, he pulled her even closer.
“Get a room!” shouted a voice from a passing car.
Al and Lou stepped apart and took long breaths.
“So sorry. I thought that car was much closer.” Al looked at the traffic as it passed. Lou straightened her purse so the bag hung against her front hip.
“No need to apologize. Feel free to save my life anytime. I like to encourage that type of behavior in my friends.”
Al’s eyes crinkled and he laughed, the tension gone. Lou sent a silent thank-you to the heckler. A moment longer and Lou’s resolve to keep their relationship out of the bedroom would have fallen into the nearest hotel room.
Al took Lou’s arm and set it on his.
“Since you are clearly not capable of safely crossing the street, I’d best keep a hand on you.” Lou chuckled and they walked the last few blocks to Summerfest arm in arm.
• • • • •
Once they were through the gates of Summerfest, the crowds tried to sweep them away. Keeping their arms looped together, Lou navigated the torrent of revelers, guiding them toward the lake, crossing perpendicular to the flow of traffic. Al turned his head in every direction, trying to take it all in. At first glance, one main thoroughfare went parallel to the lake through the center of the grounds. He could hear country music from his left, rock to his right. Was that Meat Loaf?
In front of them, a play fountain materialized between the bodies. Attendees of all ages stood barefoot in the splash zone, cooling their feet after walking the festival in the hot summer sun all day. It was about nine o’clock, the sun long gone behind the nearby overpass, leaving the warmth rising from the blacktop as the only reminder of its earlier blazing. People poured in, ready for a warm night of music and beer at the world’s largest music festival. Families, who spent the day when it was less crowded, wandered toward exits, strollers and exhausted children in hand.
Lou pulled Al free of the masses and onto a grassy area beyond the splash fountain. People dotted the grass, resting, snacking, and a few even sleeping.
“Whew. That crowd always makes me question why I come to Summerfest. Thankfully, there are roads less traveled.” She led him toward the lake.
They stopped to enjoy the view of the lake; the mishmash of music combined to make a hum in the background. Attendees blanketed the breakwater rocks, resting and absorbing the serenity. Despite the crowd, it was peaceful. Al took a deep breath. He smelled the slight fish odor common on Lake Michigan’s shore, hot grease, and the ever-present vanilla scent of Lou. The breeze fluttered Lou’s unbound hair. That combined with the summer dress made her look soft and vulnerable. Her eyes closed and she breathed deeply; Al couldn’t look away.
“Mmmm. And this is summer in Milwaukee. Crowded, loud, sometimes a little stinky, and more fun than you can possibly imagine.”
“Is that the tagline from the tourism board?”
“Perhaps that’s a new career path for me.”
“Absolutely—tourists will come in droves.”
“It’s a gift; I know what the people want.” Lou opened her eyes and caught him staring at her.
He snapped his gaze back toward the lake and cleared his throat. “So, where is this band we’re seeing?”
“It’s on the south end. We’ll grab a beer at one of the stands. Usually one of the local breweries sets up down there.”
“Who are we seeing again?”
“West of East. They have a folk, country, singer/songwriter vibe. I went to high school with both of them. I like to go to shows when I can, which means not as often as I want.”
“Are they good?”
“For shame, Al. Have I ever led you wrong? Not to mention, they wouldn’t be performing at Summerfest if they weren’t wonderful.”
“I think I heard Meat Loaf on the way in. Care to change your opinion?”
“It’s a music festival. They need to cover all types of music—even the kinds you don’t like. I imagine he’s sold more records than you have.”
“Everyone has sold more albums than I have.”
“Then zip it and enjoy the music.”
Al and Lou purchased beers and entered the stage area. Bleachers formed a U shape around several rows of benches, all facing the small stage. The area sat about two hundred people, and almost all the spots were taken. Al took Lou’s free hand and led her toward the top row. Two spots appeared between the seated attendees, but not side by side.
“You can sit there, and I’ll sit behind you,” Al said, pointing to the lower bench.
“Works for me.”
Lou settled herself into the spot, then scooted forward to avoid bumping his knees.
Al leaned over. “Feel free to lean back; I promise I won’t spill beer on your lovely frock.”
“No worries if you do. I make it a point to own all beer-proof clothing.”
Lou pulled her hair out of the way so it wouldn’t get stuck and gently settled her shoulder blades against Al’s knees.
Al leaned over to get closer, a smile flirting on his lips. “We’ve explored art, beer, custard, baseball, and music. But I’m still not sure I’m convinced Milwaukee is as brilliant as you claimed.”
Lou turned. “Really? I think you just like excuses to hang out with delightful little me.”
She smiled and set one arm on Al’s knees. Al tensed as her hand settled gently on the crisp khaki he always wore. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing a stretch of smooth skin. Al wanted to trace a line from her earlobe to her shoulder with his lips, maybe find the source of her alluring scent, but instead took a deep breath to focus on her words.
“Well, since you claim you aren’t convinced—we’re entering the peak of festival season.
For the rest of the summer, there will be a different ethnic fest here each weekend. I have to work, but you should come with someone. This fest, Summerfest, is all about music, whereas the ethnic fests each celebrate a different culture. They’re tons of fun, a lot less crowded, and each has its own spin on food and music. You’ll probably enjoy Irish Fest—it covers all of the UK—and there’s Festa Italiana, Mexican Fiesta, and German Fest. There’s usually a tent where you can learn the history of that culture in Milwaukee. It’s a great crash course in Milwaukee’s past.”
“Are you giving me homework?”
“Something like that. You shouldn’t miss them because I’m busy. But if you keep getting lippy, I might make you write an essay for me. Perhaps something on the role of multiple ethnic cuisines in Milwaukee’s evolving food culture?” Lou said with a smile, but Al liked it.
“That’s actually a great idea.” Al paused, already mentally plotting out the article.
“Are you going to write it?” Lou asked, her eyes widening.
Al’s pulse quickened as an alarm bell clanged in his head.
“What happened to no work talk?” Al took a few slow, even breaths to appear calm. Lou looked even more surprised, then nodded her head.
“You’re right—you probably shouldn’t discuss your weekend safecracking work for the local criminal masterminds. This is about getting you to love Milwaukee.”
Al smiled as the alarm in his head slowed, then stopped. Everything returned to normal; crisis averted. He didn’t notice that Lou had started talking again.
“. . . State Fair rocks. Great people watching, farm animals, root beer milk, and never-ending deep-fried food on a stick. And you can’t forget about the cream puffs. That’s our thing.”
“When’s State Fair?”
“Not until the end of the month.”
“So, no plans until then?” Al’s brows scrunched a little, struggling with what that meant.
“I hadn’t really thought much about what’s next. I kind of thought you’d be sick of me by now.”
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake Page 10