The hostess greeted me with a grin. “A little birdie tells me you’re here on a blind date.” I held up a finger. “Marie, don’t you start. I’m stressed as it is.” She crossed something out on the paper in front of her. “Well, don’t be. I saw him to y’all’s table around twenty minutes ago.” She rounded her station and leaned into me. “Girl, he is fine.” “So is my new rug,” I drawled. “No. I mean he’s so hot I think the chef just served him up on a goddamn platter for you.”
