Читать книгу Devilish - Maureen Johnson - Страница 16

At the end of the day, all I really wanted to do was go home. I still had no keys, though. That meant I had to go all the way across town to The Pink Peppercorn to borrow my mom’s. I snagged a chunk of apricot cheesecake on the way out and ate it with my fingers right out of the bag.

As I was leaving, a little sports car approached. It was small and tight in an autobahn-ready kind of way and was a steely shade of silver. The back of it was swollen and curvy, and the front was very small, with the two front wheels set off from the body of the car. It pulled along the curb. A man in a very neat pin-striped suit stepped out and came over to the menu case, near where I was standing with my hand in a gloopy mess of cheesecake.

‘Can you tell me,’ he said, ‘what time this restaurant opens? I have heard some very good things about it.’

‘I think… five, maybe?’ I said.

‘Don’t you work here?’

‘No.’

He stepped back and looked me up and down, then nodded in satisfaction.

‘That is a school uniform you’re wearing,’ he said. ‘Not the uniform of a waitress. My apologies.’

‘Don’t worry about it. But it is a good restaurant. My mom works here.’

‘Does she?’ He seemed delighted by this. He leaned over me to examine the menu in its little glass box, mumbling some appreciation under his breath.

‘A pumpkin risotto. How apropos for this time of year. And a lovely lamb chop with sauté of baby vegetables. Oh yes. Delectable. I do like my food young. But what would you recommend?’

This was unpleasant and affected but not entirely unexpected. Providence does attract a lot of freaky foodies.