Birthday Dinner Page 8
Chapter 8
Zach glanced up at Becca, who’d finished her petite filet and the potato and sides and one slice of the buttered bread and was now watching him work his way through his thick slab of rare prime rib. There was still a sizable portion left on his huge platter, and he was well beyond full; but he sensed an unspoken challenge in Becca’s gaze, a kind of culinary gauntlet thrown down by the night and the occasion and the restaurant and even the glistening beef—could he finish the King-cut of prime rib? So he returned his attention to the food left on his plate and in a steady methodical flourish polished off the remaining beef (his potato and side were already gone), crossed his fork and wooden handled steak knife on the cleared platter, leaned back in his chair, and exhaled a satisfied sigh as he folded his hands at the somewhat stretched waistline of his belted pants.
Becca shook her head slowly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen someone actually finish the King-cut. I’ve seen plenty try, but I think you’re the first to actually succeed.”
“Don’t guess they’ve ever encountered a real farm boy in this barn.”
“Least not one with a bottomless pit for a stomach.”
“Comes from a lifetime of fighting six other hungry mouths for every last morsel.”
“Remind me not to get between you and the dinner table.”
“Good idea.”
Shelley appeared to begin clearing all their cleaned plates. “Ready for some dessert?” she asked as she set the last of their plates on the bussing tray.
Becca and Zach groaned in unison.
“Well,” she said, “Let me at least show you what we have.”
Becca said, “I guess it can’t hurt to look.”
Shelley smiled and nodded. “Be right back.” She left with the mountain of their dirty plates on her shoulder.
Zach looked at Becca. “Dessert? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s all part of the experience.”
“Remind me not to get between you and your experience.”
“Good idea.”
Shelley returned a few minutes later with a tray brimming with samples of a wide range of delectable looking desserts. She described each offering with a breathless enthusiasm that was either incredibly well feigned or almost indecent. There was pecan pie, chocolate chess pie, and key lime pie; there was New York cheesecake, chocolate cheesecake, and cappuccino cheesecake; there was Grand Marnier parfait, Crème de Menthe parfait, and hot fudge parfait; there was blackberry cobbler, with or without vanilla ice cream; and there were three kinds of ice cream and three kinds of sorbet.
When she finished her elaborate spiel, Shelley leaned over and whispered, “And of course there’s the cake.” Then she added after a pause, “But it’s our secret.”
Zach just shook his head.
Becca laughed. “Why don’t we split a serving of the cobbler, and you take the cake home.”
Zach looked at her across the table. “Will you share the cake with me later?”
“Will you ever be hungry again?”
“Next birthday?”
“Deal,” Becca said.
Shelley asked, “With or without ice cream?”
“What?”
“The cobbler?”
“Oh, what the heck,” Becca said. “With ice cream.”
Zach feigned a heart attack by clutching both hands to his chest and rolling his head back.
Shelley nodded approval, hoisted the dessert display onto her shoulder, and headed for the kitchen.
Zach straightened up and glanced toward the window, first time since sitting down what seemed ages ago. The beautiful couple was still there, framed in the looking glass, handsome as before though maybe a tad more sated. He returned his gaze to Becca. “When does this birthday feast end?”
She smiled. “Does it have to?”