Page 33 of The Hang Up
“Thanks. I’ll stop short of getting out my silver cloches.”
“Since I don’t know what a cloche is, that’s probably best. Unless it’s something sexy?”
Miriam laughed. “A cloche is a bell-shaped cover the chef puts over the plate to keep things warm until the waiter removes it with a flourish.”
“I think you’ve got plenty of flourish going on here. Can I help you carry something?”
“Can you grab those salads right there?”
She scooped up the dinner plates, admiring the presentation of dishes and the heady fragrance of herbs and caramelized onion. She led the way back out to the dining room and set the plates down. “You can put the salads right here,” she said and pointed to a spot at the top of her place mat.
He obeyed, then stood waiting while she took her seat. “I see you’ve got some of the etiquette down pat,” she said. “Waiting for a lady to be seated is a nice touch.”
Jason grinned and sat down next to her. “I may not be a gentleman in all regards, but I do my best. I’m also a pretty quick learner.”
She wondered for an instant what that meant, her brain sauntering down a vivid path that left her pondering in what other capacity he exercised his gentlemanly tendencies and quick learning. What was Jason like in bed? Was he rough and wild, or gentle and slow? Was he the sort of guy to softly stroke a woman’s cheek as she unzipped his fly and dropped to her knees, or was he the sort to thread his fingers into her hair, gripping tightly as she sucked him deeply into her?—
Hiccup!
Miriam clamped a hand to her mouth, horrified by her own faux pas at the dinner table. She was trying so hard to set a classy example, too. She started to excuse herself, then realized Jason hadn’t heard her. He was too busy studying the utensils laid out beside his plate, picking up one fork at a time and frowning at it.
She took a few deep breaths, hoping to get the hiccups under control.
There, that was better. She took a careful sip of wine, grateful the hiccup seemed to be a onetime thing.
Jason had already picked a fork and was grasping a knife in the other hand, preparing to cut into his meat. Miriam touched his hand. “Here’s another tip,” she said. “You don’t want to start eating until you’ve been given the signal.”
“There’s a signal?”
She nodded. “It’s another reason you need to keep a close eye on your host.”
“This is sounding more and more like a weird game of charades.” He frowned. “Okay, what’s the signal?”
“It’s—”
Hiccup!
“Pardon me,” she said and clamped a hand over her mouth again as the heat rose to her cheeks. “I apologize.”
“No worries. What’s the signal to start eating?”
“The napkin,” Miriam said as she spread hers across her thighs in illustration. “Don’t take a bite until your host puts the napkin in his or her lap.”
“Oh.” He set down his utensils and picked up his own napkin. “Right, I guess I knew that. I got distracted.”
“No problem. That’s why we’re practicing.”
“So I’ve always wondered where I’m supposed to put the napkin if I have to get up and take a leak. On the back of my chair or on the table or what?”
“First of all, you probably don’t want to announce at the dinner table that you have to take a leak.” She smiled a little to soften her words. “Say ‘pardon me for just a moment.’ Then put the napkin on the seat of the chair.”
Jason snorted. “I feel like I should be taking notes here.”
“There’ll be a test later.”
“Why do I think you might be serious?”
Miriam smiled. “Okay, so don’t take a bite until your host has spread the napkin in his lap, but it’s even better to wait until he’s started to?—”
