“Good. I’ve met every chef in the known universe tonight except for the great and powerful Savannah.”
Derek joined us and took my hand in a gesture I found sweet and comforting. “Now, what sort of rubbish has my brother been spouting?”
“He’s behaving himself so far.” I glanced up at Dalton, expecting a funny retort from him, but his eyes seemed to have glazed over and his mouth was hanging open.
“We, um, we were just talking about Savannah,” I explained, and frowned at Dalton for tuning us out.
Derek took notice of Dalton’s expression, too, but continued our conversation. “I take it she’s still in the kitchen?”
“Yes,” I said, then gave up. “Dalton, what’s wrong?”
His full attention was drawn to something over my shoulder, so Derek and I both turned. “Oh, Savannah. Thank goodness. Have you finally been untethered from the stove?”
“Yes, for now.” She had removed her chef’s jacket and was adjusting the sleeves of her scoop-neck black sweater. “I plated the salads and we’ll be eating as soon as…”
“As soon as what?”
She didn’t answer me.
“Savannah?” I frowned at her. “Hello?” She was frozen in place and didn’t seem to hear me.
“Earth to Savannah,” I said, and was about to snap my fingers at her. “What’s wrong with you…oh.”
She was staring up at Dalton.
He was staring back.
Both of them seemed to have been struck deaf and dumb. This couldn’t be a good thing.
Dalton recovered first. “My God, woman. You’re completely bald.”
Savannah struggled to take a breath. “Y-yes, I am. Some people have a problem with that.”
“Are you kidding?” He almost growled. “It’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I…I have to touch it. May I?”
She reached up and glided her hand across her shiny pate, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Savannah was beautiful, petite and wacky. A few months ago she had shaved her head on a whim, and from the very beginning I thought the look suited her. She usually wore a perky red beret, but tonight her head was gloriously bare. Not that it mattered; she was adorable, hair or not. Dalton seemed to agree. He looked ready to swallow her whole.
I stared at Derek in alarm and then noticed that his hand had turned into a fist. Was he going to punch his brother out? I appreciated the thought, but I grabbed his arm just in case. We didn’t need to make this scene any more bizarre than it already was.
Dalton ignored us both and stepped closer to Savannah. After a moment of hesitation, he reached up and touched her shiny bald head. “Smooth. Soft.”
“Mm, yes,” she said.
“And you smell like heaven.”
“That’s tarragon,” she murmured, batting her eyelashes at him. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”
Oh, come on. Savannah had never batted her eyelashes in her life. And since when was tarragon an aphrodisiac? Although, come to think of it, I did tend to go a little crazy over a well-made béarnaise sauce.
Savannah had her hand on Dalton’s chest now and he was still touching her head. I’m sorry, but this was strange. I had never seen my sister act like this before. And as for Dalton…what had happened to Mr. Cool Calm Secret Agent Man? Derek’s brother was staring at my sister as if she’d just dropped down from heaven.
This was weird. I whirled around and glared at Derek. “Make them stop!”
“Stop what?” He looked as mystified as I felt. He knew exactly what I was talking about, though, because his next question was, “How?”
I looked around. “Somebody get a hose.”
He laughed, and the sound of Derek’s laughter sort of settled me down. “That won’t do.”
“Dinner is served,” a waiter cried.
“Oh, hell,” I muttered. “Don’t let them sit together.”
“It’s too late,” Derek said.
I watched helplessly as Dalton led Savannah over to the long, elaborately set table and took his place beside her. They continued to stare rapturously at each other as Dalton discovered new and exciting places on Savannah’s bald head to touch or pat or rub or stroke. Good grief.
It was like watching my great-uncle Roddy the one and only time he ever took us to the racetrack. Everything was fine until Roddy suddenly spotted a little person in the crowd. He ran over and rubbed the small man’s head for good luck until the little guy finally kicked him in the shins. “This ain’t the Wonderful Land of Oz,” he said with a snarl. And that was the end of Uncle Roddy’s good-luck streak.
But even Uncle Roddy hadn’t had the stupefied look on his face that Dalton did.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accused Derek.
“I’m enjoying you,” he said, and leaned in and kissed me.
“Well, okay, that was enjoyable,” I mumbled. “But if you weren’t freaked-out, why did you have your fists ready when they first started their staring and drooling contest?”