* * *
He lifted a steaming-hot cheeseburger from his plate with both hands.
Beverly was wiping down the other end of the bar when he called her over, the burger poised in front of his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. Yet. Come here.”
She came over, stood facing him.
“My experience,” he said, “is that about eighty percent of the time, when I order a hamburger rare like I just did, I get one well done. I don’t know why most cooks are incapable of cooking a hamburger the right way, but there it is. And you know what I do when I get one overcooked?”
“You send it back?” She didn’t look amused.
“Exactly.”
“You’re pretty goddamned difficult to please, you know that?”
“I’m aware,” he said, and dove in.
He chewed for a good ten seconds.
“Well?” Beverly asked.
Ethan set the burger back on his plate, swallowing as he wiped his hands on the linen napkin.
He pointed at the burger. “That’s an amazing piece of work.”
Beverly laughed and rolled her eyes.