“Absolutely,” her friends said enthusiastically. “Just say the word and we got you.”
Samara beamed. God, she loved these women!
They were still gushing over her baby news when Michael made his way over to their table.
“Ladies,” he drawled charmingly. “How were your meals?”
“Gooood,” they cooed appreciatively.
He grinned. “Glad to hear it.”
“My compliments to the chef,” Reese purred with a suggestive wink.
Michael’s grin turned downright wicked.
As everyone watched, he sank to a crouch beside his wife and leaned close to whisper something in her ear. She started smiling, her eyes sparkling with naughty mischief.
When Michael stood and sauntered away whistling, Reese daintily wiped her mouth with her linen napkin, dropped it onto the table and rose to her feet.
“Excuse me, ladies. I’ll be right back.”
They gave her knowing looks. “Where are you going?”
“To taste test my husband’s new recipe,” she said innocently.
The others exchanged lascivious grins. “Taste test, huh? Is that what you guys are calling it now?”
Reese tsk-tsked, wagging her finger at them. “Shame on you girls. My husband runs a perfectly respectable establishment. Do you honestly believe we would risk compromising his reputation by having some tawdry quickie in his restaurant?”
The others were grinning. “We do. And you have.”
Reese pressed her lips together, holding back her laughter. “You heffas need to get your minds out of the gutter and repent.” Ignoring their snickers, she tossed her hair back and thrust her nose in the air. “Now if y’all would excuse me, I’m off to do some taste testing.”
As she sashayed off toward the kitchen, the others burst out laughing.
