Free Liberating Lacey by Anne Calhoun

she asked, searching for the street signs. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think this building went on the market about a month ago. Business is booming on Columbus Street. This is a prime real estate opportunity.” Hunter stepped back and looked up and down the block. “I guess a good review doesn’t mean much anymore,” he said, running his hand over his hair. “Any ideas?” She turned to face the street, noting the five-and-dime stores, the brightly colored murals decorating the community center next to the church, and tried to think. “I’ve never eaten down here before,” she admitted.
    “Not really your neighborhood,” he said, chagrin in his voice. He leaned back against La Cucina’s door, folded his arms and braced one foot against the wood paneling, then gestured to her silk skirt. “You were expecting SoMa,” he said, naming the city’s trendy shopping and dining district bounded by Sorrell and Madison, with brick streets, upscale boutiques and the city’s best local restaurants, “not Mexican on Columbus Street.”
    “All I expected was to eat while getting to know you,” she said gently. “The location wasn’t important. And I’m a clotheshorse. It’s genetic and I can’t help it. If that’s a problem, then we’ll just have to eat in, naked.”
    “Don’t tempt me,” he said absently, scanning the street. “Okay, your choice. We can go down to SoMa and try to get in at Libretto or Le Pain. Or we can go across the street and up a block to Juana’s.”
    “Juana’s?”
    “A dive where cops from the Southern go after shift.”
    “Sounds great,” she said without hesitating. So far, different was working for her.
    Besides, the chances of getting a table at eight o’clock on a Saturday night at the city’s two most popular restaurants were slim to none.
    Juana’s was tiny, noisy and crowded with neighborhood residents clad in jeans and t-shirts and talking in rapid-fire Spanish. A small pack of boys fought over a toy and lurched between two Formica-topped tables filled with several generations of a family.
    Behind the counter a small television broadcast a news program. Two of the cooks recognized Hunter when he walked in and shouted greetings through the window while waving metal spatulas. Hunter waved back, then cleared red plastic baskets and cups off the table in a red vinyl booth near the back, dumping the tableware into a gray tub near the door to the kitchen. Lacey slid into the seat and reached for the paper menu tucked between the napkin dispenser and the white wall.
    “Don’t bother,” he said. “You get tacos at Juana’s.” She put the menu back. “Tacos it is.”
    The waitress swabbed down the table, nodding while Hunter ordered two taco platters and a Coke. Lacey asked for a wine list and got a shake of the head and a nervous laugh.
    41

    Anne Calhoun
    “No liquor license,” Hunter said.
    “Diet Coke,” she said. The necessities completed, she met Hunter’s gaze across the table and saw a hint of nerves there.
    “So having slept with a woman doesn’t ease the first date jitters?” His shoulders relaxed as he looked at her, something at once dark and full of humor in his eyes. “Depends on the woman. Is this another first for you?”
    “Besides the first time I’ve had sex in my kitchen, our first date and my first time at Juana’s? No. I’ve been on other dates since the divorce was finalized.” She unwrapped the paper napkin from around the silverware. “But it felt strange to date men my ex-husband, Davis, worked or golfed with.”
    “That’s why you were in Buff,” he said. “Not too many lawyers there.”
    “Or bankers, or doctors,” she said. “Davis and I began dating when we were nineteen and married at twenty-two. Neither of us liked to party. When I told you I hadn’t danced in ages, that was a half-truth. I’d never danced in a club before.”
    “You didn’t go out in college?” he asked, curiosity in his voice.