Steamed

stand much less in a fancy restaurant. I felt sure that the detective would later thank me for my brilliant discovery.
    After telling Naomi that I wanted to do research on the Internet about my field placement, I ducked out of the office early. The real story was, I wanted to make a trip to CVS to buy condoms for my date with Josh.
    I hit the local CVS in Cleveland Circle and, as discreetly as possible, dropped a big package of Trojans in my basket. Better to stock up now than to have to repeat the mortification of sliding birth control across the counter to some smirking teenage cashier. I browsed the aisles in search of anything to cover up the lifetime supply of condoms. The razor blades I added to the basket were too small to hide anything. But look at that! A wonderful new alternative to shaving! The product, a Smoothie Pad, was a small exfoliating cloth that promised to rub the hair off with no messy shaving cream, no nicks, and no painful wax. Yes! I could hardly wait to get home to Smoothie Pad away all unwanted body hair and be all silky for Josh tonight.
    When I walked past Eagles’, Stein was by the window. So happily preoccupied was I that I raised the CVS bag up as I waved to Josh’s roommate. He waved back and then smiled broadly. No wonder. The damn see-through bag had prominently revealed enough condoms to halve the birthrate throughout Greater Boston for the next ten years. Blood rushed to my face. Stein must’ve assumed that I’d been flaunting the contents of the bag. Oh God. Any explanation I could offer would make matters worse. What’s more, if I went inside the deli, I’d either have to carry the bag with me, its contents plainly visible, or park it outside and then retrieve it when I left as if I were a madwoman who’d mistaken a wholesale purchase of Trojans for her bicycle.
    Wishing that I, in fact, had a bicycle and could make a quick getaway, I rushed home. When I got there, I read the Smoothie Pad directions as I ran a hot shower. All I had to do was rub the cloth over my legs and bikini line while showering. Easy enough. The pad turned out to feel just like a loofah, so I was delighted to realize that I was ridding myself not only of hair but of all dead skin cells. Visions of passionate, wild lovemaking raced through my head as I sloughed away stubble. Only an hour and a half until Josh arrived!
     

FIFTEEN
     
    JOSH showed up at my back door with oversized stainless-steel containers piled high in his arms and two bags that hung from his forearms.
    “Hello, beautiful.” He headed right to the kitchen.
    “How many people are you cooking for tonight?” I asked. Following him, I stared in disbelief at the dozens of containers he was distributing across the kitchen table.
    “Just us. I prepped almost everything at the restaurant today. Maddie said she didn’t mind. Anything for love and all that.”
    “I can’t believe you went in to work on your day off just for me.”
    “It was easier than trying to do everything from home. Madeline let me use whatever vegetables and seasonings and everything I wanted from Magellan. And”—he spun around while holding up a covered container—“gorgeous fresh tuna steaks on the house.”
    “Oh, I love tuna. This is so amazing.” I peered into bowls and peeked in bags.
    Josh pulled a bag out of my hand, but he was grinning. “Hey, no snooping! Wait here for a second. I still have to get a few things out of my car.” My handsome chef raced to his car and returned with two bottles of wine and an enormous, stunning bouquet of flowers.
    “Oh, Josh! These are just beautiful.” I leaned in to smell the oversized lilies and pink roses. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given me flowers—unless you counted the time Noah had yanked a flower off a neighbor’s fence and jokingly recited, “He loves me, he loves me not.” He hadn’t loved me, of course. But then, I hadn’t loved him, either. Thank God.
    After Josh and I had made out in the kitchen for a good five minutes, he peeled himself off me and started our dinner. “Can I do anything to help?” I asked.
    “Just open one of the bottles of wine and sit back and relax,” he instructed. I could get used to this.
    He made himself at home in my tiny kitchen and worked on plating two salads for us. “Bibb and radicchio with chèvre and a three-tomato vinaigrette,” he said, whisking the dressing. “I’m going to let the cheese come up to room temp, so we’ll just