Steamed

place.”
    “Yeah,” I said, “that’s pretty much what Madeline was saying to Tim and me at the Raffertys’ house. And she was really pushing Tim to play up Essence with the press.”
    “Did you see her on TV the other night? She was on the news plugging Magellan and Essence.”
    I nodded. I’d seen part of her interview on a local news magazine show. Not only was Madeline totally beautiful in person, but the camera loved her. She’d given the reporter a quick tour of Magellan, showed some of Josh’s dishes, and then described Essence as a worthy competitor. She’d brushed off any concerns about the murder at Essence. According to Madeline, it had been an unfortunate event that happened to occur at the restaurant. She’d assured viewers they were safe to test out both restaurants and judge for themselves. “Friendly competition is what drives us to keep getting better,” she’d said, smiling.
    “Yeah, why weren’t you interviewed?” I asked. “They showed all your food.” To my mind, Josh should’ve been the star.
    “Maddie thought it would be better if I stayed low until the investigation is finished. I mean, she knows it’s silly, but she figured it would be better to play it safe. At least my name hasn’t been in the news.”
    I more or less understood: And here’s our wonderful chef! He’s currently under investigation as a murder suspect, but never mind that because he makes a bang-up bouillabaisse!
    Josh got up from his chair and took out two small tin molds from one of the bags. “I’m going to put the cakes in for us, okay?”
    I nodded and practically started drooling as he poured chocolate batter into the little molds, placed them on a cookie sheet, and slid it in the oven.
    “I’ll be right back.” Josh walked toward the bathroom.
    Oh, no. A few years earlier, I’d been casually dating a seemingly normal guy named Tom and had had him over at my place to watch a Patriots game. At the start of halftime, he’d nonchalantly stood up from the couch, grabbed a section of the Sunday newspaper, and disappeared into the bathroom. For twenty-five minutes. He’d returned as though the duration of his absence were totally fine. Tom was not invited back for any more football games. Mercifully, Josh reappeared in about thirty seconds.
    We cleared the plates and tidied up while the gorgeous aroma of chocolate took over the room. I was beginning to suspect that I’d exfoliated too much with my new beauty secret, since I had to keep adjusting my jeans as I loaded the dishwasher. Feeling a little itchy in certain areas, I decided that another glass of wine would remedy the discomfort. I refilled both our glasses while Josh removed the cakes. “They’re done already?” I asked.
    “Yup. Warm chocolate cake with a molten chocolate center. You just half-bake it so it’s all gooey and runny inside,” he explained. He flipped the molds upside down onto a large plate, added toasted marshmallow ice cream from Christina’s in Cambridge, and carefully placed fresh strawberries and raspberries around the edges. He carried the dish to the table and pulled his chair close to mine.
    The next ten minutes proved to be the most romantic of my life. Josh fed me bites of the warm cake and, in between spoonfuls of chocolate, kissed me and whispered how beautiful he thought I was, how much he wanted me, and... not needing any more persuading, I went to the bathroom to get a good scratch in—by then, I was itching like anything—and dig into the CVS bag.
    I slipped into the bathroom and lowered my pants. In possibly the most horrifying moment of my life, I discovered something worse than razor burn: I had a viciously contagious-looking rash all over my legs, with the worst of it right on my bikini line. “God dammit!” I screamed. Well, that explained the itching and the growing burning sensation I’d been feeling. I cursed myself for buying that stupid Smoothie Pad. Smoothie? Ha! I might as well have taken sandpaper and rubbed it all over my body. I gently eased my pants up over the skin I had left.
    “Are you okay?” Josh called with concern in his voice.
    “Um, well, no,” I said pitifully. I was all prepared to have passionate sex with this wonderful guy, and now there was no way. If his beautiful body rubbed against mine, I’d break out in screams of agony. “I sort of have a problem.”
    “Oh, is it... that time of the month? You know, that’s okay.”
    “I wish. No. I’ve done