Turn up the Heat

rum, and triple sec? I’m low on everything.” Kevin shook his head and started wiping off bottles. “I can't believe how much we went through tonight.” Wade nodded and disappeared to restock the bar.
    Since restaurants make most of their money from liquor sales, I was delighted to hear that Kevin was running low. With Josh’s food and a little luck, Simmer could soon become a real moneymaker.
    “Ready to go, babe?” Josh came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
    “Yeah.”
    “Hey, Kevin? Do you need anything else before I go?” Josh asked.
    “Nah. Thanks, though. Wade and I can handle this mess. See ya tomorrow.” Kevin waved good night and continued polishing a bottle of Irish whiskey.

THREE

    WHY the hell was my alarm clock going off this early? I reached over Josh to hit the snooze button and accidentally whacked my sleeping chef on the head. He was so overtired that he didn’t flinch. I rolled over to go back to sleep and remembered my promise to Owen. I’d been on the verge of reentering a dream about Donatella Versace and Wentworth Miller, my Prison Break crush. Well, best to wake up from that, anyway.
    I climbed over Josh and fumbled around in my closet to find something to wear. Owen and Ade had crashed at my place so often that Owen wouldn’t expect me to look good at this hour, but I didn’t want to run into any of Simmer’s front-of-the-house staff, who’d all be groomed according to Newbury Street standards, while I was in sweatpants and my hair was sticking out of a big clip. I took a quick shower but didn’t dare wash my hair because I couldn’t be bothered to spend an hour wrangling my curly strawberry blonde mane into smooth locks. My blow-dry from last night had done a good job of flattening itself while I’d slept, and I wasn’t going to undo a good hair day. I tossed on jeans, a white camisole tank, and a cute, pink, fuzzy cropped sweater Ade had temporarily grown out of. My hair had been foiled to within an inch of its life, so I had enough blonde to pull off the pink without blinding anyone. Otherwise, Owen would’ve had to wear sunglasses on our drive over.
    I started up my Saturn Ion, grabbed a couple of coffees at the Dunkin’ Donuts in Cleveland Circle—practically the one Dunkin’ in the entire world that didn’t have a drive-through—and reached Owen’s apartment at six forty-five. I beeped a few times, and Owen bounded down the steps. I immediately noticed his long-sleeved shirt that read, We’ll Give You Crabs!
    “Nice shirt, Owen.” I rolled my eyes. “Does your boss know you’re wearing that?”
    “Course he does,” he grinned. “He had ’em made for us! Hey, thanks for picking me up. Ade has been so tired with this pregnancy, and I’m sure she’s still sound asleep. Oh, did I tell you? I’m going after work today to pick up a crib and a travel system that I ordered. Ade’s going to love them!”
    “Owen, where are you going to put all this stuff? Your new apartment isn’t that big. Don’t you think you should wait until closer to when the baby is going to be born?” I turned onto Beacon Street and headed for Kenmore Square. Even at this hour, Boston traffic sucked. I forced myself to stop at a yellow light and not block the intersection. My reward was a slew of horn honking from the cars behind me. “And what the hell is a ‘travel system,’ anyway? Where are you planning on going with this kid?”
    “Well, the stuff was on sale, so I wanted to buy it now. And a travel system is this cool stroller that comes with an infant car seat you can plunk right into the stroller. It also has a base that you strap into the car, and then you can just pop the seat in and out without having to worry about the buckle. So when the baby falls asleep in the car, we can just keep it in the seat and plop it in the stroller. Cool, huh?”
    “Very cool,” I agreed, impressed with Owen’s knowledge of baby paraphernalia.
    When we neared Newbury Street, I asked Owen whether I could just pull onto one of the side streets near Simmer and leave him to walk down the alley to his truck. I wasn’t crazy about weaving my relatively new car around Dumpsters and subjecting the tires to broken glass and crumbling pavement.
    “I thought you wanted to see my truck,” Owen said pathetically.
    “Oh, right. Of course I do.” I nodded with all the excitement I could muster at this hour.
    Owen showed me where to turn to reach the back entrance to