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woman smiled brightly at me. “I really loved today’s food.”
    “Thanks, um…” Damn, what was her name? “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
    “Brit.” She pressed her pelvis against the counter, making her torso bend forward slightly. I thought her shirt seemed to be unbuttoned a bit lower than it had been earlier in the class. Or was it that I just hadn’t noticed? After all, she had not been bent forward like that in front of me earlier.
    “I see you have a tattoo.” She pointed at my arm. “Can I see?”
    I extended my left hand and rotated it to show the underside of my forearm. The black chef knife, flanked by scrollwork, was brightened by yellow, red, orange, and pink Gerber daisies. Brit took my arm gently and ran her forefinger along the squiggles of the scrolls. It sent weird little sensations up my arm and made me a little uncomfortable, but maybe a little turned on, too. What the hell? She held my arm longer than I thought was necessary and I when I looked up at her, she blinked softly. Slowly. She released my arm and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” My pulse was inexplicably beating double time as I watched Brit walk out.
    I looked over at Julianna . With a dreary expression, she gathered her things and was about to walk out the door.
    “Hey, Julianna.” She stopped and turned to toward me. “Everything okay?”
    Smiling wanly, she said, “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned and walked out, and I had the feeling that something had just happened. But I had no idea what.
     
    Day 3
     
    The next morning , I was still feeling a little drained. Drama exhausted me.
    I hadn’t slept well in two days . The night before last because of Brenda. But last night, it was because of Julianna and this uneasy feeling I had that something was brewing. Not in a bad way, either. The prospect of being with someone again terrified me, but thrilled me as well.
    I didn’t feel like making breakfast, so I got dressed, headed a couple of blocks over to my favorite diner, and slipped into a booth by a window.
    As I perused the syrup-stained menu, trying to decide between an omelet and waffles, someone came up next to me and said, “Hello.”
    I hadn’t seen Brit approaching and nearly jumped. “Oh, hi,” I managed, though my heart was beating a little faster than usual. “How’s it going?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I kept wondering if she was going to lean over again, and really hoped that she wouldn’t. I didn’t think I could take it.
    “What are you doing here? I mean, don’t you cook your own breakfasts, being a chef and all?” Her light-hearted tone was tinged with something more meaningful, but I didn’t know what. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted some waffles.
    “Sometimes you have to let someone else do the cooking.”
    “I see.”
    In the morning light coming in from the window, I noticed that her hair was an interesting shade of red. Somewhere between fresh red turmeric and burgundy wine, and it made her green eyes stand out, as if she were in a contact lens commercial. She flashed such a perfect smile that I had to shift my gaze, but I felt her eyes stay on me.
    “What are you having?” she asked.
    “Waffles, probably. Nothing like a plate of waffles to get you going.”
    “I can think of other things that get me going.” There was her pelvis again, this time leaning against my table. Her skin-tight orange skirt—if it could be called that—made it all too obvious exactly what body part the edge of the table was in contact with. The pressure on the table made my water glass jiggle, sending a dribble of water down the glass and onto the table.
    “Oh, uh…” What was I supposed to say? “So early in the morning?” I raised my eyebrows in innocence.
    I expected her to laugh. Instead, she raised one eyebrow devilishly and pursed her lips. She leaned in and said in a low voice, “I like to rise and shine.” Emphasis on the “shine.” All I