Heroic Measures (continued)

Neither of his companions apparently shared his preference. Both of them ordered something from the dessert section of the menu, neither item which Walter would have dared tried to pronounce. He fought back a small niggle of resentment, but silenced it quickly with the admission that nothing on the menu had looked particularly appealing to him.

Their plates arrived a few minutes later. Vivian’s dessert appeared to be a pair of small pastries, vaguely resembling miniature turnovers, coated in what he guessed was some kind of honey-based syrup. The small white ceramic bowl placed in front of Red seemed to be a form of custard, but with a pure white color that Walter had never seen before. He silently wished he knew what that one was, for it actually looked appetizing.

He sat quietly while the two of them ate, stirring occasionally at the remaining ice in his glass. Vivian’s appetite seemed to have abated somewhat, for she consumed her dessert with only half the speed and veracity with which she had devoured her meal. Red lingered over his, much as he had done with his meal.

Finally, they both finished and Red sat back with a satisfied sigh.

“Not like Mom used to make,” he said, taking a long, slow breath. “But close.”

Walter studied him for a moment, trying to discern any hints on Mediterranean ancestry in his skin coloring. It seemed unlikely, Walter finally decided, given the young man’s flame-colored hair. He catalogued the remark as just another of his friend’s offbeat quips.

Turning toward Vivian, Walter saw her trying to scoop the remaining trails of the honey glaze onto a spoon. For a moment, he actually thought she might lift the plate and lick it clean.

That would explain her dinner plate . . .

Vivian eventually surrendered, frowning and breathing a soft sigh of frustration before pushing her plate away. She wiped her hands and mouth daintily with a paper napkin, placed it on her plate, and then looked around expectantly.

The restaurant matron bustled out to their table just a few moments, looking over the now-empty plates.

“You enjoyed, no?” she asked, grinning with delight.

“Yes,” Red agreed, massaging his stomach. “I wish I had room for more.”

“We have to-go.”

Vivian’s eyes lit up and, for a moment, Walter thought she just might order some more of the pastries to take home. He was mildly disappointed when Red interrupted, as that might have been his opportunity to sample one.

Red chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

The matron nodded, laughing softly. She began gathering up the empty dishes.

“I’ll bring the check,” she said, turning and heading away. “Be right back.”

Walter reached for his wallet. Red placed his hand on Walter’s arm.

“I’ve got this one, Walt,” he said. “It’s the least I can I do,” he said smiling as he pulled out his own wallet. “If it weren’t for you, we might be dining on pigeon by moonlight tonight.”

It took Walter a moment to comprehend his friend’s meaning. Then, he blushed lightly and looked away.

“It was nothing.”

“I’m still paying,” Red insisted.

He grabbed the small tray before the matron could place it on the table. She appeared nonplussed. He quickly placed several bills on it and passed it back to her before Walter could protest.

Shaking his head slightly, Walter looked away and out through the front windows of the small restaurant. It was fully dark outside now.

“I imagine Dr. Zing has gone home by now,” he said in more a thoughtful murmur than conversation.

“I would have,” Red agreed.