"If the service gets any slower, I'm going to get the senior citizen discount on the way out."

Maura took a gentle sip from her Riedel fine crystal wine glass, delighting in the exquisite lines as much as she found pleasure in the elegant savory structure of the red Leroy.

And the fond amusement she had watching her wild Italian haired friend try her sincere best to not fidget.

"Jane, this is a Michelin Star restaurant not a fast food commuter drive-thru lane. Our food is being prepared by masters in the height of the gastronomical field who specialize in truly unique and perfectly executed dishes which use only the most transcendent ingredients. A certain amount of time is to be expected."

"Wait, did you just say we're eating at a place a tire company thinks is nice?"

Maura winced. "Jane, the Michelin Star is an absolute prestigious hallmark for fine dining. In 1926-"

"As in the white tire dude?"

"Bibendum, Jane, one of the oldest trademarks in the world. And restaurants covet their-"

"So does my car, especially the Alpins but they're like over three hundred so I usually go with the X-Ice as they're only just over a hundred."

"Jane!"

"I'm listening to you, Maura. I'm just a little horrified over here that the two are even related and that you, of all people, are totally okay with that."

Maura's hazel eyes narrowed. "What does that mean 'you of all people'?"

"I'm about to get into trouble, aren't I?"

"Jane."

"Look, I meant you're always trying to get me to eat healthy and yet here we are eating at a place a tire company recommends. Don't you find that in the least bit, I don't know, ironical?"

Maura made a terrible face. And then tried very hard not to smile at the entirely inappropriate thought of the cerebral hemorrhage the chef de cuisine would have if he heard Jane. "Trust me, you will find the dishes more than palatable."

"What am I eating again?"

"Which course, Jane? There are ten."

"Ten? I want dinner not a marathon, Maura!"

"Jane, the purpose of fine dining is not just to eat-"

"Which I note, sadly, that I'm still not doing."

"-but to experience an entire ambiance of soothing pleasure while engaging in sophisticated intelligent conversation-"

Jane stared at Maura incredulously. "And you brought me?"

"-while savoring an exquisite array of taste sensations."

"Like Skittles?"

"I swear, Jane, you do this on purpose."

"What? You've never heard 'Taste The Rainbow' before?"

Maura blinked and then smiled, utterly delighted. "Did you just refer to a type of synesthesia? Jane, I didn't know you were versed in neurological phenomenon!"

"It's in a commercial, Maura. And the only thing I'm versed in is candy coated goodness."

"Jane, manufactured sweets generally contain high levels of-"

"Crap, I know." Jane grinned wickedly. "It's what makes them so good."

Maura sighed. "This is a perfect example of one of the reasons why I brought you here, Jane! You need to develop a greater cognitive understanding of your own gustatory system."

"My what?"

"The human sensory system which allows us to have a perception of taste and flavor."

Jane went suddenly still. "Did you just say I have no taste?"

Maura winced and held up a correcting beautifully manicured finger. "No, I said you needed to expand your current sensory preferences."

"And what exactly is wrong with my preferences?"

"It is not a matter of actual wrong; it is a matter of exclusion."

"What?"

"Jane, I watch what you eat on a daily basis-"

"That is unfortunately true."

"You statistically over-select in the 'salty' and 'sweet' categories of the primary taste sensation list."

"That's because those are the yummy categories, Maura. I'm not an idiot."

"Precisely. However, you are a creature of habit and this tends to cause you to self-prescribe a very narrow field of culinary experiences unless you are strongly encouraged to do otherwise."

"Is that what you call it?"

Maura gave her a warning stare. "Jane, you need to enjoy as complete a human experience as is possible."

"It kind of freaks me out that you are sounding like my hippie chick neighbor two doors down. If you offer me brownies, I'm totally not eating them."

"Jane, I'm serious."

"Maura, I'm wearing an evening dress that cost more than a month's paycheck with outrageously expensive and absolutely murderous heels while waiting for an overpriced drawn out meal I can't pronounce or probably even identify any of the component parts of while being stared at the entire time by snotty rich people while I sit my ass on the worst chair ever designed in the history of furniture when all I really want is to just be home lounging in my comfortable jams on my favorite couch drinking beer and eating takeout while I watch the game. Trust me, I know you're serious!"

Maura's shoulders sagged in utter disappointment. "You're . . . not liking this?"

Jane groaned. "Maura-"

She closed her face up, hurt. "Never mind, Jane. I'll just call for the waiter and we'll leave."

Jane stared up at the ornate chandelier above them. "And I just kicked a puppy. I take it back, I am an idiot."

Their waiter materialized at Maura's stiff gesture. "Mademoiselle Isles, how may I be of service-?"

Jane smiled tightly at the man and gave him her best deadly cop stare. "You can go away. Now."

"Jane!" Maura was positively scandalized.

Jane's smile grew teeth. "Move it, buddy, or you'll see what I have in my cute designer handbag. I'll give you a hint; it's American with an Austrian ancestry."

The waiter vanished.

Maura's fair skin had taken on a furious hot blush. "Jane, this is one of the most exclusive restaurants on the country! We're surrounded by the very best of social-"

"Maura, hush!"

Her hazel eyes were incensed but she stopped.

Jane took a deep breath. "I don't want to leave the restaurant."

"You-what? But you just said you didn't like any of this!"

"You're not good with the hushing thing, are you?"

"Jane! Explain yourself because you're not making any sense to me. Why would you want to stay if you're not enjoying the experience?"

"Because I'm Italian, Maura. To me, eating with someone isn't about the experience."

"What? Then what is it about? The food?"

"No, it's not the food, though if you tell my mother I said that I'll deny everything."

"Then what is it about, Jane?"

"It's about you."

"Me?"

"Look, Maura, I'm not a Boston Brahman. I'm just a Rizzoli. I know you like doing expensive stuff for me and I totally find it sweet that you think I'm worth sharing it with. Especially when it involves really good European chocolate or a really hot massage therapist. But honestly, it's just about spending time with you. It's not the place or the experience or the food, it's the company. So even though I don't like it, I'm putting up with all the hoity-toity right now, just because it's making you happy." Her normal rasp softened. "You're my best friend, Maura."

Maura positively beamed, her ire completely gone now. "Oh, Jane, I can't believe you said something so sweet!"

Jane wrinkled her nose. "It's the low blood sugar from starvation."

"So, we're staying?"

"Ugh, yes, unless our waiter has called for SWAT. Please tell me you're happy now."

"I'm happy, Jane."

Jane sighed. "Good. That means I'm happy." She grimaced painfully. "Well, except for my feet."

"Fashion requires sacrifice, Jane."

"Oh, trust me, Maura, there's going to be a sacrifice here if I'm not fed soon."

Maura covered her mouth. "Patience is a virtue, Jane."

"Ha! That's so an urban legend."

"No, that's Prudentius from the fifth century. The phrase we use today is said to refer back to one of the seven heavenly virtues depicted in his medieval allegoric epic poem 'Psychomachia'."

Jane gave her a crazy eyed starving stare. "Which is what I'm going to be if they don't hurry it up."

Maura laughed. "Oh, Jane, I promise you'll find the food is well worth the wait!"

Jane snorted. "Maura, the tire company may have said the food will be good, but I'm pretty sure that's not what is worth the actual wait."