A/N: Same author's note as part one except no Anthony, Quinn, or Mama Jones so no warnings. Thanks for the support and all those who are continuing to read and those who just found this story.

Chapter Five-Part 2

"Good morning, Mercedes," Sam said, and all the air rushed out of Cedes' lungs. "How did you get that name?"

Breathe. Deep breaths. Very deep breaths.

"Oh," she said. "This is good. Grief about my name from a guy named Samuel." I do not care that he called. I am totally unaffected by this. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was convinced he could hear it over the phone.

"I was named after my rich Uncle Robert," Sam said, "which turned out to be a total waste when he left everything to the whales. What's your excuse?"

"My mother wanted a daughter destined for the luxurious things in life," Cedes said faintly.

"Well, she got one," Sam said. "I take it back, it's the perfect name for you."

"And my father's mother was named Mercy Deanna," Cedes said, trying to get back to offhand and unfazed. "It was a compromise. Why isn't your name Robert?"

"I got his first name as my middle name and his last name as my first name," Sam said. "Which is good. I don't see myself as a Bob."

"Bob Evans over Samuel Robert Evans." Cedes leaned back in her chair, pretending to be cool. "Bob Evans is the name of that restaurant on Harding Highway. You'd have the name of a restaurant or someone who farms."

"Or the name of the politician that you can trust," Sam said.

"The used car salesman you can't," Cedes said.

"Whereas Samuel Robert Evans is the old fart who started the company in 1855," Sam said. "Or in this case, the guy who has your shoe."

"Shoe?"

"Red ribbons, funky heel, big dopey flower."

"My shoe." Cedes sat up, delighted. "I didn't think I'd ever see it again."

"Well, you won't unless you come to lunch with me," Sam said. "I'm holding it for ransom. There's a gun to its heel right now."

"I have lunch at my desk," Cedes began, and thought, Oh, for crying out loud, could I be any more pathetic?

"Rory is experimenting with a lunch menu. He needs you. I need you."

"I can't," Cedes said while every fiber in her being said, Yes, yes, anything. Thank God her fiber couldn't talk.

"You can't let Rory down," Sam went on. "He loves you. We'll have chicken marsala. Come on, live a little. A very little."

A very little. Even Sam knew she was a sensible, non-gambling, plan-ridden loser. "Yes," Cedes said, her heart starting to pound again. "I would love to get my shoe back and have chicken marsala for lunch."

"Keep in mind, you have to eat it with me," Sam said. "You're not seeing that shoe until you eat."

"I can stand that," Cedes said, and felt lighter all over. Then she hung up and looked at her report. She'd been drawing hearts on it, tiny ones, dozens of them.

"Oh, my Lord," Cedes said and put her head on her desk.

When Cedes got to Rory's, a dark-haired teenage boy at the door said, "You looking for Sam?" and when she nodded, said, "He's at your table," and jerked his head into the restaurant.

"I have a table?" Cedes said, but then she saw Sam sitting by the window at the table they'd had Wednesday night, and she lost her breath for a minute. I keep forgetting how beautiful he is, she thought and watched as he sat relaxed in his chair, his green eyes fixed on the street outside, his profile perfect. He was tapping his fingers on the table, and his hands looked strong and Cedes remembered how good they'd felt on her and thought, Get out of here. Then he saw her and straightened and smiled, his eyes lighting as if he were glad to see her, and she smiled back and went to meet him. Charm Boy, she thought and slowed down again, but he already had her chair pulled out for her.

"Thanks for coming," he said, and she slid into the chair thinking, He's up to something, be careful. Then she noticed him looking at the floor and said, "What?" her voice cracking with nerves.

"Shoes," he said. "What are you wearing?"

"You sound like an obscene phone call," she said, trying to keep her treacherous voice steady, but she stuck her foot out so he could see her blue reptile slides, open-toed to show off the matching blue nail polish.

He shook his head. "You can do better. The toes are nice, though."

"These are work shoes," she said, annoyance clearing up her nerves. "Also, you have my red shoe so I couldn't wear those. Can I have my shoe back?"

"Not until after lunch," he said, sitting down across from her. "It's my only leverage."

"Have you had this foot fetish long?" she said, as he passed her the bread basket.

"Just since I met you," he said. "Suddenly, there's a whole new world out there."

"Glad to know I've made an impact," she said and was appalled to realize that she really was. It was enough to make her nerves come back. He doesn't matter. She shoved the bread basket back to him, determined to be virtuous in consumption if not in thought, and said, "So who's the charmer at the door? He needs lessons from you."

"Rory's nephew." Sam picked up a piece of bread and broke it. "His tableside manner could use some work."

"Doesn't Rory have somebody else to put up front?" Cedes picked up her napkin to keep her hands off the bread. "He can't be good for business."

"Myron's the most socially adept one in the family; he was adopted in fact they all were, Myron just came from a more affluent home and lost his parents in an accident," Sam said. "His brothers are back in the kitchen where they won't hurt anybody. Fortunately, they can cook. I already ordered. Salad, chicken marsala, no pasta."

"Oh, good," Cedes said, "because I'm starving. Did you know that forty percent of all pasta sold is spaghetti?" Geek, she thought and tried to suppress her statistical instinct while she smiled at him. "I think that shows a huge lack of imagi—"

Myron slung a salad in front of her and another in front of Sam. "Your chicken's up in about fifteen," he told Sam. "You want wine with that?"

"Yes, please," Sam said to him. "I thought you were working on your finesse."

"Not with you," Myron said. "I know it's chicken, but for you, red wine, right?"

"Right," Sam said. "Now ask me what kind of red."

"Whatever Rory puts in the glass," Myron said and left.

"Just a little ray of sunshine," Cedes said. "But enough about him. Give me the ten bucks."

"Ten bucks?" Sam looked beautifully blank and then shook his head. "There wasn't a bet. Stop harassing me for cash."

"You asked me out without a bet?" Cedes said more than asked.

"No money will change hands," Sam said. "Except for me paying the tab."

"We can go Dutch," Cedes offered.

"No, we can't."

"Why not? I can afford it. We're not dating. Why—"

"I invited you, I pay," Sam said, his face beginning to set into that stubborn look that exasperated her.

"That means if I invite you, I pay," Cedes said.

"No, I will pay then, too," Sam said. "So tell me who Bree, Wet, and Worse are."

"That's why you invited me to lunch?" Cedes said, infusing her voice with as much skepticism as possible.

"No." Sam put his head in his hands. "Could we just for once meet like regular people? Smile at each other, make small talk, pretend you don't hate me?"

"I don't hate you," Cedes said, shocked. "I might actually like you. I mean, you have a lot of flaws—"

"What flaws?" Sam said. "Of course I have them, but I've been on my best behavior with you. Except for hitting you in the eye and attacking you on a picnic table. By the way, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Cedes said, putting as much chipper as she could into her voice. "I'm turning over a new leaf. Taking risks. Like having lunch with a wolf."

"I'm a wolf?" Sam said.

"Oh, please," Cedes said. "You picked me up on Friday with 'Hello, little girl.' Who else did you think you were channeling?"

Rory appeared with wine before Sam could say anything, and Cedes beamed at him, grateful for the rescue. "Rory, my darling. I forgot to mention the cake boxes. Two hundred cake boxes."

"Already on it," Rory said. "Nonna said you'd need them. She said to get four-inch-square boxes for three-inch-square cakes."

"I'm getting the boxes," Cedes said, nodding. "Sure. Great. Fine. Your grandmother is an angel and you are my hero. And of course, a genius with food."

"And you are my favorite customer." Rory kissed her cheek and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"I love him," she told Sam.

"I noticed," Sam said. "Been seeing him behind my back, have you?"

"Yes," Cedes said. "We've been having conversations about cake."

"Whoa," Sam said. "For you, that's talking dirty."

"Funny." Cedes stabbed her salad again and bit into the crisp greens. Rory's dressing was tangy and light, a miracle all by itself. "God, I love Rory. This salad is fabulous. Which is not a word I usually use with 'salad.'"

"Tell me about the cake," Sam said, starting on his own salad.

"My sister Bree is getting married in three weeks," Cedes said, glad to be on a topic that wasn't dangerous. "Her fiance said he knew this great baker and that he would order the cake as a surprise. And then the surprise turned out to be that he hadn't ordered the cake."

"And the wedding's still on?" Sam said.

"Yes. My sister says it's her fault for not reminding him."

"Your sister does not sound like you," Sam said.

"My sister is my exact opposite," Cedes said. "She's perfect according to my mother."

Sam frowned. "Which makes you what?"

"Me?" Cedes stopped eating, surprised. "I'm okay my father's daughter according to her."

Sam shook his head as Rory appeared with a steaming platter of chicken marsala. When he and Cedes had assured each other of their undying devotion, he left, and Sam served chicken and mushrooms. "So how do Wet and Worse figure in this cake story?"

"They don't," Cedes said. "Except that they're my sister's bridesmaids. But do not tell anybody I called them that." She ate her first bite of chicken, savoring it, and then teased an errant drop of sauce from her lower lip. "Do you think—"

"Don't do that," Sam said, his voice flat.

"What?" Cedes blinked at him. "Ask questions?"

"Lick your lip. What were you going to ask me?"

"Why? Bad manners?" Cedes said, dangerously.

"No," Sam said. "It distracts me. You have a great mouth. I know. I was there up close and on those gorgeous lips once. What were you going to ask me?"

Cedes met his eyes, and he stared back, unblinking. Oh, she thought and tried to remember what they'd been talking about, but it was hard because all she could think about was how he'd been there once, and how good he'd felt, and how hot his eyes were on her now, and how much she—

"You guys okay?" Myron said.

"What?" Sam said, jerking his head up.

"Is there something wrong with the chicken?" Myron frowned at them both. "You guys looked strange."

"No," Cedes said, picking up her fork again. "The chicken is wonderful."

"Okay," Myron said. "You need anything else?"

"A waiter with some class?" Sam said.

"Yeah, right, like I'd waste that on you," Myron said and wandered off.

"So anyway," Cedes said, scrambling for a safer topic, "when Bree told me about the cake, I turned to Rory in my hour of need, and he called his grandmother. So he's my hero."

"Wait'll you taste the cake," Sam said. "She only makes it for weddings and it's like nothing else in this world."

"When did you eat wedding cake?" Cedes said.

"When Rory got married," Sam said. "When my brother got married. When everybody I've ever known got married. Hunter, Ryder, and I are the last hold-outs, so there have been a lot of weddings. And now Ryder's going down for the count."

"Well, at least you and Hunter will have each other," Cedes said brightly. "So you have a brother. Younger or older?"

"Older. Steven Reynolds."

Cedes stopped eating. "Steven? Steven Reynolds Evans?"

"Yes," Sam said. "Husband to Harmony, father to Harry."

"Isn't there a fancy law firm called Reynolds Evans?"

"Yes," Sam said. "My father, his partner, John Reynolds, and my brother. My brother actually likes to go by Steven Reynolds as his name ever since the law firm became successful and especially when he made junior partner. When we were little he was just Stevie. It's a trend in my family to go by two names like one is not enough." He didn't sound too thrilled about any of them.

"Cozy, for him, I am glad you buck the trend, Sam is more than enough," Cedes said. "So how is Harry my favorite Evans?"

"Unfortunately, he is permanently scarred from watching us making out on a picnic table."

Cedes winced. "Really?"

"Hard to say. I haven't seen him since. Harmony probably has him in therapy by now. So what's your take on Marley and Ryder?"

"They'll be engaged before fall," Cedes said, and they began to discuss Marley and Ryder and other safe topics for the rest of the meal.

When they were finished and Sam had signed the charge slip, he said, "So lunch with me is risky. Does that mean you need an apology for our last lunch?"

"No." Cedes smiled and tried to look unfazed. "I've been working on the theory that if we don't talk about it, it didn't happen. Although a lot of people seem to know about it. Jake, for example. He ratted us out, and now my mother wants you to come to dinner." Sam looked taken aback for a minute, and she said, "I told her you were a complete stranger so dinner was unlikely." Then out of the blue, she blurted, "So what was that on Saturday?"

"Well." Sam took a deep breath. "That was chemistry. And it was phenomenal. I'd be more than interested in doing that again over and over again, especially somewhere private with the both of us naked and horizontal, but—"

Cedes' pulse picked up, but she slapped herself on the forehead to forestall him and her own treacherous imagination.

"What?" he said.

"I'm remembering why you never ask guys to tell you the truth," she said. "Because sometimes they do."

"My point is," Sam said, "that Holly was right, I had no business kissing you like that because I don't want anything that serious. I just got out of a relationship that was a lot more intense than I'd realized and—"

Cedes frowned. "How could it have been more intense than you'd realized?"

"I thought we were just having a good time," Sam said. "She thought we were getting married. It ended okay, there are no hard feelings—"

Cedes looked at him in amazement. "She wanted to get married, you didn't, but there are no hard feelings."

"She said if I wasn't ready to commit, she'd have to move on," Sam said. "It was pretty cut and dried."

"And you're the guy who's supposed to be a wizard at understanding women. It was so not cut and dried. Trust me when I tell you this, she either hates you, or she thinks you're coming back to her."

Sam shook his head. "Lucy Quinn's very practical. She knows it's over. And so are we because, even though it was great, this is not something either one of us wants to pursue."

"Right," Cedes said, understanding completely if not happily. "It would be different if we were at all compatible. I'm not averse to commitment especially if it'd be that much fun, but the last thing I need is to fall for somebody I already know is no good for me just because he kisses me as nobody else has. Also, I'm waiting for the reincarnation of Tupac and you are not him. But—"

She stopped because Sam had a strange look on his face.

"What?" she said. "I was just kidding about Tupac."

"I'm no good for you," he said, "but I kissed you as nobody else has before?"

Cedes considered it. "Pretty much. Why? Did you have a different take on it?"

Sam opened his mouth and then stopped and shrugged. "I guess not. I don't think you'd be bad for me, I just can't take the hassle. You're not a peaceful woman."

"This is true," Cedes said. "But you ask for it. You're such a beastly wolf."

"I'm retired," Sam said. "All I want now is some peace and quiet. I just need a break."

"That's my plan," Cedes said. "I'm taking a break from dating."

"Until Tupac shows up," Sam said.

"Right. As far as I can see, there's no downside to this at all."

"No sex," Sam said.

"I can stand that," Cedes said.

"Yeah, you're good at denying yourself things."

"Hey," Cedes said, insulted. "We were doing just fine there and then you had to take a shot at me."

"Sorry," Sam said.

They got up to go, Cedes kissed Rory good-bye, and they went out into the street.

"Okay, it's broad daylight and my office is only six blocks away," Cedes said. "You don't have to walk me."

"Fair enough." Sam held out his hand. "We'll probably meet again at Ryder and Marley's wedding. In case we don't, have a nice life."

Cedes shook his hand and dropped it. "Likewise. Best of luck in the future."

She turned to go and he said, "Wait a minute," and made her heart lurch. But when she turned around, he was holding her shoe, the red ribbons fluttering in the light breeze.

"Right," she said, taking it. "Thank you very much."

He held on to it for a moment, looking into her eyes, and then he shook his head and said, "You're welcome" and let go, and she set off down the street without looking back, full of excellent food but not nearly as happy as she should have been.

Charm Boy who is a beast who bets on you and is no good for you, she thought and put him out of her mind.

On Tuesday, Cedes looked at the salad on her desk at lunch and thought, There has to be more to life than this. It was Sam's fault; she'd had real food in the middle of the day and it had tainted her. Until Sam, she'd never thought about food except as something she couldn't have. Even before she'd started dieting for the bridesmaid's dress, there'd been no butter in her life. There should be butter, she thought, and then realized the folly of that.

But there could be chicken marsala.

Cedes shoved her salad to one side, logged onto the net, and did a search for "chicken marsala" because doing a search for "Sam Evans" would not have been helpful to her damn plan.

"Very popular dish," she said when she got over twelve million matches. Even allowing for the weird randomness that more than twelve million of them would demonstrate if she ever got that far, that was still a lot of recipes, too many recipes, so she narrowed it down to the best chicken marsala recipes and still got three million matches. Once she narrowed them down to five-star recipes that actually looked like Rory's dish, she was left with 8,000 recipes. There was one with artichokes, that was insane. One had lemon juice, which couldn't be right, another pepper, another onion. It was amazing how many ways people had found to mess up a plain recipe. She finally narrowed it down to what all the recipes had in common. She printed off two that met these requirements and went to log off the net, but instead, on a random impulse, Googled for "dyslexia" instead. An hour later, she logged off with a new respect for what Samuel Evans had accomplished.

When she got off work, she stopped by the grocery. There was something about having a plan for dinner, a recipe in hand, that made her feel much less hostile about food. Of course, she was going to have to adapt the recipe. It called for the chicken to be breaded in flour, which was just extra calories, and carb calories no less. Skip the breading. Salt and pepper she already had, and parsley had no calories, so she picked up a jar of that. Skinless, boneless chicken breasts she was familiar with, no problem there, but butter and olive oil? "No can do," she said and got spray olive oil in a can. Mushrooms were mostly water, so she could have those, and then there was the marsala. She found it in the cooking wine section. Resolutely passing by the bread section, she checked out feeling triumphant, went home and changed into her sweats, cranked up the iPod, and rapped her head off to her Tupac's All Eyez on Me album as she cooked.

An hour later, Tupac was starting all over again and she was staring at the mess in her only frying pan trying to figure out what had gone wrong. She'd browned the chicken in the non-stick skillet and then followed all the other directions but it looked funny and tasted like hell. She tapped her spatula on the edge of the stove for a few moments and thought, Okay, I'm not a cook. I still deserve great food and dropped the spatula to pick up the phone.

"Rory?" she said when he answered. "Do you deliver?"

The Parker seminar was turning into the worst mess Evans, Clarington, Lynn had ever seen, mostly because the idiot who was in charge of training kept changing the seminar information. "I'm faxing some information over," she'd say when she called. "Just slot it in somewhere."

"That woman must die," Hunter said when she called at ten till five on Tuesday. "I've got a date with Holly tonight."

"I'll stay for the fax," Ryder said. "Marley will understand."

"You go, I'll stay," Sam said. "I'm dateless and too tired to move anyway." Hunter and Ryder left, both heading for warm women, and Sam read the fax and tightened the seminar packet one more time, trying to feel grateful that there wasn't any place he had to be, no woman demanding his time and attention. At seven, he turned off the computer with relief and realized he was starving.

Rory's seemed like an excellent idea.

"Don't tell me," Rory said when Sam came through the swinging doors into the kitchen. "Chicken Marsala."

"I've had enough chicken marsala for a while," Sam said as the phone rang. Rory turned to get it and Sam added, "Something simple. Tomato and basil on spaghetti—" No. Forty percent of all pasta sold was spaghetti. No imagination. "Make that fettuccine—"

He stopped when Rory held up his hand and said, "Rory's," into the phone. Rory listened and then looked back over his shoulder at Sam and said, "We usually don't, but for such a special customer, we'll make an exception. Chicken Marsala, right? No, no, no trouble at all. You can overtip the delivery boy." He hung up and smiled at Sam. "That was Cedes. She wants chicken marsala. You can deliver it to her."

"What?" Sam said, dumbfounded.

"You know the way. It's probably on your way home."

"It's not on my way home, it's not on anybody's way home except God's, the damn place is vertical. What gave you the idea I'd do this?"

Rory shrugged. "I don't know. She called, you were here, you two are great together, it seemed like a good idea. Did you have a fight?"

"No, we didn't have a fight," Sam said. "We're not seeing each other because I'm all wrong for her and she's waiting for the reincarnation of Tupac. Call her back and tell her your delivery boy died."

"Then she won't have anything for dinner," Rory said. "And you know Cedes. She's one of those women who actually eat."

Sam thought about the look on Cedes' face when she ate chicken marsala. It was almost as good as the look on her face when she ate doughnuts. Which wasn't anywhere near as good as the look on her face when he'd kissed her, that had been—

Rory shrugged. "Fine. Myron can take it to her."

"No," Sam said. "I'll take it to her. Hurry up, will you? I'm hungry."

A/N: This is the last two-part chapter update yay no more having to redo, revise, and reread 10,000 words chapters. I did delete a lot from the original work. Sorry if some of my deletions make the story confusing at times, I will try to clarify the confusion at some point.