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to the tomato salad and cheese course,” I suggested. “And dessert, too.” I took Francie’s plate from Josh’s hands, carried it to the kitchen, and braced myself against the counter. Oh, Josh! What happened? Maybe he was so nervous that he accidentally added something weird to the food? Or the old oven didn’t cook the lamb at the proper temperature and . . . ? No. Francie had complained about bitterness. Overcooked or undercooked lamb chops would be tough or raw or flavorless, but they wouldn’t be bitter. Like Josh, I thought of the arugula. At this time of year, it was all too easy to buy lettuce and other greens, including arugula, that had gone to seed and turned bitter. Maybe most of the arugula had been fine, and Francie had somehow ended up tasting a tiny bit that had been ruined by summer heat.
    A second later, my dejected boyfriend followed me into the kitchen but avoided looking at me. “Leo’s finishing up his fish,” Josh said, “and I’m going to serve the rest of the meal.” He swore under his breath and then slammed a pair of tongs into the bowl that held the remains of the gnocchi. “There is nothing wrong with that lamb,” he growled.
    “Well, why don’t we taste it?” I whispered.
    Josh looked at me. “Yeah, good idea.” He cut a bit for both of us from Francie’s plate. “Now, don’t think I normally go eating off customers’ plates at the restaurant, okay?” He managed a little smile.
    Until he tasted the lamb.
    “Oh, my God.” He wrinkled his face and quickly spat out the offending meat.
    “Oh, stop! It can’t be that bad.” Curious, I sampled a tiny slice. Bitter, I realized, was a gross understatement. Gagging, I turned and spat the meat out into the sink, which was, thank goodness, equipped with a garbage disposal, exactly where the vile piece of lamb belonged. I filled glasses of water for us both and did my best to wash out the taste. Francie was, after all, right. The taste was worse than awful. It was hideously and inexplicably dreadful.
    “I didn’t do that,” Josh said softly. “I did not do anything that would make the lamb taste like that. Did I?” He tasted the vegetables from the roasting pan. “These are pretty good. Although it’s hard to tell right now with that flavor still in my mouth. How the hell did this happen?”
    Here’s proof of my love for Josh: in a noble act of self-sacrifice, I risked having that revolting bitterness invade my mouth again. In other words, I tasted the gnocchi with pesto. And again, ahem, used the sink. When I was done, I said, “Oh, hon! The gnocchi with the arugula pesto has the same problem the lamb does. Francie was right. It’s that same bitterness.” I shook my head. “Not from the arugula or the olives, either. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve had arugula that’s turned bitter, but it’s not like this. And olives can be bitter, but this is something different, something much, much worse. Josh, what can do this?”
    Before he answered, Robin called to him from the dining room. “Josh, we’re ready for the next course.”
    Josh took a deep breath and carried the tomato salad and cheese plate to Francie and Leo. Francie looked hesitant to eat anything that Josh put in front of her, but she did help herself to tomatoes, tasted them, smiled, and offered unmistakably genuine praise. “The flavor and seasoning of the dressing is perfect.”
    One piece of good footage.
    Nelson kept filming as a morose Josh presented the dessert cobbler. Leo again dug in with pleasure and oohed and aahed, but Francie did nothing more than move her spoon toward her dessert plate. The hot peach and raspberry concoction smelled fantastic. Wasn’t she tempted to try it? And couldn’t she see how miserable Josh looked? Didn’t she want to make amends to him for her harsh criticism of the lamb and gnocchi? Not that I could really blame her—the bitterness lingered on my own tongue—but out of love for Josh, I sent telepathic