Hank got instructions on how to get to Choyez, then borrowed Logan's truck. Hank parked the truck among sports cars, Mercedes, and BMWs, and walked across the street to the restaurant. Choyez turned out to be in a converted turn-of-the-century house. Aside from the reception stand in the front hall, it was almost like stepping into one of the houses that had been meticulously refurbished, then taken over by a historical society. An elegantly dressed young woman smiled at Hank from behind the stand. "Good evening, sir. Welcome to Choyez. What name on the reservation?"

Hank took off his hat as he came toward her. "I don't exactly have a reservation."

She made a sympathetic face. "I'm afraid that if you don't have a reservation, we may not be able to accommodate you. You can wait in the lounge, if you want."

"That would be fine."

"Let me just have your name, so I can call you."

"That would be Herbert Crank, with a C."

Her face lit up, and she pointed at Hank. "It's you!"

"Uh... yes, ma'am?"

"You were chasing that funny little animal all around the casino. And Hunter said you were at his show, too. Oh--oh, my! Crank. Oh, you don't have to go in the lounge. Hunter said to be looking for you." She tapped a bell, and a young man in a crisply pressed white shirt and dark pants almost trotted over. "Lucas, this is Mister Crank."

The boy looked at Hank, and his face split in a grin. "It's the 'dillo wrangler!"

Hank groaned good-naturedly. "I never figured I'd get famous like that."

"Lucas, you remember what Hunter told us?" she asked.

"You bet, Louise." He gave a slight bow, taking a menu and a pamphlet off a stack sitting on a nearby table. "Follow me, sir." He led Hank further down the hallway, and then turned to the right. "Hunter said to be sure to put you in the Sun Room. It's across from the kitchen, but since the door doesn't open this way, it's nice and quiet."

There were five tables in the room--four of them occupied. The farthest one had a small RESERVED card sitting before the single place setting. Lucas reached for the chair, and Hank said, "Son, I know it may be protocol, but I've never needed anyone to hold my chair for me except when I was recuperating. Thanks anyway." He sat down. The wall to his right was constructed completely of glass panes, and it looked out on a gently sloping lawn, which led down to a small pond, the area lit by a series of small, wrought iron lampposts. "Nice view."

"It's one of our best features. They're going to put in a covered dining area, if business keeps going well. Here's a menu, and a little information about the restaurant. I'll be right back with your water and your bread. What sort of water would you like?"

Hank frowned. "What sort? How many kinds do you have?"

"Twenty, plain and charged."

"Good lord. Just choose a plain one."

"Lemon or lime?"

"Son, if I wanted lemon or lime, I'd ask for lemon or limeade, but thank you for the thought. Just ice." Lucas nodded, and went away. Hank considered the menu for a moment, not opening it, then picked up the pamphlet about the restaurant instead. It gave a history of the house itself, and a little about the owner, who seemed restore houses and set up businesses in them as a hobby. It also had a section on Hunter Overend, along with a small picture. It looked like a candid shot. Hunter was standing at a commercial sized stove, dressed in chef whites, with an apron wrapped around his slim waist. He was holding a spoon, obviously tasting something from the pot before him. He had a look of intense concentration, teeth catching his bottom lip, eyes focused on something only he could see. This was a man deeply involved in what he was doing, and not worried about the photographer.

"Hank!" The voice was bright and pleased. Hank looked up to see Hunter approaching, dressed exactly as he was in the photograph. The other diners looked up with interest as he strode past, and there were excited whispers. No doubt about it--Hunter was a celebrity here.

Hank half rose as he approached, and Hunter said, "Stop it! You don't need to stand up except for a lady, the president, the Queen of England, or the Pope, and I'm none of those." He put a hand on Hank's shoulder and smiled down at him. "I'm glad you made it, Hank."

"I couldn't not come after your gracious invitation."

"Some people don't have that problem. Thanks anyway--I hate being stood up. Have you got an idea of what you want?"

"No, sorry. I've been busy reading about this place." He reached for the menu."

Hunter put a hand over his. "Hank, do you trust me?"

Hank smiled slightly. "Well, I don't know you yet, but pretty much."

"Enough to let me choose your meal for you? Just tell me if you have any allergies or absolute hates, and I'll take it from there."

"That sounds fine." Hank thought a moment. "All I can think of is that I can't handle my protein raw. I like my beef rare, of course. I think I'd be hounded out of Texas if I didn't. But I don't want it to bawl when I cut into it. Someone offered me steak tartar once, and I told them politely that I'd prefer it slapped on a grill and then on a bun."

Hunter threw back his head and laughed. Hank noticed more than one woman staring, and more than one male companion looking put out about it. "Anything else?"

"I don't like bologna or hot dogs, but I seriously doubt I'd have to worry about that here."

Hunter pursed his lips. "No, you're safe there. I have to get back to the kitchen, but I'll be back later. Maybe we could have dessert together?"

"I'd like that."

He did like it. Lucas brought pork rilletes with the basket of fresh rolls. He noted Hank eyeing it dubiously and explained, "It's like pate, but it's made with meat instead of liver. This is pork."

"Starting right off with the bad for you stuff," said Hank with approval as he spread a thick glob on a broken roll. Lucas waited till Hank took a taste, and then rolled his eyes in appreciation. Lucas said, "Don't worry--he'll get healthy on you at some point in the meal. He says it's his duty to attempt to keep his patrons healthy so they can keep enjoying the food."

There was a slice of quiche loaded with crab, lobster, and mushrooms. The soup would have been approved as heart healthy by the Surgeon General himself. It was chicken and vegetable, but it was spiked with curry flavor that was just shy of sinus clearing, and Hank couldn't feel or taste even a trace of grease.

Lucas finally laid a plate in front of Hank that didn't look all that different from what he might have gotten anywhere in Texas. There was a beautiful chicken-fried steak, a pile of fluffy mashed potatoes, and green beans. Only the green beans looked a little different, since they were graced by tiny pearl onions and slivered, toasted almonds. Hank broke through the crisp crust on the steak, and realized that the knife, while useful, would not have been indispensable. That was good. Chicken-fried steak needed to be tender, but still have enough texture to make chewing necessary. Then he took a bite, and his eyes widened. He looked up to find Hunter peeking into the room, watching his reaction.

The chef seemed pleased with Hank's response, and came over. Hank pointed his fork at the plate and said, "This isn't your every day chicken-fried steak."

"No, it isn't."

Hank took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. His face lit up. "Venison?"

Hunter grinned. "In your honor, Hank. You mentioned something about hunting back at the studio. I had the venison, and I couldn't resist trying something new. You like it?"

"Like is such a mild word, Hunter. It's taking all my Mama's training in good manners to keep me from just shoveling this down."

"I'm glad. I think I may add it to the menu when I have venison available. I have some mushrooms in cream and venison stock gravy for those garlic potatoes, if you like."

"Sounds marvelous."

"I'll send it out."

Hank thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the meal. He thought he was satisfied--till Hunter sent the dessert cart along. He was trying to choose among the tarts, cakes, and mousses when Hunter came out again. He was unwinding the apron from around his waist. "Well, that about does it for me tonight. Mind if I join you?"

"I'd be pleased." Hunter took a seat beside Hank.

The last other couple got up to go, and stopped by the table to gush a little. Hunter was gracious, teasing them both, and cheerfully autographing the restaurant pamphlet, then giving the woman a kiss on the cheek. "You're a popular man, Hunter," observed Hank.

Hunter shrugged. "You need to know people to be a really good cook. It can't all be cut-and-dried technique. You have to be able to judge tastes." He indicated the cart. "What's it going to be?"

"I'm still deciding. I have to say, I'm awful glad you don't stick with the classic idea about ending a meal. I like fruit and cheese, but as a snack. If I'm having it for dessert, the fruit had better be with plenty of sugar, layered between crust, with a slice of cheddar on top." Hank pointed to an insulated dish that contained a dense chocolate dessert. "That looks good."

"You've got good taste when it comes to decadence. That, my friend, is the Chocolate Sin Volcano. To be more prosaic, it's sort warm chocolate pudding cake, with hot fudge sauce."

"Oo. You wouldn't happen to have some Bluebell Homemade Vanilla to go on top of that, would you?"

"Settle for real whipped cream?"

"Can I get a cherry on top?"

Hunter laughed till he had to wipe his eyes. Finally he said, "Lucas, the cherries are in the second shelf in the door of the big refrigerator. Bring a small bowl. I want Mister Crank to have as much as he wants." Lucas returned, and Hunter dished up the dessert with a lavish hand. "Lucas, the kitchen is closed. Don't let them try to slip anyone else in."

"Will do." He bustled out.

"Hunter," said Hank. "While I'd love to eat all this, I have to consider the fact that my metabolism can't handle everything. Would you care to share with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Hunter snagged a clean spoon from a nearby place setting. He plopped several maraschinos into the dollop of whipped cream, then plucked one out. "I'm glad to see you like these. They're one of my favorites, too. My mother used to complain. She'd open the jar and use one or two to garnish something, but when she went back, the jar would be empty." He plucked one of the cherries up by it's stem, popped the little red ball into his mouth, and plucked it off neatly. "Did you know that if you eat enough of them, they stain your tongue? Between that and the cherry breath, I never could lie about eating them."

"You shouldn't lie to your mama anyway."

"I knew you were going to say that."

They ate, chatting amiably about various topics. The dessert was reduced to crumbs and a few dark smears. Hunter pointed at the last cherry. "Am I going to have to fight you for that?" Hank held up his hands in surrender. "Wise man. I can get nasty over the last cherry." He picked up the last cherry. It was smeared with traces of cream and chocolate. Hunter again popped the cherry between his lips, but this time he sucked it thoughtfully for a couple of seconds before detaching it and chewing.

Hank watched him closely, then said, "Hunter, can I ask you something? Feel free to tell me to go jump if it's too personal."

Hunter watched Hank as he finished chewing. He leaned his elbows on the table, and then rested his chin on his clasped hands. "Am I gay?"

Hank blinked. "I was going to ask if you were flirting with me."

Hunter chuckled. "Yes to my theoretical question, and your actual one. Does it bother you?"

"Would it bother you if I said I'm glad that both answers were yes?"

Hunter smiled slowly. "Since we're going questions here--would you like to drop by my place for a drink? I have a bottle of Chablis that's better than anything we have in the cellar here."

"It depends. There are some areas of my life where I'm not all that impulsive."

Hunter raised his hand in a Boy Scout salute. "I swear to be a perfect gentleman."

"That's fine." Hank smiled slowly. "As long as you can also promise that the first promise is going to be taken on a day-by-day basis."

Hunter shook his head, but he was smiling in return. "I'm going to have to bake some cookies for Tina to say thank you."