Marianna had become unusually excited about her citrus seminar. Granted, there were two delicious-looking British chefs standing in front of her, chatting amiably about limes and grapefruits as if they were the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. Not yet painted or sculpted, of course, but a blank canvas and block of marble.
        But she'd sworn off men. Again. Okay, so it was for about the fifty-millionth time in her life. But she really honestly meant it this time!
        Unfortunately, her libido had no idea she'd made this promise to herself.
        "Mari, are you okay?" Doreen whispered.
        Marianna blinked. "Yeah, fine. Nobody's staring at me, are they?" she whispered back, straightening her posture unnaturally and keeping her eyes to the front, where the chefs, Colin and Liam ("No last name-- we are artistes!"), were still discussing the advantages of not-quite-ripe fruit.
        "First of all, the peel is much harder, and while it is therefore more difficult to cut into, it does not turn to mush under your hand," Colin said.
        Liam nodded in agreement, and added, "Neither does the unripe fruit rot as quickly as the ripe fruit."
        Doreen took the moment to glance surreptitiously around the room, then assured Mari, "Nope, they're all enthralled by the fruity guys."
        Mari wondered at the possible truth behind this glib statement, then realized that Doreen had not said "fruity" at all, but simply "fruit." Which was certainly the truth. Too bad. That could have solved my problem. Mari returned her attention to the lime in her hand. The carving was about to begin.
        "Now, take the zester in your right hand, and a lime in your left," Colin said.
        "Unless, of course, you are left-handed, in which case, do the opposite," Liam interjected.
        "Of course. If you've three hands, well, we can't help you here. That seminar is down the hall," Colin said, beaming and winking.
        All of the women in the room giggled weakly. Simpering idiots, Mari thought, then nearly cried as she caught herself giggling with them.
        "Now, make a simple line down the length of the lime. Lightly, lightly. It's only a zester, not a parer or knife." Marianna found herself undeniably drawn in by Colin's accent. So undeniably drawn in, in fact, that when Colin and Liam started walking around the room to help those less-capable zesters, she was unable to protest Doreen's accusation.
        "You're falling for him..." Her voice was lightly teasing, but still held a note of concern. In all her years of knowing Doreen (close to fifteen, now that she thought about it), this was the most emotion Mari had ever heard in her voice. Except for maybe when she bitched out Frogman right before the divorce, but that's a whole nother story.
        The zester slipped then, and Mari skinned her left thumb. "Ouch!" She couldn't believe she was having so much trouble carving a line into a lime peel. She'd done it thousands of times before.
        "Are you okay?" Doreen asked. As she looked over, her own zester slipped and, "Ow."
        "Unbelievable, isn't it? We've only been doing things this simple for the past how many years?" Marianna muttered, glaring at the lime and sucking her skinned thumb.
        Colin noticed her trouble and stepped up to the workspace. How embarrassing...
        "Here, let me show you." Mari's breath caught as his fingers brushed hers as he took the lime. She was vaguely aware that Liam was helping Doreen just a few feet away.         "I am not falling in love, I am not falling in love," Mari repeated to herself under her breath. Colin looked up from the lime, not sure whether she'd said something. "I just really want to kiss you a lot."
        Colin wisely ignored this murmuring and demonstrated the proper way to hold a lime. "Marianna Trench," he said, looking at her nametag. "Are you the same girl that runs the bar on Main Street in Calyspo Beach?"
        "Yes, that's me," she replied cautiously, attempting to keep her voice from jumping two octaves. "Have you been to the Club?"
        "No, but I've heard about it. Will you be there tonight?"
        "Not likely. By the time I get back from this thing, I'll have just enough time to put the kids to bed and collapse on the couch." No! Stupid! You don't tell him you have kids!
        "Kids..." Colin said thoughtfully. "How old?"
        "Polly is six years and the twins are eleven months."
        "My son Quinn is six years old. Precocious, too. He's into computer programming." Mari's jaw dropped. She'd fallen in love with a married man. "He's with his gran right now, in London. Been sort of attached to her since his mum died last year." Colin got a faraway look in his eyes, and Mari breathed a sigh of relief. He was a widower, not a husband. Thank the gods.
        Colin abruptly moved back to the front of the auditorium, Liam abandoning Doreen and joining him. Mari looked over at Doreen, wide-eyed.
        "Liam's got a son Marina's age," Doreen whispered.
        "Dori! Colin's got a son Polly's age! This is freaky," Mari whispered back.
        "I think we'd better pay attention now," she said, turning to the front. "We're going to start working with knives now."

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