Ted blinked in surprise.

“This cockroach didn’t come from our kitchen,” the chef said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It came from your jacket pocket. The busboy saw you take it out.”

“That’s a lie,” Ted said, oozing righteous indignation. “You’re going to take his word over mine?”

Then someone at a nearby table piped up. “I saw it, too. It was in a Baggie.”

“Pay up,” said the chef in a steely voice, “or I call the police.”

And with that he plunked our bill down on the table.

Smiling feebly, Ted handed it to me. One hundred and ninety six dollars. Without the tip.

“Would you mind?” he said. “I forgot my credit card.”

“You arrogant jerk! You expect me to pay $200 for the most hellish night of my life?”

Okay, so I didn’t say that. No, my exact words were, “Do you take the Discover Card?”

By now, the whole restaurant was buzzing with excitement at this moment of dining drama.

Willing to do anything to end my misery, I forked over my credit card, and counted the milliseconds till Kevin came back with my receipt. I gave him a twenty percent tip for all the abuse he’d put up with. Then I asked him to call me a cab.

“Don’t you want me to drive you home?” Ted asked. “Maybe we can stop off at Baskin-Robbins for a cone. I’ve got a two-for-one coupon.”

I managed to fight back the impulse to strangle him.

“Go away, Ted.”

“Can I call you some time?”

“No, you can never call me. Not under any circumstances. Not even if you should attain last-man-on-earth status.”

“Your loss,” he said, shrugging. “A girl with your thighs shouldn’t be so fussy.”

Then he got up and strolled out the door, but not before grabbing a fistful of mints on his way out.

I thought I’d wait inside until the cab showed up, but it was far too painful. People kept looking at me and shaking their heads, either in disgust or pity, I wasn’t sure which. I could swear I overheard one of them say, “I saw her pop the button on her waistband.”

No, I had to get out of there. I grabbed my purse and started for the entrance when suddenly I heard someone call my name.

“Jaine?”

Whoever it was, I prayed they were calling some other Jane, some Jane who spelled her name the sensible way.

“Jaine Austen, is that you?”

I turned around, and who should I see, but Mrs. Pechter. Oh, God. Now everyone at Shalom would know about my humiliation.

“Jaine, dear, come here,” she said, motioning me to her table.

Smiling stiffly, I headed over to her table, where I saw that she was sitting with an absolutely adorable guy. Spiky sandy hair, green eyes, and an amazing smile. Really, this guy was cute with a capital C.

“Jaine, say hello to my grandson Morris.”

This was Morris, the accountant? The grandson she wanted to fix me up with? I groaned softly. Did I really pass up a date with this dollburger to go out with Tommy the Termite?