“What is going on in here? Did I miss something?” Braden asked.
“No. Portia and I brought her mom for dinner and to hear Lola’s first set. About ten minutes ago, that couple over there,” he pointed out a couple Braden knew as regulars, “started arguing over where to go on vacation. When Jenny asked them to keep it down, they yelled at her. Then it started happening all over the restaurant.”
This couldn’t be a coincidence. Both times Lola had cooked, the patrons of the restaurant had bizarre reactions. “I need to speak with Reina,” Braden said.
Ryan’s eyebrows raised. “Okay. She’s over there.” The two men walked to the table where Reina smiled brightly.
“Interesting energy in this room,” Reina commented.
Braden took a seat next to Lola’s mother. “Is it possible to transfer emotions into food?”
Reina nodded. “Of course. If the preparer is gifted in the art of pheromone manipulation.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, trying to block out the noise of his shouting customers.
“It means Viola—” She paused and tilted her head. “—I’m assuming that is whom you are referencing, has tapped into one of her abilities as a Muse. Feelings aren’t only subjective, but objective as well, and Viola is able to manifest her emotions into the tangible. We all emit pheromones, a chemical factor which affects others in our species. Most people have heard of sex pheromones which we secrete to attract members of the opposite sex, but there are several different types. In this case, I’d say you must have made my daughter pretty angry when she cooked up something in the kitchen.” With a sly grin on her face, she waited for him to confirm.
“The moussaka.”
“Darn,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I couldn’t decide between that and the pastitsio. Oh, well. Better luck next time, right?”
Portia rested her hands on the table. “Mom, are you saying the people who ate the moussaka are angry because Viola was angry when she cooked it?”
Reina touched a finger to her nose. “Bingo.”
“That’s crazy,” Portia said.
Her mother laughed. “This from a woman whose own crazy experiences helped her accept she’s a Muse descended from Zeus? How could you doubt it after all you’ve learned from your time with Ryan?”
Something about the mention of Zeus raised the hairs on the back of Braden’s neck and reminded him of his dream.
Ryan jabbed his chin in the direction of the table behind them. “Uh, Braden. You’d better get those people out of here before they start a riot. Or a food fight.”
He realized Ryan was right. The shouting had intensified. Braden stood to help his worn-out staff and caught Jon strolling through the front door. Damn, what was he doing here?
Braden hurried to meet him by the doors to prevent him from entering any further, but judging by the sneer on his competition’s face, he’d seen and heard enough to know something was off in here. That fact should’ve probably bothered Braden more than it did. He didn’t mind Jon lording this over him, but he didn’t want the man anywhere near Lola.
“Nice ambiance you’ve got going on here, Angelopoulos,” Jon said, puffing his chest out like a waddling penguin. “Guess they finally realized you’re overcharging them for substandard fare and lousy service.” He slipped his iPhone from his pocket and poised to dial. “Maybe I should make a call to our local men in blue to come and help you contain these people.”
Braden held his anger in check. The last thing he wanted to do was give the idiot any ammunition to use against him with Lola. “Put your phone away, Jon,” he said calmly. “It’s all a simple misunderstanding.” From the corner of his eye, he saw a woman throw a piece of pita bread at her dinner companion. “Will you excuse me?”
There was only one way to calm the patrons. They had to eat something else prepared by Lola. Something she could cook quickly. Something no one would refuse to eat. He had the just the dish.
He stalked to the stage and up the stairs then pulled the plugs out of the speakers, cutting off the sound. Lola twirled around, eyes blazing with fury. “What the heck, Braden? We’re trying to soothe everyone.”
He grabbed her arm. “I need your help. Come to the kitchen.”
She sighed. “Fine, but let go of me.”
He released his grip and led her to the kitchen where he took a double-boiler from the shelf, lit a burner, and added cream to the pot. “Did you know that chocolate is made from the seeds of the cacao tree? In Greek, it’s called theobroma, which means food of the gods.”