The door swung shut, revealing a white-faced lovely lady clinging with both hands to one of his iron skillets. "Who are you?" she demanded before he even had a chance to recover his tongue. "Where's Ken Hutchinson? Did you do something to him?"
Hutch gaped at her blankly for a moment. She was the one with a potential weapon--albeit probably not a risk, the way she brandished it--and yet he found himself stretching out a hand reassuringly. Then her words sunk in. "Ken--"
"Yes," she nodded, anger beginning to overcome her fear, "Ken Hutchinson. He'll be back any minute now, so you'd better get out of here."
Hutch risked a glance away from her, around the dimmed room with its beautifully set table and flickering candles, a lingering hint of his own cologne in the air, and suddenly it all became very clear.
He shook his head, turning back to the girl as he mentally began adding to his list of things he planned to do to his partner when they met again. She was still waving that ridiculous skillet, green eyes bright with fear and fury. Yeah, definitely Starsky's type.
Hutch let his other bag drop, bringing up his second hand also in a placating gesture. "Did, uh, Ken tell you he has a partner? Starsky?"
The skillet faltered a little. "You're Starsky?" Then lowered altogether. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. Ken didn't mention that you'd be here. Um, we were just having dinner to talk over some business..."