Page 25 of Sighs By the Sea

"Once upon a time, sure. Now I only know what works for Til."

"And?" I'll take any advice at this point.

"When she initially says no, I turn into a yes. Multiple yes's, in fact. Over and over and—"

"Stop!" I growl out. "That's not helpful in this scenario."

"Yeah, guess it's not. So maybe you just turn up the flirting and charm? Pay for her meal, joke around with her. Take every innocent opportunity to touch her. A graze of your fingers across her forearm, sit on the same side of the table so your legs can brush, put your hand on the small of her back as you walk to the table." He's a little breathless, and I kind of need to fan my face as well. The picture he's painting is hot.

"That sounds, um, great. Thanks."

I think I hear him crack his knuckles. "That's what I'm here for. So pie?"

"If I'm back in time, I'll text you." He lets out a whoop and wishes me good luck. It's perfect timing because my GPS is telling me I've arrived.

The restaurant is a small Cuban place near the outskirts of downtown. I love Cuban food. A remnant of my travels from what feels like a different life. The inside is bustling, and I know I’ve made a good choice. The clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation fill the air. Busy on a Tuesday is a sure sign of excellent food. I lock my car and stride inside. My outfit is probably a little much. But I wanted to impress. A suit is the way I know how to do that. Light music plays overhead, and the low lighting gives the restaurant an intimate feel. My pulse quickens.

Damn this detective for having this effect on me. The hostess, a beautiful but young woman, smiles at me. “Name?”

“Erm, Cardenas.”

Her grin broadens. “Your date’s already here.”

“Not my date.” I mumble it under my breath, almost as if I don’t believe the words either. We're at a restaurant, and I have every intention of turning this into something more. But Tommy's words bounce around in my head. No opportunity to touch the small of her back. Strike one for my plan, I suppose.

The hostess weaves through the tables and patrons like a doctor on the way to save lives until stopping with an outstretched menu.

Maggie stands as I arrive, fiddling with the sleeves of her blouse. And goddamn me if it isn’t adorable. Like a fresh jolt of pure electricity to my entire nervous system.

“Mr. Cardenas, nice to see you again.” She holds out a hand, and I scowl at it. I want to wrap her in my arms, to kiss her until that shy smile is gone and she's moaning into my mouth. But she's putting on her professional face, so I shake her palm once before sitting. There are only two chairs, and they are across from each other. A braver man might slide his chair closer. That man is not me. And that's already strike two for opportunities to accidentally touch her.

“You like Cuban food?” I ask.

“I do, but I don’t really understand why we’re here. Surely, we could have grabbed a coffee.” That makes my cheeks flush with warmth. I hadn’t thought of that. Only of sitting with her somewhere nice, talking and having a good time.

“I thought the conversation might take long, and I like the food here.” She eyes me suspiciously but picks up her menu.

When the waiter comes around, Maggie orders a glass of red wine, but I only request iced tea. I’ll need to drive home later, and alcohol makes me sleepy. Not a great combination.

“No booze? Is that part of your…?”

“I’m not on probation, Detective. I would have thought you looked that up.”

“What? No way. That’s an invasion of privacy.” But she winks at me. Damn, that’s sexy. I clear my throat and sit up straighter, partly because I need to relieve some of the tension in my groin. We’re here, and I do have information to give her. But that wink changes everything. That flicker of one eyelash gives me hope that I haven't entirely missed an opportunity with her. When the waiter comes by a bit later, she quickly orders Arroz con Pollo, and I decide that sounds fine.

I sip my tea and watch her swirl her wine glass. She has a furrowed brow and looks along the glass as if inspecting for poison.

“Something wrong with your drink?”

“No. But this is a nicer place, right?” I nod. It’s not anything fancy, but not the bottom of the barrel either. “So, this is good wine?”

“A ’76 Merlot. Yes.” I smile and nod again, thinking I know what she’s going to say. She takes a small drink, and her expression only gets more confused. “I must be crazy, but it tastes the same as my box at home.”

I laugh heartily. This woman is good at coaxing it from me, another in a long line of reasons for me to push a bit harder. “You’re not crazy. Maybe…" I pretend to ponder my phrasing. "it's an immature palate.”

She shoves the drink away and takes my tea. She gulps a few long swallows and smacks her lips. “I think I prefer the ’24 tea.”

Reaching across, I take the cup back. “Then order your own.”