The Twin Switch. Barbara Dunlop

Samantha. Can you put us at the front booth?”

      “Of course, sir.”

      She extracted two leather-bound, gold-embossed menus from below the counter. “Bernard will seat you.”

      “Hello, Mr. Kendrick,” Bernard said. “It’s great to have you with us tonight.”

      Max waited while I slid in one side of the booth, going partway around. I set my purse and shopping bag beside me.

      I felt outclassed by the surroundings, and I was grateful to have ditched the jeans.

      Max slid in the other side of the booth and matched my position. It was cozy with the high-backed plush seats, a flickering candle, the two of us sitting only a couple of feet apart.

      I had an expansive view of the lobby, but the table still felt intimate.

      “Can I have the waiter bring you your usual?” Bernard asked Max.

      “Please,” Max said to Bernard.

      To me, he said, “It’s a classic martini with a lemon twist.”

      “Sounds good.” It did.

      I hoped the drink would take the edge off my worry. Fretting over Brooklyn wasn’t going to help me find her any faster. When she showed up, she showed up.

      “The drinks will be out right away,” Bernard said. “Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

      “They really do know you,” I said to Max as I took yet another scan of the lobby.

      “They do. But they treat all their customers well.”

      That had certainly been my experience so far.

      “This isn’t the kind of place where I usually eat,” I said.

      He moved the glass-encased candle so we had an unobstructed view of each other. “What’s the kind of a place where you usually eat?”

      “The Rock a Beach,” I said. “It’s a funky little seafood place on Moiler Bay. They have picnic tables on a covered deck. There’s great local beer on tap. You can get fish and chips served on newspaper or a wooden hammer to crack your crab. In the winter, they close it in with plastic sheeting and light a central fireplace. My family loves it.”

      “It sounds great.”

      “You wouldn’t need a suit.”

      “It sounds like I’d need a bib.”

      “Recommended.”

      We both smiled.

      “I’d like to take you there sometime,” he said.

      I could see it. I could picture that. And it was great. The image was so compelling that it took me a second to realize what he was doing.

      He was good. And I was a fool for following along like a little puppy dog.

      I wasn’t usually swayed by emotion like this. I’m usually nothing but rational. I pride myself on it. I drew back, forcibly pulling myself from his spell. “Wow.”

      “Wow what?”

      “That was fast, and not particularly believable.”

      “I—”

      “You’re a smooth talker, Max Kendrick. But here’s a heads-up for you—what you’re after is not what’s going to happen.”

      “That’s not where I was going.”

      “Sure it wasn’t.” Logic and reason told me that much.

      “You’re a skeptic, Layla Gillen. I’m simply enjoying our conversation.”

      I wasn’t about to believe that. Guys often took a shot and backed off when you called them out on it.

      Then again, he’d vaguely mentioned a second date. He hadn’t suggested skinny-dipping in his hot tub or checking out his hotel suite. Maybe I was too quick to judge.

      “Okay,” I said. “My mistake.”

      “No. It was my mistake for letting it come out wrong. Can I back up a couple of minutes and take a do-over?”

      He could. I wasn’t about to say no when he put it so reasonably. But just in case I really did have his number, I was keeping up my guard.