Miriam got complimentary bread the other day.
Does she like him that much, to push around another salad on her plate?
I grab my phone off the bar and check my messages. Nothing.
Did you fall asleep on the sofa bed again? Don’t forget to blow out the candles. That’s a fire hazard.
I should call to double-check she’s safe.
Straight to voicemail.
“What are you having?” Kenya motions to the tumbler in front of me.
“Between the sheets,” I rattle off, my mind on whether or not to have the fire department do one of those wellness checks.
“Tempting.”
“Hmm.” What if she’s in her bedroom, knocked out in a bonnet and no bra? The fire department doesn’t kick down doors in nonemergencies, does it?
“Everything okay?”
“What? Yeah.” I reach for my glass and smirk at Kenya’s headshake. Guess it’s hers now. “How’s the new gig?” The bartender nods when I gesture for another drink.
“Good. I’m getting more airtime, and I negotiated better accommodations in my contract.” She waves a hand around the smoke-gray room dressed in candles and shelves of aged scotch. The Seattle Great Wheel towers Elliott Bay from the large window across the dining room.
Candles.
Miriam.
“I know they have good toilet paper.”
“What?” Kenya snickers.
“Nothing,” I say absentmindedly. What was the name of her neighbor with the dog? Maybe her number is public.
The bartender sets a new cocktail in front of me. “Are you two ready to order?”
Kenya’s eyes drift to the menu. “I’ll have the squash soup and tuna tartare. What do you want, Antonio? Tonight is on you.”
“Yo!” I laugh. “I’ll take the shrimp and grits, please.” I eye Kenya. “Since I’m paying.”
She raises my old glass. “To the new season.”
“To you running my pockets.” I lift mine.
“I paid five grand for you tonight. At Marcela’s fundraiser.”
Alcohol shoots through my nose. “What?” I cough.
Kenya’s shoulder lifts. “It was for a good cause. I wanted to send a message.”
“Which is?”
“You invest in what you want.”
There’s no trace of laughter in her voice, no mistaking what she means. Kenya is a knockout who’s surprisingly down to earth. We always had a good time when we linked up. No drama or expectations. I’m flattered. Maybe under different circumstances, I’d consider the possibility of more than sex. But I’m wrapped up in a woman I haven’t seen in weeks.
Kenya’s fantasy material, but she’s not Miriam.
