What did she think of him? How had she judged him from the few times they talked?
“You don’t seem like a sensible mid-sized SUV kind of person,” she said.
“Why not?” He put on the blinker to turn into the parking lot of the restaurant.
“Too…what’s the word I’m looking for? New?” She lifted her hands and rubbed her fingers against her thumbs. “Automated maybe. Newer cars are mostly computer. They’re probably hard to tinker with.”
He pulled into an empty spot, shifted into neutral, and stared at her.
Damn.
She looked down. “Sorry if that was presumptuous.”
“No. Very accurate actually.” He set the parking brake and shut off the car. By the time he got out and rounded the hood, she had one leg out. He held out his hand to help her the rest of the way out of the car.
He closed the door and took a step closer. “Abby?”
“Yes?”
“I forgot to tell you, you look beautiful.”
Her gaze dropped and she cleared her throat. “Thank you. You look very nice as well.”
“I know. I clean up good.”
She laughed. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with your ego.”
He grinned and changed his grip on her hand, holding it in his, and led her toward the restaurant.
They were seated at a small table along the far wall, the large windows giving them a clear view of the deck around the building and the marsh beyond. He pulled out Abby’s chair facing the windows, then took the chair on the side next to her so he could see the rest of the restaurant.
Their waiter handed them menus, filled their water glasses, and asked if they wanted anything else to drink—both passed.
“You can have wine or something since I’m driving,” he said.
Abby shook her head. “I don’t drink often. Last week was the first time I had more than a glass of wine in a very long time.” She cocked her head. “Do you drink?”
“The occasional beer, but that’s all.”
She nodded and looked over the menu quickly, then set it aside.
The waiter returned to take their order. Tinker wasn’t ashamed to admit he was overwhelmed by the menu. He was used to much simpler food. “What are you having?”
“The salmon with mango chutney and asparagus.”
“Sounds good. I’ll have the same.” The waiter took their menus and left. “Do you like teaching?”
“I do. I like working with kids and watching them discover their talent. Even kids with no natural artistic ability can create. Do you like being a security specialist?”
He smiled as the waiter set down their waters. “Yeah. It’s always something different.”
“What does a security specialist do?”
“A little of this. A little of that,” he said.
“That’s vague. Is this one of those ‘if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you’ kind of things?”
“No. We do everything from contract military operations, to corporate security, to personal security. A few months ago, I was assigned to provide personal security for a well-known actor. His regular guy had to have last-minute surgery, so they called us up. It’s not that I can’t talk about it, except for whatever non-disclosure agreement we sign, there’s just so much we do.”
