I smiled. We were on the same wavelength.
Our waitress showed up with a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, my name is Gwen. I'll be your server today. Can I get you started off with any drinks or appetizers?”
“Could you bring us some seared scallops and crab puffs while we look over the menu?” I said.
We both ordered bottled water to drink. As much as a hair of the dog sounded tempting, I needed to stay hydrated.
Kendra and I perused the menus. I went with the filet and a cup of lobster bisque. So did Kendra. The waitress collected our menus and brought out the appetizers a moment later. We dug in and started chowing down.
"So what got you into racing?” I asked.
"My dad, actually. He's a bit of a daredevil himself, and I guess he wanted to pass on the family affliction.” From her tone, I got the impression there was tension between the two. “I don't know, I got hooked right away. The speed, the constant improvement, chasing a quarter second here, a quarter second there. After your first podium, you're trapped. You can't do anything else. You have to get that feeling back of standing on the podium again, even though it only lasts for a few moments.”
"The memory lasts a lifetime.”
"True. And that's what life is about, isn't it? Making memories?”
"Indeed," I said with a smile.
Kendra had a face I could look at for a long time. Her voice dripped like honey, and I didn't mind what she had to say.
"What does your boyfriend think about your racing?”
She gave me a look. "I don't have a boyfriend. I wouldn't be here with you if I did.”
"Isn't this just abusinesslunch?”
Her eyes narrowed at me. "Would you want your girlfriend having lunch at a fancy restaurant with an attractive man in the middle of the day?”
"Attractive?"
Kendra gave me a flat look. "Tolerable.”
I laughed. "Tolerable?”
"Shut up. I think you know how you come across to the opposite sex.”
I played dumb. "And how is that?”
Kendra blushed. "Insufferably arrogant. Cocky?—“
“Irresistible?” I teased modestly.
“Cocky.”
I laughed again. “Confident.”
Kendra's eyes narrowed at me, and she thought about it for a moment. "I'll take confident over insecure any day.”
It was about that time when two masked thugs stormed into the restaurant. One of them aimed his pistol-grip sawed-off shotgun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger.
KABOOM!
The barrel spat fire, and birdshot demolished the ceiling. A plume of smoke mushroomed from the barrel, and the patrons in the restaurant screeched in horror. Forks stopped scratching against plates. Conversations went silent. You could hear a pin drop.
Mr. Shotgun shouted, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. As you’ve probably figured out by now, this is a robbery. Stay calm and cool and do as you're told, and you'll all get to go home alive and well. Cause any trouble, and they're going to be scraping you off the floor.”
27
