Have you had dinner?
Within seconds, her answer came.
I have not. Would you like to meet, or should I arrange something for you?
He hesitated, then asked,
Where are you?
Three dots told him she was answering. The dots disappeared. He hated when that happened. Phones could be so annoying, telling a person just enough to irritate. Then the dots reappeared. Good.
I’m in Pacific Heights and just walked past an Italian restaurant that smells like heaven. Sharing my location with you now. Do you need an Uber?
The location came through. He checked Google Maps.
I’ll walk. See you in 22 minutes.
The map said it would take him 33 minutes to walk, but Lorenzo was tall, fit and walked so fast that residents had to run to keep up with him. Also, he was eager to eat, especially with someone who did not irritate him.
Florio’s was warm, dimly lit and, as Winnie had said, smelled like heaven. Or at least, like his grandmother’s kitchen.
She was already there, sitting at the bar with a martini. She must’ve gone shopping during her off-time because she was wearing jeans and a red sweater with a wide neckline. She smiled when she saw him and moved her bag from the stool next to her. “No Brennevin, alas,” she said. “I already checked.”
“That’s fine. By the way, thank you for all the…details. The oranges, et cetera. The itinerary. They are appreciated.”
“Those flowers are sick, aren’t they?”
“Did you buy those yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Bill me.”
“No, Lorenzo. They were a thank-you gesture. I can afford a dozen dahlias.”
“All right, then.”
“Hey, man,” said the young, tattooed bartender. “What can I get you tonight?”
“Just water,” he said. Then he added, to offset the stress of these conferences, “And whatever she’s having.”
“You got it. Miss, you ready for a refill?”
“All set,” she said. “One and done.”
“Smart lady.” The bartender smiled at her—smile-smiled, Lorenzo thought. And why wouldn’t he? Winnie Smith was an attractive woman. He glanced at her to assess her reaction. She didn’t seem to be affected, even though (objectively speaking) the bartender was very good-looking in that hipster way. Earrings, beard, hair gel.
“How long are you in the city?” the bartender asked Winnie, barely looking at Lorenzo as he made his cocktail. A gin martini, from the look of it.
“Just a couple of days,” Winnie said.
“If you need any recommendations on what to see, say the word,” he said, and Lorenzo felt a flicker of annoyance.
“It’s a work trip, but thanks,” Winnie said.
Lorenzo accepted his drink from the far-too-handsome bartender. “Thank you,” he said, dismissing him. He turned to Winnie. “How was your sightseeing?”
“Great,” she said. “What a beautiful city! I love all the Victorian houses. And the gardens! There are calla lilies everywhere. Makes me want to move here.”
