Page 54 of The Alibi Club

Amber rushed away.

“What kind of boosh?” Shannon murmured as she looked over at Kyle who shrugged, equally bewildered, and said, “My favorite meal is tacos, so.”

“Mine, too.” Shannon smiled at him. Kyle instantly turned red.

Holly took it upon herself to inform. “An amuse-bouche is a single bite or small serving to give you a hint as the progression of the menu. It should be bright and memorable but not overpowering.”

“Amuse-bouche in French literally means ‘to amuse the mouth,’” Rick added.

These two were insufferable. Jamie sighed.

Rick gazed over at Jamie with an attempt at a smoldering look. “I speak the language, do you? Enchanté, mademoiselle.” He took her hand and gently kissed it.

Jamie briefly considered faking a seizure to get out of this date.

The sommelier cleared her throat to draw attention to herself and the fact that someone should order something off her fabulous wine list. This mercifully drew Rick’s attention away.

“Ah, yes, I need a clarification about a vintage cellar wine.” The sommelier rushed over to Rick to explain various details about varietals and years as Jamie checked her watch. It was 6:10. How could ten minutes feel like three years? The pickings were slim at this table.

She had already ruled out Rick. Beyond his shallow character and his meaningless career, she would have to give up any hope of wearing heels at her mother’s wedding. Nerdy Kyle was tall, but she had to acknowledge that sparks didn’t exactly fly between them, plus, he seemed interested in the blond, uncomplicated Shannon. Holly acted mildly bored and vaguely put out, as if she were unfairly assigned to detention. Jamie took a good look at their little party of five and wondered how on earth their matchmaker extraordinaire Lorna Gray had figured that this group would hit it off in any possible way, let alone romantically.

Jamie heard the door to restaurant open and felt a tingle up her back. She shivered. She looked toward the entrance.

Salt-and-pepper tousled hair, brooding dark eyes, and that energy. She knew that sport coat with Converse. She instantly turned back to the table before he saw her. “Oh my God,” she muttered to herself.

As he walked over, her anticipation nearly boiled over.

Could Lorna have gotten one thing right after all?

“Hi, I’m Cliff. I’m sorry I’m late.” He smiled. His gaze roved around the table and when his eyes landed on her, he faltered, put two fingers on the table to steady himself. It was subtle, but she saw it. He stood, transfixed. The others said polite hellos and Cliff nodded but didn’t take his eyes off her.

Cliff.

Jamie felt the heat rise in her cheeks and she began to fan herself with one hand.

Kyle noticed and asked, “You having a hot flash?”

Jamie shuddered and her attention flew to Kyle. She hissed, “You think I’m old enough to have a hot flash?”

Kyle grimaced and turned back to Shannon.

Cliff took the seat opposite Jamie as she tried calm her heart rate. She looked up, he was directly across the table from her, and although there were four other people flanking them, for a moment, everything fell away, and everyone in the room was muted.

Cliff dropped his chin, and looked at her, his dark eyes discerning, confident, intelligent. He said in a low, sure voice, “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Jamie felt a tingle up her spine and a warmth in her cheeks. Excited, but calm. What was it her dad said about finding love? It’s in the stardust, kid. Maybe this was what he meant. A cosmic knowledge that rang a tiny bell inside you when you met someone special, like a long-forgotten song you hear for the first time but recognize. Somehow Jamie knew him, even though she didn’t know him.

She just didn’t know how.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A Fly in the Ointment

CLIFF

Cliff had to acknowledge the irony: When one part of his life fell perfectly into place, another part raced around like a raccoon on meth. It was as if a trickster demon followed him around setting up pitfalls for him to stumble into. Tonight was no exception.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the woman he’d met at the café with a backpack of jewels at his feet, and again at the Arthur J. for a celebratory order of fries. Felt like fate stepping in. The woman with blue-green eyes and honey-blond hair, who smelled like honeysuckle and owned a small, rabid, croissant-loving dog.