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“That’s very nice of you, Monk,” said her mom. “You’ve done so much already.”
Monk smiled. “What do you like?” he asked, looking between them as he escorted them to their room.
“It’ll be easier if I go with you,” said Saylor. “Will you be all right, Mom?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll just get her settled,” she said, and Monk nodded.
When she came back out, he was leaning up against the wall.
“Ready?” she asked. He didn’t answer, but walked next to her and put his hand on the small of her back like he had earlier.
“I like that,” she said when they reached the bank of elevators.
“What’s that?” he asked, pressing the call button.
“Feeling your hand on me.”
“I like it too.”
When the elevator opened, he took her hand in his and led her in, pressed the button for the first floor, and held her hand while it descended. When it reopened, he led her out, across the lobby and into the hotel’s restaurant.
“Would you like a table, sir?” the maître d’ asked.
“Just the menu.”
“Would you mind?” Saylor asked, motioning toward the bar. “I could really use a drink.”
He didn’t answer, but with her hand still in his, he led her over to it.
After they were seated, Monk leaned forward, close enough that she could see the speckles of color in his eyes. “What would you like?” he asked.
“A glass of wine would be nice.”
Monk opened the bar menu.
“Red please,” she added, hoping he wouldn’t mind choosing for her.
“A glass of the Elk Cove Pinot Noir for the lady,” he said when the bartender approached. “I’ll have the same.”
“Thank you, Monk,” she said when the bartender walked away. “For everything.”
“What about Mrs. Sharp?” he asked.
Saylor smiled. “If you’re referring to my mother, she’ll tell you her name is Sally and Mrs. Sharp was her mother-in-law. And I can guarantee you that she is presently sound asleep. By the way, that wine is one of my favorites.”
Monk nodded as though he already knew that. He reached over and brushed her hair from her face.
“You folks want to look at a menu?” the bartender asked, setting the glasses in front of them.
Monk nodded again.
Saylor leaned back on the padded bar stool, picked up her glass and swirled it, inhaling deeply. “I love this wine,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He smiled, raised his glass as if toasting her, and took a drink.
“You’re an enigma, Monk.”
