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He’s hesitant. Maybe people around here do know him after all.
I look over my shoulder at him as he stands by the car with his arms crossed. “You coming?”
“Yes, of course,” he replies, snapping out of whatever thought was preventing him from moving and hurrying to me. He avoids my eyes as he opens the door to the diner. I almost think he’s not going to come in with me, but he slips his hand around my waist as we step up to the hostess and request a table for two.
“Right this way,” the slightly frazzled woman chirps, snatching two oily laminated menus off the stand and charging toward the back of the restaurant.
I follow her with Avraam on my heels, sliding into cracked but surprisingly comfortable red booth seats. Avraam looks like he’s never even been to a diner before, examining the menu like it’s written in a different language.
Maybe he can’t read English and he’s too embarrassed to tell me. His Russian accent is quite strong. That would explain some of his behavior, but certainly not all of it.
“Can you read English?” I ask, not mincing words. It’s better to be direct with his type.
He puts down the menu. “Sure, can you?”
I laugh, but again, he seems to have trouble understanding what’s funny about what he’s saying. He just sits there with a scowl on his face.
“Maybe you need a cup of coffee,” I say, shaking my head.
He nods. “Yes, something strong. What do they have here?”
I point to the menu in front of him. “Espresso. That’ll probably do the trick. I usually save that for the afternoon since my stomach can’t handle it in the morning, but everyone’s different.”
“Three espressos, then,” he says, sliding out of the booth. “Can you order them? I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Three?” I ask, bewildered by his request. He doesn’t answer as he rushes away from the table toward the front of the building.
But the bathroom is the other direction…
9
Avraam
My fingertips graze the few gold shavings in my pocket that will hopefully get me enough money to pay for breakfast. I need to be quick, or I’m going to make a fool out of myself by requesting that Kimberly pay.
I’d never make a woman pay for her meal. I’d sooner demand that it be given to us for free than ask her to fork over a dime, which is why I need to find a pawn shop as soon as possible.
Kimberly already suspects something is amiss, but she’s been polite enough not to ask what. I’m not even sure if she’d believe me if I told her, but that’s never going to happen, anyway. I can’t risk compromising my mission, no matter how beautiful and charming she is.
I break out into a sprint when it becomes apparent that there aren’t any pawn shops or jewelry stores next to the diner.
Why would there be?
I’m an idiot for not doing this earlier, but I was so caught up with Kimberly that I didn’t even think about the money I would need going forward. Now, I’m desperate to exchange the little gold shavings in my pocket for cash, and I don’t have any idea how I’m going to do that without being gone for an hour.
But just as I’m starting to feel the lactic acid building up in my legs, I see a glowing yellow sign that proudly states WE BUY GOLD.
If that isn’t a sign from God, I don’t know what is.
I hurry into the store, tossing the gold shavings on the counter in front of a scrawny looking boy who can’t be much older than sixteen. My best guess is that he’s the shopkeeper’s son, but I don’t have the luxury of time. I need money, not answers.
“How much can I get for this?” I ask.
The boy looks down at the shavings, frowning a bit. “This is interesting. It’s gold, I’m assuming, but what karat?”
“Twenty-four,” I snap. “Pure gold. What’s your best price on it?”
“Depends on the weight,” he replies, scooping the shavings off the counter and carrying them over to a scale. “And I’ll have to test it first, if you don’t mind.”
