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“It’s not a date…”
“Sure it isn’t. Just remember both Fiona and I said the same thing. Have fun!”
Jessica ended the call before Lori could make a retort. Instead, she stared at her phone and stuck her tongue out. Feeling only a little bit silly, she grabbed her bag and her laptop and headed down to the lobby. She could see the event planner headed her way with a determined look. She didn’t want to get into the details of what had happened last night so made a speedy exit out of the hotel.
The minute she hit the sidewalk, she deeply regretted not putting on her coat. It wasn’t just a ‘chilly morning,’ as the local weather person had deemed it; it was damn cold. Thankfully, the bistro was literally next door.
“Ms. Sykes?” said the waitress. “Ryker’s sitting at the table in the back. What can I get you to drink? I got Ryker his coffee—it’s actually a caramel latte.”
“Ooh, that sounds good. I’ll try one of those.”
“Right away.”
Lori made her way to the back booth—the same one she’d sat in yesterday morning. Along the way, two people stopped her to ask her to sign books they had with them. She caught Ryker’s eye and smiled. He nodded and grinned at her but stood when she got closer to him.
“Good morning,” he said. “You didn’t wear a coat?”
“Foolish me. When the weather girl said ‘chilly,’ that’s what I thought she meant.”
“Well, there’s ‘chilly’ and then there’s ‘Maine chilly;’ anything that doesn’t freeze the ocean solid isn’t cold.”
“Good to know. Sorry about having to stop for those readers.”
He waved it off. “No need to apologize. If people know your work well enough to stop you, that’s a good thing.”
“I think so. This is only my second event, and it’s the first time people have come to see me, not just an ‘oh, since we’re here…’ kind of thing.”
“It’s fun being recognized for your talent.”
“I’ll bet you had the same kind of thing when you worked for the Associated Press.”
“Not so much. If I’d been on television or something, maybe, but for the most part people didn’t recognize me at all, which given what I did was usually a good thing.”
“Ahh, the use of the sherpa.”
Ryker laughed. He had a great laugh. “You remembered. One of the reasons I needed the sherpa was that the totalitarian regime I was reporting on didn’t want me or my story to get out, so they had circulated my picture and put a price on my head.”
“They put a bounty on you?” she asked, askance.
He nodded. “Yes. Dictators aren’t big believers in a free press.”
“That would kind of figure, right?”
“Exactly.”
The waitress arrived and set her caramel latte down in front of her, giving her a menu and holding the other one in her hand. “Do you need one or are you having your usual?”
“If I had something else it wouldn’t be my usual now, would it?” he teased.
He had an easy charm and friendly, flirtatious demeanor.
“So, what’s your usual? Yesterday I just had bacon and pastries.”
“They make one of the best croque madames on the Eastern seaboard.”
“Those have a fried egg, don’t they?” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “I can only tolerate eggs in an omelet, and then only after ten.”
“Then, in that case, order the croque monsieur. It’s basically the same as the madame—thin slices of ham, lots of grated Gruyere on crusty sourdough slathered in a decadent Mornay sauce.”
