Page 19 of Handful

“That’s the plan,” I replied with a grin.

“Good.” She paused. “The navy brings out your eyes. You look almost respectable.”

She left. Maya’s fist had left a small wrinkle in my T-shirt, right over my chest. I looked at it for a second, then pulled the shirt off and went to shower.

❧

Fir & Salt was exactly what Bea had described. Side street off the main drag, no sign you’d notice unless you were looking — small, dim, the kind of place that ran on word of mouth and kept its regulars.

I was twenty minutes early.

The host put me at the corner table by the window, which Bea had told me to ask for. Fir & Salt, she’d said when I’d gone to her on Thursday asking for help finding somewhere suitable for a first date with someone special. Menu’s local, changes every few weeks. The wine list is short. Ask for the corner table — better light, more room.

I sat there with a glass of water for twenty minutes before the door opened and Austen walked in.

She was wearing something green. Dark green. I didn’t know enough about women’s clothes to describe it beyond that, but it did something to her hair and her eyes that made me forget what I’d planned to say when I stood up. “You’re here,” was all I managed. Smooth, Handful. Real smooth.

“I’m here.” She looked me over. The navy button-down, the rolled sleeves, the boots. Her expression was playful. “You clean up well.”

“I had help.”

“I’d never have guessed.” She looked me over once more, unhurried. “I didn’t know you came in colors other than black.” She sat down across from me. I waited until she was settled, then took my chair. She glanced toward the door. “You drove? I didn’t see a bike outside.”

“Parked the bike two blocks away. Didn’t want to make an entrance.”

“You continue to surprise me.”

“Good. Keep you on your toes.” I pulled my chair in. “A man shows all his cards on a first date, what’s he got left for the second?”

“You’re assuming there’s a second.”

“I’m an optimist.”

She laughed.

The corner gave us room, like Bea had promised — but the candle between us pulled everything in close. It was real, not electric, and it threw soft light across Austen’s face. Her hair was down, which I hadn’t seen before — at the bar she kept it up, out of the way, practical. Down, it made her seem less armored.

“Rules check.” She held up one finger. “Somewhere quiet.”

“Quiet.” I glanced around the room. Couple at the far table, a man reading alone at the bar. Nobody who knew either of us.

She ticked it off. Second finger. “Not a club thing.”

“Not a club thing. Nobody from Venom knows we’re here. Bea and Indira, that’s it.”

Third finger. “No surprises.”

“No surprises. Menu’s local. Wine list is short. I’ve been told the food is excellent.”

She studied the three ticked fingers, then looked up at me. Something in her expression had gone warm. Amused. “You did your research. I’m impressed.” The corner of her mouth lifted. And just like that, the nerves I’d been carrying since Wednesday settled.

I’d never been nervous in front of a woman in my life. I filed that away to think about later.

She picked up the menu. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, we’re having dinner.”