Kiss Me, Kill Me

“Good.”

By then a different waitress had come over to their table, and Carrie could tell by the look on her face that she’d seen Ambrose’s insistent signal.

“Are you ready to order?”

“No, as it turns out,” Ambrose said.

The waitress lifted her brows, and Carrie said, “Yes, we are. I’ll have the haddock.” She closed her menu and handed it to the girl, certain she knew her from somewhere. She’d probably treated her at the hospital or seen her at a soccer game or some other school function.

“How is the pasta sauce made?” Ambrose asked, reopening his menu.

“From scratch,” the girl—Wendi, according to her name tag—said. “Tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, rosemary, basil—the usual stuff.”

“MSG?” he asked.

The girl sent Carrie a look. Carrie shrugged helplessly, and then Ambrose looked her way, and she went still and tried to look innocent.

“I’ll have to go ask the chef,” Wendi said finally, and then she hurried away. Moments later she was back. “No MSG,” she reported.

“Hmm. That’s good to know.” Ambrose held the menu open a bit longer, then closed it and said, “And what about the pork loin? How is that prepared?”

The girl pointed at the paragraph beside the entrée on the menu and read aloud. “Made with an apple-mint sauce, and served piping hot and brimming with flavor.”

“That much I already knew. But how is it cooked? Baked, broiled, sautéed?”

“Nuclear fusion, I believe.”

Carrie choked on a laugh, then quickly pressed the cloth napkin to her mouth as if she really had been choking.

Ambrose blinked up at the waitress, not so much as cracking a smile. “Pardon?”

“I’ll go ask.” She hurried away again.

Ambrose shook his head and muttered about the quality of service these days. Carrie was beginning to wish she’d done what she wanted to do and stayed home tonight.

Wendi returned. “The pork is broiled, sir. No MSG, either. I asked. There’s no MSG in anything we serve.”

“Fine.” Ambrose perused the menu some more. For a guy who’d been set on the pasta and waving impatiently a few minutes earlier, he certainly was taking his time now.

Finally, as the girl stood there noticing that her other tables were in need of attention, Ambrose snapped the menu closed and said, “I’ll have the veal.”

The girl scribbled. “Is that it?”

“I think you’d better bring me a diet cola,” Carrie said. “And put a shot of rum in it, will you?”

Wendi smiled for the first time and nodded. “Got it.”

And then she was gone.

“My goodness, you would never know the girl is paid by the hour, the way she rushed us,” Ambrose said. Then he placed both palms on the table and looked at her. “But that’s neither here nor there, is it? Now that the unpleasant part of the evening is out of the way, Carrie, tell me about yourself.”

She lifted her brows, because he was smiling and, she thought, trying to be friendly now. “Oh, there’s not much to tell.”

“Of course there is. You’re a doctor. That’s fascinating in and of itself. And a single mother, too. Tell me, how did that come about?”

Mentally, she raised a steel wall between them. “By choice,” she said, her tone chilly.

“I’m sorry. Did I ask too personal a question?”

“Yes, you did.”

“I’ll try not to do that again.”

“No worries. I won’t answer anything that’s out of bounds.”

He met her eyes, and she looked away. “What about you,” she asked after a moment of strained silence. “What are you doing in Shadow Falls, Ambrose?”

“Just a much-needed vacation. We’ve been working particularly hard at the firm for the past year, trying to keep a handle on our clients’ finances in this volatile economy. It’s not for the meek, that much is for sure.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.”

She wondered why she’d thought this guy might be interesting. Smart, she decided, did not equal interesting. “So you decided to get away to relieve some stress, then?” she asked.

“Just a brief respite to refresh my mind,” he said. “And I’ve heard the foliage here is something to be seen, so…”

“It really is,” she said. “But it won’t peak for another three or four weeks yet.”

“I might very well still be here.”

“Oh, your stay is open-ended, then?”

He nodded.

“Must be a very liberal investment firm you work for.”

“Financial planning firm,” he corrected. “I’m a partner. I pretty much do what I want.”

“I see.”

Wendi returned with Carrie’s drink, set it down in front of her and placed a basket of warm rolls in the center of the table.

“Excuse me, but I have to make a quick call.” Ambrose got up and moved away from the table into a quiet corner, bringing his cell phone to his ear.

Carrie took the opportunity to say, “I’m really sorry he’s so rude.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.”