She'd been there once or twice before with Robbie. He liked the pie.
When she walked in, she saw Vin diPietro right away. He was sitting in the last booth over on the left, and facing the door. As their eyes met, he got to his feet.
Even with the shiner, the bruise on his cheek, and the swelling on his lower lip, he was stunningly sexy.
Boy...as she walked over, she wished she had a thing for accountants, podiatrists, or chess players. Maybe even florists.
"Hi," she said as she sat down.
On the table's countertop, there were a pair of menus, two sets of stainless-steel silverware on paper napkins, and a pair of thick ceramic mugs.
It was all so down to earth, homey, cute. And in his black cashmere sweater and his toffee suede jacket, Vin looked like he should have been at a fancy cafe, instead.
"Hi." He lowered himself slowly into his seat, his eyes locked on her. "Coffee?"
"Please."
He lifted his hand and a waitress with a red apron and a red-and-white uniform came over. "Two coffees, thanks." As the woman left to go get the pot, Vin tapped his red-and-white menu. "I hope you're hungry?"
Marie-Terese opened hers and looked at all the choices, thinking that every single one of them was appropriate for a Fourth of July picnic. Okay, maybe not all the breakfast items, but this was the kind of place where the word salad always had a modifier like chicken, potato, egg, or macaroni, and lettuce was only for sandwiches.
It was glorious, actually.
"See anything you like?" Vin asked.
She did not take the opportunity to look across the table at him. "I'm not a big eater, generally. I think for now I'll just stick with coffee."
The waitress came back and poured. "You know what you want?"
"You sure you won't do breakfast?" he asked Marie-Terese. When she nodded, he took both menus and handed them to the other woman. "I'd like the pancakes. No butter."
"Hash browns?"
"No, thanks. The pancakes are quite enough."
As the waitress headed for the kitchen, Marie-Terese smiled a little. "What?" he asked as he offered her the sugar.
"No, thanks, I take it black. And I'm smiling because my son...he likes pancakes, too. I make them for him."
"How old is he?" Vin's spoon made a clinking sound as he stirred.
Although the question was casual, the way he waited for her answer was anything but. "Seven." She glanced at his bare ring finger. "Do you have kids?"
"No." He took a test sip and sighed like it was perfect. "Never been married, no children."
There was a pause as if he were expecting her to quid pro quo the info.
She picked her mug up. "The reason I called you was because my boss...he wanted to let you know he's taking care of everything..." She hesitated. "You know, about what the security cameras might have caught last night or...things like that."
Although she was worried he might not appreciate someone obstructing justice on his behalf, Vin just nodded once, like he was the kind of man who'd handled things in the same way Trez did. "Tell him I appreciate it."
"I will."
In the silence that followed, Vin ran his thumb up and down his mug's thick handle. "Listen, I didn't do anything to those two guys last night. Well, other than what you saw me do to them. I didn't kill them."
"That's what Trez said." She took a sip and had to agree with him: The coffee was superb. "And I didn't mention anything about you or your friend when I spoke with the police. I didn't tell them about the fight at all."
Vin frowned. "What did you say?"
"Just that the two guys had been harassing me. That Trez spoke with them, and when that didn't work, they were escorted from the club. Turns out that was what the two other witnesses who'd come forward maintained as well so it all matched."
"Why did you lie for me?" he said softly.
To avoid his eyes, she looked out the window next to them. The river, which seemed close enough to touch, was sluggish and opaque, thickened by the rain they'd had earlier in the week. "Why, Marie-Terese?"
She took a deep drink from her mug and felt the coffee warm its way down into her belly. "For the same reason Trez did. Because you protected me."
"That's dangerous. Given what you do."
She shrugged. "I'm not worried."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Vin rub his face and wince as if the bruising hurt. "I just don't want you risking more trouble down the line for my sake."
Marie-Terese hid a smile. Funny, some things a man could say made you feel warm all over - not because the words were sexual, but because they went beyond that lowest common denominator and into more important, more meaningful territory.
Fighting the pull of his voice, his eyes, his savior routine, she said, "I'm sorry I left so quickly last night. You know, from the locker room. I was just...rattled."
"Yeah..." He exhaled on a curse. "And I apologize for flipping out like that - "
"Oh, no, it's okay. It...didn't appear you had much control over it."
"Try none." There was another long pause. "I hate to bring it up again, but what did I say to you?"
"You don't know?" He shook his head. "Was that a seizure?"
His voice grew tight. "Guess you could call it that. So...what did I say?" He's coming for you...
"What did I say?" Vin reached across and put his hand lightly on her arm. "Please tell me."
She stared at where he touched her, and thought...yes, and sometimes it wasn't even what a man said that made you warm - just the feel of his palm resting above your wrist was enough to heat your entire body.
"Your pancakes," the waitress said, breaking the moment. As they both sat back, the woman put down a plate and a little stainless-steel pitcher with a flop top. "More coffee?" Marie-Terese glanced in her half-empty mug. "For me, please."
Vin got busy with syrup, pouring out a thin amber stream over three big, fat golden circles. "Mine aren't that high," Marie-Terese said. "When I make them...they're not that golden or that high."
Vin let the lid on the syrup bounce shut and picked up his fork, cleaving through the stack, carving out a forkful. "I'm sure your son doesn't complain."
"No...he doesn't." Thinking of Robbie made her chest burn, so she tried not to remember how he'd looked at her with such love and awe when she'd flipped those homemade flapjacks for him.
The waitress returned with her pot of coffee, and after she'd poured and left, Vin said, "I'm really hoping you'll answer my question."
For no good reason, she thought even more of Robbie. He was an innocent that she'd ended up dragging into a harsh life thanks first to the bad husband she'd picked and then the way she'd chosen to clean up the financial mess she'd found herself in. Vin was not dissimilar. The last thing he needed was getting sucked into the black hole she was trying to get out of - and he'd already proven he had a come-to-the-rescue complex. At least where she was concerned.
"It was just nonsense," she murmured. "What you said was nonsense."
"So if it doesn't matter, there's no reason not to tell me."
She stared out the window at the river again...and called forth all her strength. "You said, 'Rock, paper, scissors.'" As his eyes shot to her face, she forced herself to meet his stare and lie. "I have no idea what it means. To be honest, it was more what you looked like than what you said that made me nervous."
Vin's eyes bored into hers. "Marie-Terese...I have a track record with those kind of things."
"Track record how?"
He resumed eating, as if he needed to do something to cut the tension. "In the past, when I've gone into that state and said stuff...it comes true. So if you're keeping whatever it was from me for privacy's sake, I understand that. But I strongly urge you to take whatever it was very seriously."
Her cold hands squeezed her hot mug. "Like you're some kind of fortune-teller?"
"You're in a dangerous line of work. You need to be careful."
"I am always careful."
"Good."
There was another long period of quiet, during which she stared at her coffee and he focused on his food.
It was pretty easy to guess that the "careful" thing was not just about creeps chasing after her. It was about other aspects of the job.