LITMIR.BIZ

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jeans. He touched a piece of cardboard and pulled out one of his old business cards.

      Robert Brookman, MBA, Senior Account Manager, Wells Fargo.

      Hard to believe that only last week this had been him. He’d been someone important, an employee at one of San Francisco’s oldest and most prestigious banks. He’d been on his way up, a man bound for success.

      He’d had an office and colleagues, a desk and a mound of work waiting for him at the start of every day. He’d taken pleasure in tackling and conquering those files before the closing of every night….

      Robert Brookman, MBA, Senior Account Manager. That was who he was. Or who he had been. A busy, important person whose every minute of every day was spoken for.

      Now he had the disorienting notion that if he suddenly disappeared, if someone walked into this bistro right now with a gun and forced him out into a waiting car, no one would notice. He could be gone a week, a month, hell even longer, and not a person would raise an alarm.

      Robert scrunched the card, then pushed it back into his pocket.

      “May I help you?” the pretty college student asked him.

      “Yes, thanks.” He ordered soup and a scone, then carried his food to the table at the back that he’d begun to think of as his. Two doors led off from the short hall at the rear of the restaurant. One was marked Employees Only. The other was the washroom. He sat with his back to both of them, then lifted a spoonful of the soup to his mouth.

      It was good. Really, really good. He closed his eyes and savored the complex, complementary blend of flavors. Despite the amazing taste, though, he found he didn’t have much of an appetite.

      He set down his spoon and glanced through the arched opening. And that was when he spotted her.

      Margo was sitting with another woman who also appeared to be in her mid-thirties—a woman with dark, reddish hair and a nice, slender body. She was very attractive, too, but Margo was the one who held his eye.

      She was even prettier than he remembered. Curvier. Sexier.

      But the dimples he’d noticed when she’d served him earlier that afternoon weren’t much in evidence now. She and her friend seemed to be having a pretty intense conversation. He wondered what about.

      He watched them surreptitiously for a while, and then he kicked himself. Two attractive women, about his age, sitting within a few yards of him? What was he waiting for?

      Robert slid his chair back and got to his feet.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “PHEW. SORRY ABOUT THAT.” Margo sank into the rattan couch next to Nora after running upstairs to check on the kids. On the table in front of them was the chocolate zucchini cake and a packet of photographs she’d put there earlier.

      “No problem,” Nora assured her. “Everything okay?”

      “Both sound asleep.” Stairs from the bistro kitchen ran up to the door of their apartment so it was easy for Margo to run back and forth. It was like being on different levels in a multi-level home, but just to be cautious Margo also had a two-way monitor set up so they could talk to one another if needed. She placed the small receiver on the table, next to the cake. “So how was your week?”

      “Busy.” Nora sighed. “Like usual.”

      As well as being the mother of an active little boy, Nora had a full-time job as a physiotherapist. On top of all that, her sister was living with her but not paying her share of the household expenses.

      “How are Suzanne’s wedding plans coming along?”

      “I’m not sure. Suzanne’s being a little cagey lately. I hope her fiancé knows what he’s getting into. I love my sister, but—”

      She didn’t need to say any more. Suzanne was a charming person, but not exactly reliable where money was concerned.

      “So how about you, Margo?” Nora helped herself to a piece of the cake, then lost no time digging in to it.

      “It’s been one of those days….”

      “Oh?”

      “I had a call from my ex. But first, take a look at these.” Margo slipped the photographs from their packet. “I had the pictures from last week’s party developed. There are some really cute ones of Danny.”

      Like any proud mother, Nora reached for the pictures eagerly. She’d oohed and aahed through about half of them when she suddenly stopped. Leaning close to Margo she whispered, “Who is that guy? In the back. The one staring at you?”

      Margo felt a prickling at the base of her neck. Not a creepy, icky prickling, but a sensual, exciting sort of tingle.

      She knew without looking.

      He’d come back.

      She pretended to check out the washroom door. Yes, it was Suit Guy, only he wasn’t dressed in his suit now, but in jeans and a T-shirt and he looked hot.

      Suddenly she became very aware of the ambiance in the room. In the daytime, when sunlight streamed in from the floor-to-ceiling windows and highlighted the lemon tree and the hibiscus, the bistro’s annex room had the feel of a greenhouse.

      At night, however, when she drew the ginger-colored curtains and lit the candles, then the annex was transformed into an intimate, slightly exotic place—a world away from the bustle of cosmopolitan San Francisco on the other side of the walls.

      In short, it became a room perfect for romance….

      “Is he looking this way?” she asked Nora.

      “Not anymore. Now he’s eating his soup. Do you know him?”

      “He came in yesterday, then again this afternoon. But the answer is no. I don’t know him.” That shadow of a memory just would not take substantial shape. She wondered if perhaps she just wished she’d met him before.

      “Would you like another piece of cake?” Margo asked. Nora was already finished her first and was sipping on her chai latte.

      “Forget the cake. How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?”

      “Are you trying to be cruel?” No one knew better than Nora the pathetic state of her social life. That was one of the subjects they often talked about—how hard it was to meet men when you had kids and worked full-time.

      Sometimes Margo wondered if that part of her life was over for good.

      “Wait.” Nora tried to appear blasé. “He’s looking this way again.”

      “Probably at you.”

      “No way. This one is yours, Margo. What are you going to do about it? He’s coming this way.”

      “He is not.” But he was. Margo couldn’t believe it. She set down her fork, but in her nervousness, she knocked aside the photographs she and Nora had been looking at.

      Several of the glossy four-by-sixes fell to the floor.

      Suit Guy scooped them up as if he’d crossed the room for exactly that purpose. Before handing them over, he glanced at the photos and frowned.

      “Thank you.” Margo accepted the pictures and set them on the table. “That was clumsy of me.”

      The guy had boy-next-door looks, except for his eyes, which were darkly lashed and deeply blue. Right now those eyes seemed to be looking at everything in the room except her.

      “No problem. I was just coming by to, uh, to tell you how much I enjoy your soups. Do you make them here?”

      Soup? He’d crossed the room to ask about soup? Margo shot an “I told you this wasn’t what you thought it was” look at Nora. “Sure. We have a different special every day, and they’re all my own recipes. I’m glad you like them.”

      “The

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