I?” he asked, pointing to the empty chair.
His voice was low. Careful. I looked up.
The man was tall, fit, around my age, and expensively dressed in a charcoal jacket. Something about his eyes tugged at a corner of my mind I couldn’t quite reach.
Before I could place him or answer, he sat down.
“I’m sorry,” I said, drawing my napkin closer to me. “I’m actually expecting friends.”
“I know. Hal and Marjorie. They’re not coming for another 40 minutes.” He gave a small, apologetic smile. “I asked
