"This is great," I said, tapping the steak. "I haven't had one like this in a long time."
"Yeah?" He waved his fork over his plate. "To Evelyn? This is workman's food. Me? Growing up? Rich people's food. We'd dream about eating like this. See it in movies, magazines." He cut off a generous slice. "I was a kid? Used to brag. Saying I'd be rich. Live in America. Eat steak every day."
I smiled. "Did you ever do that?"
"Tried. After my first big job? Ate at places like this almost two weeks straight. Made myself sick."
I laughed. "I'll bet."
I could have prodded more personal information from him, maybe asked if he'd known Evelyn at the time and what she'd thought of that. Innocent questions that I suspected he'd answer. But that seemed manipulative, tricking him into revealing more.
Was I interested in knowing more? Sure. Jack played a significant role in my life, yet I knew next to nothing about the man. Curiosity was a given.
When Evelyn had tempted me with details on Jack, goading me about being interested, I'm sure this casual curiosity wasn't what she'd meant. Was I interested in Jack? Physically attracted to him? Maybe to Evelyn the question should have an easy answer. He was a man, not unattractive, and available, at least in the sense that he was right there, with no immediate competition in sight. Maybe, to her, it was as simple as "yes, I'm interested" or "sorry, not my type."
Jack wasn't my type. Far from it. But when I looked at him, across the table, even asking myself "am I interested?" threw up a mess of incomplete and conflicting emotions...and an overriding sense that any time I spent untangling my feelings for him would be wasted, because he was clearly not interested in me.
I'd worked with enough men to sense, almost immediately, whether I was in danger of being cornered in a dark alley on patrol or followed to my car postshift with a shy "You doing anything tonight?" With Jack, that radar didn't even turn on.
When the server asked whether we wanted to see the dessert menu, Jack didn't consult me, just said yes, two please.
"What're you getting?" he asked after I'd surveyed mine for a minute.
"I don't think I could finish anything..."
"So don't finish. That's the point of dessert. You don't need it."
I smiled. "Are you getting something?"
"'Course. Eat like this? Gotta have dessert. Rich people do."
My smile grew, and I ordered an apple-caramel something-or-other and a coffee.
When it arrived, he asked, "So, the money. What're your plans? Something for the lodge?"
It took a moment to realize he meant the payment for this "job." "We need to catch him first."
"We will. Got plans?"
"I haven't thought about it," I said as I cut into my dessert. "The Moretti job will pay for the roof and prewinter repairs. I think I'll use this for extras."
"That deck by the lake? You mentioned that this summer."
"I did." I leaned back with my coffee. "I really want to work on snagging more of the romantic getaway market for summer. Winter is easy--couples just want to hole up in a warm room and have someone else cook comfort food for them. Summer needs more. Owen and I have plans for a picnic spot in the meadow. I'd been hoping by next fall I could afford a gazebo, for the following summer."
"There you go. Buy yourself one this spring. Get one for the deck, too."
"That'd be nice. A big deck at the waterfront, plus a gazebo over the edge. Maybe even upgrade to ones with screens for black-fly s
eason and cooler weather. It'd make a great place for couples to have a drink or--" I tapped my pastry. "Coffee and slice of Emma's pie. It'd photograph well for the brochure. I'd take the picture of the meadow picnic spot when the spring flowers are out. And the other one by the lake at sunset."
My mind racing ahead, planning. All the tension and frustration from earlier, from hearing the killer's letter, had evaporated. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the good food. Maybe it was just being away, comfortable and relaxed. Whatever the reason, the fire in my gut had stopped burning, and I could see beyond this case, to a time when it would be over and I'd be reaping the rewards--the monetary ones and the deeper, more meaningful ones.
I glanced at Jack. "First, we need to catch this guy."
"Still gonna get paid. Only difference? Afford two gazebos or four. I'd count on four."
I smiled. "You do have an optimistic streak." I sipped my coffee. "As much as I'm enjoying this break, should we talk about tomorrow?"