John nodded, seeming to accept this. Zoebreathed an internal sigh of relief. She had to focus, not count the four timeshis head tipped forward at a thirty-degree angle and the shine on his well-keptbrown hair appeared in the lights, or the six glasses going by on the tray heldby the five-foot-six waitress or the—
Zoe blinked, trying to refocus her eyeson John and her ears on what he was saying.
“So, I had to say to him, ‘Sorry, Mike,but it’s such a shame I have to go out on a date tonight,’” he laughed.
Zoe frowned. “You could have rescheduledif the date is inconvenient to you,” she said. “I would not mind.”
“What? No!” John said, at first leaningback in alarm and then grasping her hand again. “God, no, Zoe. I’ve beenlooking forward to seeing you again. That was just—I was being sarcastic. Orironic, or something. I always forget which is which. Honestly, I wouldn’tcancel our date just for a work thing.”
Zoe’s eyes flicked down to her plate, bynow empty of the excellent salmon roulades with lemon beurre blanc that hadbeen her main course. This was the most recommended date spot in Washington,D.C., for a meal, and she could barely remember eating it.
She wasn’t sure that she could say thatshe would always put John first. After all, she was an FBI agent. She wasexpected to drop her life in order to pursue a case, not the other way around.She reached up self-consciously to tuck a strand of her short brown hair behindher ear, feeling as she did that it was one centimeter longer than she liked tohave it cut. Things had been hectic lately. No time for the daily tasks thatkept life going.
“I mean, of course I get it that youmight have to cancel sometimes,” John said, sipping at his wine nonchalantly asif he hadn’t just managed to read her mind. “You have to stop serial killersfrom going on murder sprees. Your job is important. No one’s going to be upsetif I don’t stay at the office all night trying to figure out if there’s acommon property line across three different surveys from the 1800s and whetherthey can be applied to my client’s case. Except maybe my client, and he will bebenefitted by the excellent mood I’ll wake up in tomorrow knowing that I spentmy evening with you.”
“You are too nice to me,” Zoe told him. “Always.I do not understand it.”
It was true; she didn’t. She had messedup their first date completely, and on their second, she had dragged him out toa hospital to try and trace the records of a potential killer. Then he’d waitedfor her in the cold, because she—unthinkingly—had not bothered to tell him thatshe could find her own way home. Not many men would have wanted to sign up fora third date—and this was their fifth.
“You don’t have to understand it,” Johnsaid, smoothing his tie for the eleventh time that night in a gesture that shewas beginning to recognize. “You just have to accept my opinion that youdeserve it. I’m not being too nice. I’m being just nice enough. In fact, Icould be nicer.”
“You could not be nicer. It would beagainst the laws of physics and nature.”
“Well, who needs those, anyway?” John flashedher that bright smile of his again and leaned back as the waiter collectedtheir empty plates.
“So, what are you working on at themoment?” she asked, thinking she should try to take more of an interest in hislife. He was always so attentive in asking about hers. Was she messingeverything up? She was messing everything up, wasn’t she?
“Like I told you, it’s the ancestralproperty line row,” John said, giving her a little puzzled frown. “Are you sureyou’re feeling all right?”
Zoe looked up at him, meeting his eyeswith pupils that were just slightly dilated in the dim light of the restaurant,hearing the four beats of the gentle piano music in the background and how eachnote moved one up, one down, one up, half a note up, one down. If only she couldturn the numbers off, or at least dim their volume. She needed to focus on Johnand what he was telling her, but nothing in her brain would stop. She justneeded it to stop. Everything was spiraling, and she was no longer sure thatshe could regain control.
“I guess I am a little tired,” she said.As far as excuses went, it seemed like it might be semi-acceptable. If therecould ever be any excuse for failing to give him the courtesy of her attention.
He didn’t know about her ability to seethe numbers everywhere, in everything, and she wasn’t about to tell him. Notfor the fourteen hundred fifty-three dollars and nineteen cents’ worth ofdishes and drinks she had seen pass by their table in the hands of the waitstaff since they sat down one hour and thirteen minutes ago.
“I have had a wonderful night,” shesaid. The worst part was that she meant it. When John spent all of their timetogether being accommodating and making her feel good, why couldn’t she atleast listen to him?
“Well, I had an awful time. Shall we doit again next week?” he said, wiping his smile with a napkin. Even though heglimmered at her, his eyes sparking with a mischievousness that match the unevencurves of his mouth, it still took her a moment to realize he was joking. Thewords cut her to the core at the thought she might have ruined everything
“I would like that,” Zoe said, nodding,holding her emotions inside. “Next week it is.”
She got up to go, knowing by now that hewould refuse to allow her to pay the ninety-eight dollars and thirty-two centsthey had racked up on the bill, plus the tip.
Though it flashed through her mind, shedidn’t say out loud that it would take luck for her to keep their appointment.Being an active agent meant that you never
