Page 32 of Protecting Peyton

Damn Grace. Did everybody know my business? “Those were my doctor’s orders.”

“To give cognitive tests?”

“Concussion tests.”

“Whatever. I’ll volunteer for any test he wants to give me.”

“He’s all yours.” Suddenly, I saw the way out of my predicament, and her name was Marci.

March eyedan outside table near the windows and cocked his head. “What about that one?”

We were at Bella’s Steakburgers, a quaint place I’d tried once when I first arrived in town. They grilled their tasty burgers over charcoal and loaded on the extras. Plus, it was far enough away from work that we wouldn’t run into anyone.

I strode to a different outside table, nearest the street. “This one has nice shade.” The other table had close neighboring tables, and we could be overheard more easily.

He shrugged and set his tray down across from the chair I’d selected.

I patted the chair next to me, so we’d be sitting at a right angle to each other rather than across the table. “I’d like you closer.”

This table and the seating were both techniques I’d read about to avoid being overheard. How strange was it that I now combed the internet for techniques to avoid being noticed while on the run?

He smiled. “Now those are words I’ve been waiting to hear.”

Not what I intended, but it would work with what I was about to propose. “Calm down. I just want to be able to talk without yelling.”

He held my chair out for me before taking his own. Then he scanned the sky for a moment. “It’s nice to be able to spend some time outside in the fresh air and sunshine, isn’t it?” He dipped a French fry in ketchup—a lot of ketchup—and downed it.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “It is nice in this part of the country.” I was more dainty in my approach, but devoured the first of my fries as well.

“Thank you for agreeing to lunch,” he said. “Sub sandwiches with the guys was getting pretty boring.”

I laughed. “I’m glad you consider me an adequate replacement.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Angel.”

That dangerously sweet nickname surfaced again.

“Dig in.” I pointed at his burger. “The food here is pretty good.”

He added more ketchup to his plate. “I love these fries,” he mumbled.

“They’re so good, I call them conveyor fries. You can’t stop eating ’em, and they become a ketchup conveyor to your mouth.”

He nodded as he dunked another two in the red sauce.

I picked up my burger and realized how much I’d missed this. I hadn’t had lunch like this with anyone since leaving Boston, except for two times with Grace.

He finished munching. “I would like to know a lot more, but at least I learned one thing about you today.”

I lifted a French fry. “Really?”

He took his time, dipping a fry in the ketchup before answering. “You’re not a vegetarian.”

“True.” I ate the fry.

“So you chose two lunches instead of a dinner.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t win, so this isn’t one of two.”