Page 45 of Wicked Games

“No, love, this is all my idea.” Lucien parked the car and killed the engine. “Sal’s is down the road on the left.”

“Is it wrong for me to hope Renaldo isn’t available?”

“Even if he is, I have a special night planned for the two of us.”

“You do?” I asked. “When did you have time to make plans?”

“I reserved a table at Edge Steak & Bar at the Four Seasons when I booked our room. The rest I thought of during our flight.”

“I have some surprises of my own,” I said.

“I can’t wait. Let’s check in at Sal’s first.”

The very air around us pulsed with life and activity. Street musicians entertained the tourists and couples who danced to the lively rhythm. Beneath the shade of palm trees, older gentlemen played dominoes while appearing to hold deep conversations. From the open doorway of restaurants, mouth-watering aromas and more music spilled out onto the sidewalks.

“This is going to be an eating holiday,” I told Lucien. “I want one of everything.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Sal’s was a café located in a row of stucco buildings; each one painted a different pastel color. Sal’s was pale yellow with robin’s-egg blue trim. Judging by the long line, it was a popular place to eat.

“Shall we,” Lucien asked, gesturing to the back of the line. “Our dinner reservation isn’t until seven thirty so we might as well get a bite to eat. It feels like a million years ago since we ate the chicken pecan salad sandwiches on the plane.”

“I’m famished,” I agreed.

“It’s the sunshine and lively atmosphere,” said a short woman at the back of the line. She was barely over five feet tall and wore a large straw hat and oversized sunglasses to protect her eyes and face from the vibrant sun. “A combination that puts me in the mood to eat every time.”

“I’m always in the mood to eat,” said the man holding her hand. He was only a few inches taller than the woman. He wore a snazzy white Panama hat with a black band above the brim.

“It’s true,” the woman said then giggled.

“We were just saying that we’re making this an eating vacation,” Lucien told them.

There wasn’t a trace of the accent I loved in his voice. It was all I could do not to stare at him in shock. I realized I needed to let him lead so I didn’t make any wrong moves.

“We’re the Watsons,” she said. “I’m Desiree, and this is my husband, Dennis. We’re celebrating our wedding anniversary. Are y’all in town for business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both,” Lucien said. “My name is Lucien, and this is my boyfriend, Ryder.” He’d decided to stick with real names, but I guess it made sense. We weren’t there to steal—er—recover anything. Why did he hide his accent then?

Boyfriend, huh? I liked it. If the Watsons were shocked by Lucien’s openness, they didn’t show it.

“Where are you boys from?” Dennis asked.

Lucien placed his hand at the small of my back, which I took as a cue to field the question. It would look odd to them if Lucien did all the answering. “We’re from Cincinnati,” I said, deciding to stick to the truth as best I could.

“We’re from Atlanta, but we’ve been to Cincinnati several times to watch the Braves play. Great America Ballpark is cute.” Cute? Kittens are cute.

“I’m a huge Reds fan,” I told them. “I do admire the Braves organization. They’ve mastered the art of staying competitive for decades.”

“Yes, but we just can’t seem to go the distance,” Dennis said.

“Oh, Cincinnati fans know the frustration well.”

“Is this your first trip to Miami?” Desiree asked.

“It’s not, but this is our first trip to Miami together,” Lucien said. “So, it feels like the first time in many ways.”

“We come a lot,” Dennis told us. “Would you like some recommendations for great places to eat? The best restaurants don’t show up in those online articles.”