“The place was dark and warm and smelled like frying onions. Jack didn’t wait at the hostess stand, but steered her directly to a booth at the back of the dining room. Fiona slid into the polished wooden seat, relieved to be off her feet after so many hours standing in front of an easel. She heard a crack, and a shout came up from the back room. “It’s a pool hall, too?” she asked. “Food, drinks, pool. They’ve got a beer garden outside, although it’s closed now. Live music on Saturdays in the sum...mer.” “Sounds nice,” Fiona said. She hated beer, but the food and the music sounded pleasant. It was fairly crowded tonight, and she took that as a good recommendation. A waitress stopped by and asked for their drink orders. Jack had arrived at Fiona’s motel room wearing jeans and a faded black sweatshirt, so she guessed he was off the clock for the evening. “White wine, please,” Fiona said. The waitress lifted a brow. “I’ll see what we got.” Jack flashed the woman an apologetic smile and ordered a Budweiser.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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