The Boyfriend by Thomas Perry Page B

and smiled as she approached. When she reached him she stopped and stood still, expecting, like a model, to be looked at and appraised. Instead, Till took her hand, leaned to her, and gave her a peck on the cheek, and then gestured toward the other armchair ninety degrees from his at the low table. As she sat, he raised his hand to call the waitress.
    The waitress came and said, “What can I get you, sir?”
    He looked at Kyra. “What would you like?”
    “What are you having?”
    “This is just tonic. I’d like one now with gin in it, please. Hendrick’s with a slice of cucumber.”
    “I’ll have one too,” said Kyra. As the waitress scurried off Kyra said, “Unless you don’t want me to drink.”
    Till said, “I don’t have a preference. I want you to be comfortable, and I’ve found that most people feel comfortable having a drink before dinner.”
    “Thanks,” she said. She moved only her eyes, scanning to take in the people around her. A couple passed on their way to another set of chairs grouped around a table. Then it seemed safe for her to speak. “I recognized you from your pictures on Google. You look better in person. I saw you, then called your number to see if you reached for a phone. I was glad when I saw you answer, because it meant you were you, not that guy by the bar.”
    He followed her eyes. The man was tall and light-haired like Till, but ten years older. “Thank you.”
    The waitress brought the drinks, and Till paid in cash and gave her a ten-dollar tip. He raised his glass. “Cheers.”
    “Cheers.” She sipped. “Oh. It smells like flowers.”
    “It does, but fortunately, it tastes like gin.”
    The waitress moved off, and Kyra looked around again. “When is our dinner reservation?”
    “We’ll go in after we’ve talked a bit and finished our drinks.”
    “Okay,” she said. “What do you like to talk about, usually?”
    “Let’s start with Phoenix. Do you like it here?”
    She gave a practiced gesture that looked like a shrug, but was a pose. “I like it a lot when it’s seventy-two degrees in February, not so much when it’s a hundred and eleven in May.” She smiled. “What do you like the best about it?”
    “So far, you,” he said. “But you’re probably not from here originally, are you?”
    “Uh-oh,” she said. “This is something we should talk about. You’re such a pleasant guy, I can tell you’re sensitive. You’ll understand that I don’t like to tell a gentleman a lot of personal information about my history and stuff. I need to protect my family, who don’t know what I do for a living. But I don’t want to say no to you about anything, so if you’d like, I’ll make up a good story to tell you, and it will feel fine, but it can’t be true.”
    “I understand perfectly. I was just forgetting to look at things from your point of view. Sorry. If something like that comes up again, just tell me you’re from Jupiter.”
    “Thanks,” she said. “I’m beginning to like you a lot,” she said. She grasped his forearm. “Maybe you were a girl in a past life.”
    “If I had a past life I was probably a rattlesnake or a garbanzo bean.”
    She laughed. “I don’t think so.”
    They chatted for a time, and then he set down his empty glass. “Are you getting hungry?”
    “If you are.” She set her glass down, although she’d had less than half of it.
    “Then let’s have dinner,” he said.
    They stood and walked together into Wright’s. It was hard not to be put into a good mood by the room, with its high walls, the tall pillars of distinctive molded bricks, and the windows looking out on green vegetation. The hostess conducted them to a table on the right beneath the big skylight. As soon as she was gone, he said, “Would you like a fresh drink?”
    “If you’d like.”
    “I’m asking sincerely.”
    She smiled and the candles on the table made two small stars in her blue eyes. “Jack, you don’t hire escorts very often, do