Page 50 of Rewrites of the Heart

“We are so honored to have you here tonight,” Mario said.

“Indeed, we are honored to have you here tonight,” repeated Luigi, adding, “We hope you find everything to your satisfaction.”

Feeling a bit uncomfortable because the pair hadn’t yet taken their eyes off of her, she managed a nervous smile and answered. “I’m quite sure we will. This is the first time I’ve ever been here.”

“Oh yes, we know,” said Mario.Or was that Luigi?

“But we’re hoping it won’t be the last,” the other added. “If you need anything at all, Ms. Yaki, you just ask your server. He’s the best we have. And if that doesn’t satisfy you, then you request us.” Mario winked and they toddled away.

She and Kenn sat silently for a moment, mouths agape. Kenn spoke first. “He called you Ms. Yaki. Do you know who he thinks you are?”

“Some misplaced Chinese take-out meal?”

“No, he thinks you’re the food critic for theBell Wyck Tribune.”

“No, he doesn’t. He couldn’t.” She knitted her brow and thought about it for a moment before dismissing the idea. “Absolutely not.”

“Her name is Teri Yaki.”

“Well, aren’t they going to be surprised when there’s no review in the paper tomorrow morning?” She laughed. She paused a beat. “They’ll be sorry they opened this bottle of wine.” She took another sip. “I find this very amusing. Embarrassing, but amusing.”

Chapter 36

It was a quiet Italian restaurant. Or at least it was until the two figures, clad in beige trench coats, wide-brimmed hats, and oversized sunglasses stepped in.

They paused briefly in the lobby ofMario and Luigi’s Italian Bistro. Alex lifted her sunglasses and swiftly, using exaggerated moves, scanned the layout. Taking several steps forward she poked her head into the dining area.

“Oooh!” she squealed.

Blake crossed over to her. “What? Where?”

“There,” Alex replied as she pointed at Kenn and JJ. “There they are.”

Before Blake could reply, she flipped her sunglasses back down over her eyes, tugged at his arm, and dragged him to the other end of the foyer.

They stepped around a family of four—a mom, dad, a girl who looked to be about twelve, and a very desolate-looking young man who obviously was a teenager—in the process.

“Come on, we’ve got to snag that booth before the maître d’ gives it away.” She picked up the pace, grabbed two menus from the side of the podium as she passed it—and dragging Blake every step of the way—furtively walked, using exaggerated tip-toed steps to the first artificial tree she found.

“Thank God this section of the place is lined with these trees,” she whispered to Blake, looking ahead to where the empty booth was.

“Spaghetti sounds good—but then filet sounds bloody good, too.” Apparently, he didn’t hear a word she had spoken.

She took her menu which had been covering her face as she walked and bopped him on the head with it.

“Focus, Blake, focus. Place the menu on the side of your face, like this.” She grabbed it out of his hands, closed it, and put it against his cheek to hide his identity.

“Now, we’ll tip-toe over to the next tree. Quietly but quickly.” Alex raised her left leg as if she were marching—only silently and slower, and much more deliberately than a march.

Blake sighed dramatically. “Is this really necessary?”

“Of course, it is. All the great spies have approached their targets this way.” She named some of the greatest spy duos in history.

“They’re all TV characters,” he complained.

She pushed a branch aside as she passed it, then let it go. The branch snapped back into its previous position, smacking her fellow spy in the face.

“Ouch. Watch it. And, just for your information, the last two are cartoon characters, for crying out loud.”

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