“I don’t have one.” I didn’t. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Weber, not that I could see. He was smart and quick and easy to talk to—funny, in a dry sort of way. And he unnerved the hell out of me. “But he has designs.”

Muna blinked, waited for more, but there was no more. “And what do you have?”

“I . . . It’s . . .”

She smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get over there and talk to the nice man, before I do.”

I could almost feel Weber breathing behind me and he was half a diner away. There was something there, something I wanted, but would I want it when I got it? We could be completely incompatible, oil and water, night and day. I drummed my fingers on the counter, Muna watching.

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” I lifted off the stool.

Muna smiled, eyes sly. “I was just thinking that.”

I headed over, my shoulders squared. “You’re in my booth.” Weber smiled up at me. “I know. And it’s bugging the hell out of you.”

I slid in across from him, grumpy, but present. “That’s what you’re trying to do? Bug me?”

“I’ll add ‘territorial’ to the list of things I’m learning about you.”

“You have a list?”

“You’ve got one, too.”

I slid a sideways glance at Muna. She was watching from the counter as though this was an Ibsen play and she’d paid good money for front-row seats. He was right, of course. Every woman had a list. I watched as he folded his newspaper and pushed it aside, giving me his full attention. His piercing eyes, the color of almonds, lasered in, and I held the gaze for way longer than I should have. He smelled nice. The graying at his temples, the crinkling around his eyes, were Mother Nature’s low blows.

“Look, Weber . . .”

“Eli. Around the district, some of the guys call me Fish, but I don’t think I want you calling me that.”

I angled my head, smiled, forgetting about the cheeseburger I’d craved when I walked in. “Fish?”

“That’s third date information. This is date two.” He eyed the plastic tablecloth and Deek’s flimsy silverware. “Not exactly four-star, but we’re working our way up, considering we started in the hospital.”

I leaned back, took all of him in. “You’re overestimating my level of interest.”

He shrugged. He took nonchalance to championship level. “I don’t think so. You’re still sitting there.”

We sat quietly for a time and the silence didn’t feel at all strained or awkward. I couldn’t catch a break. I leaned forward again, prepared to rebuff, but lost the will, and leaned back again.

“I ordered lunch,” he said finally. “Let’s eat.”