I do like good food. All our friends in Seattle used to enjoy going out to eat, trying new restaurants, pretending we were foodies. It was one of the things we did together as couples and one of the things I miss most. “Sounds wonderful.”

He looks around. “So you’re not here with anyone?”

“Nope.” He seems to be waiting for more information, and I reluctantly fill him in. “I was supposed to be here with a girlfriend, but at the last moment her husband got sick and couldn’t watch the kids, so here I am.”

“On your own.”

“I don’t mind,” I say quickly, not liking the way he made being on my own sound.

“You’re not married?”

“Was.”

“Me, too.” He smiles ruefully. “Four times. And after the last I’ve decided I’m not going to marry again. Just have girlfriends.”

“Sounds sensible.”

“And you? Married just that once?”

God, yes. How many husbands should someone my age have collected? “Just one.”

“Kids?”

“Two.”

“I don’t have kids,” Butch says, shaking his head. “Never wanted them before—”

“Your wives didn’t?” I can’t help interrupting.

“One and two might have, but three and four, no. Especially not after they had work done. They wouldn’t want to risk ruining the surgeries.”

“Ah.”

Butch leans closer, still staring at me intently. “Have you had anything done? Well, not a boob job, obviously, but anything to your face?”

So he’s saying I’m flat chested. Lovely. “No, it’s all my own face. Wrinkles, scars, and all.”

“I don’t see any wrinkles, and you’ve got a great nose.”

“Thanks.”

“Are those your green eyes or contact lenses?”

“My eyes, but I think they’re hazel.”

“They look pretty green to me, baby.”

For a moment there’s silence, and I can feel Butch’s gaze sliding over me, weighing, weighting, examining. He’s an expert in female flesh, and as someone who obviously hasn’t had a boob job, I’m beginning to feel a little lacking and decide it’s time to go. I begin gathering my things, thrusting lotion, sunglasses, and book into my tote bag.

“Let me take you to dinner,” Butch says. “There are some great places here in Honolulu. You just have to know where to find them.”

I’m on my feet but can’t find one sandal. “You’re probably right.”

“You haven’t been out of the hotel yet, have you?”

Distractedly, I search for the missing sandal, wanting to escape, needing to escape, but trapped by the shoe situation. “Not yet, but will soon.”

“I’d love to take you out tonight, show you some of my favorite places.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, fight a wave of frustration. Where the hell did that shoe go? “That’s a really nice offer, but I’ve plans for tonight.”

He looks surprised. “You do?”