“Is that for me?” he asked about the glass in her hand.

“Oh! Yes. Of course. Sorry.” She put down a napkin and the water he didn’t want.

Courtney was a psychic. She shrugged and nodded, apology already glowing in her cheeks. “I brought that just in case you were thirsty while you waited. They’re brewing fresh coffee.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

“Would you like to hear about today’s special features and our boat-to-table catch of the day?”

Owen liked eye contact, and never more than when his focus met up with that of someone who didn’t know what to do with it. It was one-stop shopping for a quick dose of entertainment. Drama, tragedy, horror, comedy. Poor Courtney.

“No. The coffee is all.”

“Oh. Sure. Okay. No problem. That’s fine.” Courtney stammered through every expression of cooperation she could think of while Owen blinked over her efforts.

“Don’t worry. I tip well.”

“No! You don’t have to. I mean, I wasn’t expecting . . . It’s no trouble. Coffee’s easy. No big deal. Really. I’ll just go check and see if it’s ready.”

“Thank you, Courtney.”

She evaporated into the gloom.

The napkin went soggy as the water glass sweated down its sides. The door opened and Jonathan came in, red faced, searching the room for Owen with little birdlike jerks of his head. Owen raised his hand to flag his attention. Jonathan nodded, just an angry up-snap of his chin, and puffed himself smooth with a big, bracing breath. Owen watched him trace the maze through the giant booths. It was hard to do, navigating the murky feng shui and trying to look tough doing it. Owen almost felt sorry for him.

He didn’t get up as Jonathan dropped into the seat across from him. “You son of a bitch—”

“Take it easy.”

Jonathan leaned in to make more out of his furious whisper than it was ever going to be worth. “Don’t you tell me to take it easy.”

“No, seriously, take it easy,” Owen said at normal volume, and looked up over Jonathan’s shoulder. “Hi, Courtney. Thank you.”

The waitress, with Owen’s coffee saucer pinched in both nervous hands, swallowed hard and came on the last few steps to the table.

“Jonathan, this is Courtney.”

The two looked at each other, helpless to go against the rules of introduction. Courtney, so far off script, seemed at a loss for words.

Owen helpfully broke her silence for her. “Can she bring you a craft cocktail? Perhaps the boat-to-table catch of the day?” Owen winked at the girl, whose bewilderment was taking on an edge of real worry.

“Nothing for me, thanks.” Jonathan stabbed at Owen with a glare.