Kathee pops her gum. I know her name is Kathee because of the white plastic name tag. “Sure thing, sugar.”

I hate it when strangers call me by some generic term of endearment like “sugar” or “honey” or “sweetie.” It is an aversion I inherited from Moony.

Daniel winks at me. “We’re looking for a place called Fortune’s Gate. Ever heard of it?”

She chews her bottom lip and casts her eyes up. “Nope, can’t say that I have.”

Daniel looks defeated. He leans toward the waitress, and I watch her catch her ponytail with a finger and twirl it.

“Do you think you could ask around for me? Maybe someone else here has? It’s supposed to be in the neighborhood.” He flashes a boyish smile at her, and she practically skips back to the kitchen.

I roll my eyes. I doubt he is unaware of his effect on her.

“I saw a gas station next door with a tire shop in it. We can ask there too,” he says.

“I don’t think there will be someone like Kathee at the tire shop for you to work your magic on.” I cannot miss the sting in my tone, a dash of bitters to wash the sarcasm down. I feel like my mom, small and paranoid. I instantly wish I could gobble the words from the air before they reach Daniel’s ears. Instead, I shove a large bite of lemon pie in my mouth and blush.

Daniel leans back and appraises me. “Okay. I see how it is. This is a side of Cat I haven’t met before. Hi, jealous. I’m Daniel.” He laughs easily at my discomfort, and I nearly choke on lemon and whipped sugar.

I’m wiping meringue off my mouth with a napkin when Kathee returns.

“Sorry, hon. No place by that name around here. I asked everyone in the kitchen.”

“Thanks for trying,” Daniel says, flashing his grin at me instead of her. “Must be closed.”

She shrugs her polyester-clad shoulders. “Never heard of it. You sure you aren’t looking in the wrong district?”

“Probably.”

“You might try Central City or Uptown,” she says with a nod.

“We’ll do that,” he agrees.

But I know I did not read the listing wrong. We’re in the right place. It’s Fortune’s Gate that is lost.

We get up after paying and head out the glass door to the small, pockmarked parking lot. An older woman follows us out.

“You asking about Fortune’s Gate?” she says with a raspy smoker’s voice.

Daniel and I turn. I give him a wary look. “Yeah. You know it?”