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Maybe they could make an attempt at mending their fractured friendship.
    “I’d love to. Give me a minute to lock up these receipts and the deposit, and I’m yours.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed inwardly. Very poor choice of words there, girl. Let’s not open old wounds.
    Max sat down in the chair opposite hers, resting one booted foot atop his knee. “Do what you’ve got to do. I’m not in any rush.” He leaned back, tilting the chair on to two legs, balancing precariously.
    Locking the money and receipts in the wall safe, Theresa grimaced when she looked down at her attire. Not exactly going out on the town clothes. They were her usual working ensemble of loose unstructured blouse with a billowy, multicolored peasant skirt. Wearing the oversized clothing made her more comfortable around the public, and she shied away from clothes that exposed much skin or emphasized her figure.
    Grabbing her purse and keys, she turned back to Max. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
    The chair thumped solidly against the gleaming wooden floor as Max stood with an easy, practiced motion, graceful and sexy at the same time. Sometimes just catching a glimpse of him made her desire rise. To have him here, alone with her, made Theresa’s thoughts turn lustful. His long dark hair shone, catching the light, accentuating his steel-gray eyes. Her attraction to him as inevitable as the sun rising in the east each day.
    “You in any particular mood?”
    “What?” Her voice squeaked. He couldn’t possibly know what she’d been thinking. Could he?
    Max grinned, the corner of his mouth tugging up, a calculated gleam in his eyes. “Food. You in the mood for anything in particular?”
    She thought for a minute. She was a sucker for seafood, and if he was offering a choice…
    “Never mind, I know. Seafood it is.”
    “Am I that predictable?”
    Max winked. “Nope, I just know what you like.”
    ***
    They walked to a cozy restaurant off Bourbon Street, a place frequented by regulars and tourists alike. Prices were reasonable and the food was superb.
    Within minutes they were seated at a secluded table outside in the garden patio. The smells wafting up from the kitchen boasted an aroma of the finest ingredients and made ordering a chore. With so many choices, they finally settled on the special—a jambalaya with rice, a local blend of seafood, spicy and fragrant. Fresh-baked crusty French bread accompanied the meal, and Max ordered a bottle of white wine.
    The busy streets of the French Quarter could be heard but the sounds were muted by the bougainvillea-covered wrought-iron fence and the wind whispering through the tree branches, creating a gentle breeze not too cool for the November evening.
    They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the quality of the food and the company. Theresa’s glance continually swept over Max.
    He caught her looking at him, and a smile played around his full sexy lips. Theresa wondered if she’d ever feel those lips kissing hers again. She missed the tingling electric pulse she felt when his skin touched hers, the zing of awareness when his hands caressed her.
    “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you anything more from Tommy’s room today. I’d hoped to get something, but sometimes it’s like that, nothing cooperates.”
    Max leaned back in his chair, pushing his plate away.
    “Tell me about your psychic ability. I’d like to understand more about it.”
    Theresa hesitated before answering. She didn’t like to talk about her gift. She didn’t shun her abilities, but neither did she broadcast the fact she had them.
    “Mostly what I have is called psychometric ability or psychometry. That’s where I touch something, like Tommy’s cell phone, and get an image or vision from it. It’s not the full extent of my abilities, but it’s probably my strongest.”
    ***
    “How long have you been able to do this? All your life?” Max studied her face. If he hadn’t