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for drinks. It had all been so off the cuff, and so out of character for her. What if he didn’t show or, worse, happened into the bar while she was waiting and looked surprised—chagrined—annoyed?
    And if she was this nervous about something as simple as a drink in a classy, public bar, she’d definitely let her dating tools rust.
    She stepped in through etched-glass doors and smiled at the woman working behind the black oak bar.
    “Hi, Jackie.”
    “Hey, Laine. What can I get you?”
    “Nothing yet.” She scanned the dimly lit room, the plush red sofas and chairs. A few businessmen, two couples, a trio of women starting a girls’ night out with a fancy drink. But no Max Gannon.
    She chose a table where she wouldn’t actually face the door but could observe it. She started to pick up the bar menu just to do something with her hands, then decided it might make her look bored. Or hungry. God.
    Instead, she took out her cell and used it to check for messages on her home answering machine. There weren’t any, of course, since she’d only walked out the door twenty minutes earlier. But there were two hangups, a couple minutes apart.
    She was frowning over that when she heard him speak.
    “Bad news?”
    “No.” Both flustered and pleased, she disconnected, then dropped the phone into her purse. “Nothing important.”
    “Am I late?”
    “No. I’m irritatingly prompt.” It surprised her that he sat beside her on the little sofa rather than across the table in the chair. “Habit.”
    “Did I mention you smell great?”
    “Yes, you did. I never asked what you were doing in the Gap.”
    “Some business, which I’ve managed to extend a few more days. Due to local attractions.”
    “Really.” She wasn’t nervous anymore, and wondered why she had been. “We have a number of them. There are some wonderful trails through the mountains if you like to hike.”
    “Do you?” He brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. “Like to hike.”
    “I don’t make much time for it. The store keeps me busy. And your business?”
    “Fills the day,” he said, and glanced up when the waitress stopped by their table.
    “What can I get you?”
    She was new, and not someone Laine recognized. “Bombay martini, straight up, two olives. Iced.”
    “That sounds perfect. Make it two. Did you grow up here?” he asked Laine.
    “No, but I imagine it would be nice to grow up here. Small-town enough without being Mayberry, close enough to the city without being crowded. And I like the mountains.”
    She remembered this part of the first-date ritual. It hadn’t been that long. “Do you still live in Savannah?”
    “New York primarily, but I travel a lot.”
    “For?”
    “Business, pleasure. Insurance, but don’t worry, I’m not selling.”
    The waitress brought the glasses and shakers on a tray and poured the drinks at the table. She set down a silver bowl of sugared nuts, then slipped discreetly away.
    Laine lifted hers, smiled over the rim. “To your mother.”
    “She’d like that.” He tapped his glass to hers. “How’d you come to running an antique store?”
    “I wanted a place of my own. I always liked old things, the continuity of them. I don’t mind paperwork, but I didn’t want to work in an office all day.” Comfortable now, she settled back with her drink, shifting her body so they could continue the flirtatious eye contact along with the small talk. “I like buying and selling, and seeing what people buy and sell. So I put all that together and opened Remember When. What kind of insurance?”
    “Corporate, mainly. Boring. Family in the area?”
    Okay, she thought, doesn’t want to talk about his work, particularly. “My parents live in New Mexico. They moved there several years ago.”
    “Brothers, sisters?”
    “Only child. You?”
    “I’ve got one of each. Two nephews and a niece out of them.”
    “That’s nice,” she said and meant it. “I always envy families, all the noise and