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onto our table, and Detective Lester Moore picked it up and popped it into his gorgeous mouth.
                  I couldn’t help myself this time. "Why'd you do that?"
                  "Do what?"
                  "How do you know this table's clean?"
                  He shrugged. "Five second rule."
                  "Yeah, you said that back in my brewery when you ate gum off the floor."
                  "So? This place is clean enough."
                  "Trust me, I wouldn’t eat here if I didn’t think it was the cleanest place in all of Carl's Cove, but that doesn’t mean you can eat directly off the tables."
                  "What are you, a germophobe?"
                  "No, I just think it's sometimes necessary not to comport oneself like a savage."
                  "I'm a savage because I obey the five second rule?"
                  "There's no such thing!"
                  "Look it up," he said. "It's scientifically valid."
                  "So is syphilis."
                  "You're kidding, right?"
                  "There are germs on this table. You do believe in germs, don’t you?"
                  "Of course, I just don’t think there's a likelihood of their infecting something I just dropped."
                  "That's insane. Do you know what kind of bacteria are lurking just under your nose?"
                  "Literally?"
                  "Yeah, now that you mention it. And figuratively."
                  "You're a fun date," he said. "Anyone ever tell you that?"
                  I felt it was a good time to back off. "I'm sorry. It's a thing with me."
                  "I'm not going to lie, man. That's weird."
                  "Yeah, and that's another thing. What's with 'man'?"
                  "What?"
                  "You have a habit of using 'man' even when you're talking to a woman, do you know that?"
                  "It's a habit. I don’t realize it. And by the way, have you realized that we're here about fifteen minutes and already you've criticized me for two habits? Anything else? Wanna try for a hat trick?"
                  "I just want to have lunch with someone who understands the basic rules of hygiene."
                  "I'm the cleanest guy you ever met."
                  I shook my head. "Whatever."
                  There was an awkward silence now. It was my fault, I admit. I really couldn’t help myself. We both ate in silence and refused to look at one another.
                  Then he did it. He picked up his napkin, dabbed the corners of his mouth, and said, in a faux-British accent, "Pardon me, do you happen to have an antiseptic wipe for my molars?"
                  I rolled my eyes at him. He smiled beautifully at me and I had trouble feeling the feelings I'd just been harboring for this animal.
                  "So," I said, "let's talk about murder."
                  "My favorite subject," he said.
                  "Is it really?"
                  "Sort of. I'm not a psychopath or anything. I hate the idea that people murder each other. But I like detective work. I like catching criminals."
                  "Fair enough," I said. "So, I've been thinking about this body we found in my alley."
                  "Jack Daltry."
                  "Hm?"
                  "Jack Daltry. Always remember a name. This is a human being we're talking about."
                  "Jack Daltry. He was a, what did you call it? A fence?"
                  "Correct."
                  "What is that?"
                  "A guy who