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Copa preferred.
    Patrick saw some American tourists eating chicken with yogurt sauce on a patio and he decided he was hungry. He entered the restaurant and was told it would be a ten minute wait and he sat in the waiting area.
    “I like your bracelet,” the woman next to him said.
    “Thank you.”
    “Where’d you get it?”
    “It’s from Borneo. A tribesman whose home I stayed at there made it for me.”
    “What were you doing in Borneo?”
    “Same as I’m doing here I suppose.”
    “And what’s that?”
    “Hiding away from civilization.”
    She smiled. “Didn’t know it was looking for you.”
    “It’s sneaky that way.”
    She put her hand out. “I’m Jane Weston.”
    “Patrick Russell,” he said as he shook.
    “Ms. Weston,” the hostess said.
    “That’s me. It was nice meeting you.”
    “You too.”
    He watched her walk away, her sun dress wrinkled in the back and sticking to her thighs. He turned to his bracelet and looked it over. It was dark brown leather entwined with bamboo. He thought it looked like something a child would make, but nevertheless it was polite of her to mention something.
    A few minutes later the hostess came for him and he was sat out on the patio. Sitting by herself next to him, sipping a glass of white wine, was Jane.
    “Hello again,” he said.
    “Hi,” she said with a smile.
    “Are you eating alone?”
    “Just me tonight.”
    “Would you mind then if I joined you? I hate to eat alone. Food tastes better with company they say.”
    “Sure.”
    He pulled out a chair and sat down, ordering a scotch and water with a beer.
    “So where you from, Patrick? Not here I take it?”
    “No, Boston originally, but I grew up in Miami. I’ve been coming here for quite some time though. How bout you?”
    “California.”
    “Really? I love California. The beaches there are some of the best in the world.”
    The waiter came out with his drinks and placed them down. He then took a bowl of something brown and fried and put it on the table near Jane with lemon and butter. Patrick stared at the bowl, unblinkingly.
    “I hope you don’t mind,” Jane finally said, “I ordered an appetizer.”
    Patrick didn’t respond.
    “Do you not like calamari?”
    “No, I mean, yes. It’s fine. It’s fine. I just am, having one of those days I suppose.”
    She dipped one of the squid in the butter and sprayed lemon juice on it as Patrick watched. She popped it into her mouth and wiped at the oil on her lips with a linen napkin.
    “So,” she said, “what do you do in Miami?”
    “Nothing at the moment actually. I was in the army, but not anymore. My father has an exporting business and I suppose eventually I’ll become a part of that in some way. What about you?”
    “I’m a doctor.”
    “Oh really?”
    “Don’t look so surprised. We Californians like our women to be doctors.”
    “No, no, it’s not that at all. It’s just that all the doctors I ever knew were field doctors. Tough guys with scars and tattoos and all. I’ve just never seen a doctor so lovely.”
    She blushed and took another bite of the calamari.
    They ate and drank well into the night. When they were through Patrick offered to walk her back to her hotel and they strolled in the moonlight and spoke of her practice back home and how her father had been a doctor and how he had wanted a son but gotten only daughters. They spoke of his life in the military and she asked about the war and he changed the subject to something else.
    They stopped in front of a large white building with a red Spanish tile roof and the sign outside said it was a bed and breakfast. She turned to him and said, “This is me.”
    “Well,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a kiss, “I had a fun evening. I hope we can do it again.”
    “I do too. I’m here at the hotel for another week and then I’m off to Mexico for five days. If you like we could have dinner again sometime before.”
    “I would like that, Jane.”
    “Okay, well,