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they could control.
    No guest left less than delighted. When there was the occasional complaint, either Meg or Scott or one of their highly trained managers immediately investigated and employed every service recovery trick in the book. As a result, there were almost all glowing reviews on the external websites and business had been better every month. With both of them working twelve hours a day, six days a week, they had managed to swim upstream and last quarter, their sales had been up thirty percent, year over year.
    As a result, she hadn’t spent much time strolling along the stone-lined riverbank and she wasn’t much of a guide.
    “What are you hungry for?” she asked. “There’s Italian, Mexican, steaks and seafood. You name it, we’ve got it.”
    “Steak,” he said.
    Some things never changed.
    And some things could not be changed. That’s what had led them to this crazy place where they were almost as polite as strangers to one another but had a familiarity that no amount of time or distance could seem to diminish.
    The restaurant she picked had indoor and outdoor seating. The hostess said both were available. Cruz raised an eyebrow, letting her make the choice. She always preferred to eat outside, no matter how hot. The young woman led them to an open spot and Cruz pulled out her chair. She glanced around and hoped that he didn’t get the wrong idea. There were candles on all the tables and soft lights were strung through the branches of the trees that lined the sidewalk. It was romantic. The breeze blowing through the trees, skimming across her warm skin was almost sensual.
    When the waiter came for drink orders, she chose red wine and Cruz got a beer. He ordered twelve ounces of Texas rib eye with a loaded baked potato and a Caesar salad. She ordered salmon and a side of broccoli.
    “Some things never change,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.
    “I have a full day tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll start around seven and won’t be done until late tomorrow night. I have an event.”
    He sipped his beer. “At work?”
    “No. There’s a not-for-profit in town called A Hand Up. Their mission is to help the recently incarcerated acclimate back into society by finding employers to offer six-month internships. The employers get a break financially because half the salary is paid by donations. The clients get a chance to demonstrate that they are walking the straight and narrow and can be good employees.”
    “And your connection with this group?”
    “The hotel has offered several internships. I’ve been their contact.”
    He pushed his beer aside. “You’re employing convicts?” he asked, his voice hard. “You don’t think you might have mentioned that before now?”
    She frowned at him. “Formerly incarcerated. They are vetted very thoroughly. We’ve had four clients, two have finished their rotation and two are more than halfway through. They’ve all been wonderful.”
    “I want their names.”
    “No. There’s absolutely no reason to think that they have any grudge against me. It’s known in advance that the assignments are six months long so they aren’t surprised when the work ends. And they will be scared to death if some badass Chicago cop comes knocking on their door.”
    He picked up his beer and took a drink. “You think I’m a badass?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Yes. As bad as they come.”
    “Where is the event?”
    “Six blocks from here. At another hotel.”
    “You have to go?”
    “I’m the main speaker.”
    The server delivered his salad. He worked his way through it. When he spoke again, he surprised her. “You’ll do great.”
    “I’m nervous,” she admitted. “I told the director no initially but she was very insistent. Also, Scott thought it would be good publicity for our hotel.”
    He put down his fork without finishing his salad. “Good old Scott.”
    She ignored him and was grateful when the server delivered the main course.