Still Alive Pt. 02

He smiled. Before he could speak, a runner appeared with a tray and stand. The two moved their belongings, menus, and cutlery out of the way to make room.

"Oh, jeez. This smells absolutely fantastic," Martel observed as dishes were placed on the table. "What are we having?"

"That dish is fried eggplant with honey for dipping. Those are three different kinds of empanadas, and these are meatballs."

"Meatballs? " Martel responded with a gasp accompanying her faux shock, because, though their spicy aroma wasn't familiar, they appeared similar to any other.

He laughed at her antics. "Yep, and it's all meant for sharing, so dig in."

"Don't mind if I do."

The tines of their forks collided and locked together when they'd both been aimed for the same empanada de morocho .

Martel chuckled softly. "Oopsie. I obviously don't know the rules or etiquette for tapas," she said, untangling the utensils.

Wright felt his pulse climbing, his palms beginning to sweat, and heard hissing in his ears. "You can have it."

"It's meant to be shared, right?" Ashley asked.

"I insist. You take it."

Despite his deference, Martel cut the dumpling in half and placed a portion on her plate.

"This is so good ," she groaned as she tasted a bite.

Wright's eyes furiously scanned the dining room, only stopping when he spotted the waitress. He signaled her.

"Check please," he said when she came to the table.

Martel stopped chewing, watching as he gave the waitress a credit card without waiting for the tab.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Uh … I … I just remembered I have something I need to do."

He quickly signed the slip the waitress brought, tucked his credit card into a slot on the back of his phone's clear case, and stood from the table.

"You're leaving?" she whispered, eyebrows knitting. "Did I say or do something wrong?"

"No. It's … it's me. I … I need to go. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Martel. I hope you can enjoy your weekend."

She watched in stunned confusion as the man fast-walked to the exit.

"What in the actual hell ?" she murmured to herself as he disappeared from view.

The server returned to the table to pick up the folio. She assumed the man's departure had surprised the woman, still seated, staring through the storefront windows.

"Lamentó lo ocurrido ," the waitress said softly.

"Uh … I don't speak Spanish."

"I'm sorry that happened. At least his credit card worked and he wasn't a dine-and-dasher who leaves his date with the check," she answered in slightly accented English.

"I've had my share of those, but this was only dinner and a conversation," Martel said, correcting the assumption.

"You asked him to order for you, and he did, in very good Spanish. Maybe he thought it was a date. Did you shut him down?"

"No. It wasn't anything like that."

"He's been a regular all week, but he always sat at the bar by himself. This is the first time I've seen him in here with anyone."

"Oh."

"Can I bring you some to-go boxes?"

Ashley nodded when she noticed the queue of patrons sitting or standing at the front. "Yes, please. I don't like eating out by myself, and it appears you could use the table."

"Be right back."

Martel looked through the windows again, wondering if Wright had changed his mind. A minute later, the waitress returned with several more boxes and two foam cups into which she carefully poured the untouched sangrias.

"Enjoy this when you get home. The sopaipas are for dessert and are on the house," she added, though she had paid for them herself with a small part of the thirty-percent gratuity Wright had added.

She boxed and bagged the food. The drinks went into a paperboard caddy. Carrying it all out, Ashley carefully scanned the parking area and the adjoining sidewalks, hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain man who'd disappeared. She couldn't know he was already almost a mile away.