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little restaurant.” He led them to a booth near the window.
    â€œThe food’s quite good, very authentic.” Angie studied his chubby face and wide forehead and nose. “I must say, the name Leer doesn’t sound Greek.”
    â€œI’m not, but my cook is. Michael Zeno. You’ll have to meet him. I understand you’re a restaurant reviewer. Miss Amalfi, is it?”
    â€œThat’s right. I’m sorry to say I haven’t written any reviews lately.” She fingered her engagement ring. “I’ve been distracted.”
    â€œCongratulations.” Leer glanced from her toStan. “No wonder you aren’t doing reviews.” He handed them menus. “My waiter will be with you in a moment.” With that, he bowed and walked away.
    â€œI guess he’s disappointed,” Angie said to Stan. “No free publicity.” She stopped talking as the friendly and garrulous Tyler Marsh arrived to take their orders. Fresh-caught bass baked in a tomato, wine, and garlic sauce called spetsiotiko, with egg-lemon soup for Angie and chicken gyros again for Stan. Tyler rolled his eyes.
    â€œThere’s something about that guy I just don’t like,” Stan muttered when he and Angie were alone again.
    He proceeded to tell her about meeting Nona, but the entire time he searched for the mysterious waitress. He knew he wasn’t an artistic man, knew that much of the beauty around him went right over his head unnoticed and unappreciated. And yet, he felt like Michelangelo discovering the face for his Pieta. He couldn’t get enough of looking at her.
    She wasn’t in the dining room. He had no idea if that meant she wasn’t working or if her duties kept her in the kitchen. He tried to concentrate on Nona and to work up some enthusiasm. Nona was not only gorgeous and stylish, but she was clearly interested and available. She wouldn’t have phoned Angie about him if she wasn’t.
    And yet…
    â€œSounds like she’s not your type,” Angie said, studying Stan. “It surprises me. I thought you two would be a perfect match.”
    â€œSo did I,” he said, his mind contrasting take-charge Nona with the soft winsome woman he’d seen on the dock. “Once.”
    Â 
    Stan watched Angie head toward the parking garage. She would have dropped him off back at the apartment, but he didn’t feel like going home yet. Nothing waited for him there.
    Even here on Jefferson Street, nothing interested him. He hadn’t seen the waitress. She was probably home with her husband. Maybe with her new baby as well. Everyone seemed to have someone but him.
    And Nona.
    He sighed, trying to decide what to do with himself, when he glanced down the side street to the wharf. Although it made no sense, his steps turned in that direction. The backsides of restaurants had never interested him before, nor had staring at the water or at fishing boats. They always looked dirty. He suspected fish guts lurked in every corner. He hated untidiness in anything, and flicked a speck of lint from his cashmere sweater.
    The dock closest to the restaurant was empty, just as it was the last time he’d been there. Boats lined other docks, tied to thick moorings. He wondered what it would be like to own one of those boats, to sail out to sea away from all this. The only problem was he’d be there—boring, same-old-same-old Stan.
    He stood with his toes along the edge of the wharf, hands in the pockets of his slacks, andlooked down at the water. Today it had a greenish tinge, like pea soup. He never much liked pea soup.
    Behind him, he heard a soft, “Hello.”
    Startled, he turned to see the woman who had captured his thoughts. She wore a long trench coat. It wasn’t buttoned or belted and where it gaped open her stomach protruded.
    He stepped back.
    â€œBe careful!” She started, reaching her hand out toward him, then looked embarrassed by her