“I could eat,” Zane answered, feeling the cool rush in after the warmth of Tys body disappeared. “Theres not much here, though.” “You want to go out?” Ty suggested, his voice so even that Zane couldnt determine Tys preference from it. Zane had always thought Tys emotions were easy to read. But obviously all those cues came from his body language. “Might do you some good. You pick. Ill take you there.”
“How about Chiapparellis? The foods really good.” “That the Italian place youre always going to?” Ty asked. Zane nodded. “Theyve got a pretty good selection, and youve seen my lunches. The people there are really nice. Its a family business.”
“And I guess youll know the layout since youre there a lot, huh? Well, you look good enough. Lets go eat.” Zane got up and self-consciously patted his hair after Ty riffled it in passing. He carefully edged along the couch and around it, then took one step to the bookshelf along the wall and touched the books, trailing his fingers along the spines until he reached the shelf with the dish where he left his wallet and keys. “I need a jacket,” he said.
“How far is it? Can we walk?” Ty asked. “Go out the front door, turn right, cross the street, go to the end of the block, turn right, and its on the right at the end of the block,” Zane rattled off.
“All righty, lets go, then,” Ty said.
Chapter Eight
“ THEREare a few steps up just inside,” Zane said as they stopped outside a full plate-glass door under a blue awning hanging off a red brick building. “Four, maybe? Its not like Ive counted before.”
“You dont have to tell me, baby. I can see them,” Ty reminded gently. Ty pulled the door open and guided Zane through. They went up the steps slowly, and Ty cast a critical eye around the restaurant. Hed never been there, but Zane was always producing leftovers in brown paper bags and seemed to enjoy the food.
It was definitely an old building: exposed brick walls had been kept intact inside. The carpet was brown and red and sort of ornate floral in a vintage Italian style. There was a dining room full of patrons in front of them and another to the right. The furniture was dark, heavy wood, including a full wine case directly in front of them where an array of takeout menus, business cards, and a bowl of mints sat. The waiting area was quite small; maybe a dozen people could stand around, and it would be tight. Even the five people already there waiting made it difficult to look around.
An older woman, slight and gray-haired, dressed in the black waitstaff uniform, walked out of the dining room to the right. “Good evening, gentlemen. Two for dinner?” Then Zane turned toward her, and she added, “Oh, Mr. Garrett, lovely to see you again.” She had a thick accent.
“I wish I could say the same, Leticia,” Zane murmured with a vague wave at his eyes. She broke out with a sharp question in a language that Ty definitely recognized as Italian. It made him flinch like one of Pavlovs dogs waiting to be hit with an ostrich leather hobo bag.
Zane shrugged in answer to her. She tut-tutted him and turned to Ty. “This way, please. I have a table for you now,” she said, ignoring the other customers waiting who had been there first.
Ty looked after her, then turned to frown at Zane. “You speak Italian now?” he asked dangerously. It was still a touchy topic, even almost three months after the cruise ship assignment where not knowing Italian had almost gotten him killed.
“I have no idea what she said,” Zane said under his breath. “But it didnt sound good, now did it?” “I was about to smack you,” Ty grumbled. He kept a loose hold on Zanes elbow as the woman led them to one of the tables near a wide window. They didnt even have to weave around many tables to get to it.
Ty glanced around the dining room as he took off his jacket. It was an okay place, but the food had to be spectacular for Zane to eat here three times a week. Ty much preferred his pub; it had character. And a bottle of Grand Marnier with his name on it behind glass over the bar. One-Eyed Mikes was four blocks from his house and almost halfway between his house and Zanes apartment. Much less classy and much more comfortable. He shook his head as he slid into one of the seats.
Zane tentatively reached out to his side, and his fingertips brushed the glass window. “Okay, I know where I am,” he said, sounding satisfied as he shrugged out of his jacket.
Leticia whisked by again, dropping off glasses of ice water, a basket of what looked like fresh-baked bread, a dish of real butter pats, and two large single-sheet menus printed on heavyweight paper. After a pause, she took Zanes menu back and patted him on the shoulder. “Ryan will be right out,” she announced before leaving.
“Well. I guess its pretty obvious I cant see, huh?” Zane commented. Ty looked up from the menu. He narrowed his eyes, leaned forward to look at Zane closer, then reached out slowly and waved his hand in front of Zanes face. Zane didnt even blink. “Its… pretty obvious,” he said apologetically. He sighed and looked down at the menu again. When he and his brother had been little and gone to visit their great-grandparents, they had amused themselves by blindfolding each other and attempting to navigate various obstacles, just to see how Grandmother Griffin had done it.
But there was a difference between closing your eyes and being blind. Even with a blindfold, there were still variances in light that could give you hints as to where you were and what was going on.
Complete and total darkness—blindness—could be a lonely and frightening thing. Zane was taking it pretty well, considering. Ty returned his attention to the menu full of Italian dishes and grimaced. “You come here three days a week? Every week?” Zane edged a shoulder up. “Its right here by my place, and I love Italian food. Theres plenty of choices if you dont want traditional red sauce. Sometimes I just get the Baltimore salad.”
Ty looked up at him dubiously. “I dont get whats so special about….” He trailed off as he saw a waiter come around the corner and head for their table.
The man was dressed all in black like the others, and he was impressively fit. The black T-shirt might as well have been painted over well-defined muscles. His shoulders were broad, and he was trim through the waist. He had dusky skin and sharp, defined facial features, and his hair would have been dark if it hadnt been shorn down practically to the scalp. It made him look sleek.
“Oh,” Ty muttered dejectedly.
“Hmm?” Zane asked as he messed with his napkin. Ty shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh. The waiter stopped at another table briefly, then hurried over to them. His lips were pulled into a worried frown. “Zane,” the man said as he took the last couple of steps to the table. “Leticia told me something had happened.” When he stopped, he put a hand on Zanes shoulder.