Page 10 of The Charming Checklist
And then there was the night three weeks ago when a jealous husband had come looking for Nick. Max covered for him,once, and he wouldn’t be doing that again.
“Whatever you think.” Cole didn’t defend Nick, which meant he’d finally come to his senses. “You know I’m behind you.”
Cole was that team member that refused to leave anyone behind. No matter what. But they weren’t in the SEALs anymore where that was expected of them. Max believed that every link in a chain had to be unbreakable. Solid. This was business and Max made decisions without sentiment. No room for warm and fuzzy.
“Let’s bring Adam on.”
Adam Cruz had been on the same SEAL team with them, their most decorated member. Honorable. Loyal. Above reproach, Max would still trust him with his life.
“Are you sure he’s ready?” When Sub whined for a rub, Cole relented, and rubbed behind his ears.
“I know he’s ready for a change.”
“Give him a call.”
“Already did,” Max said. “Made him an offer.”
“And he accepted?”
Max nodded. “I’ll wait until he gets here before I cut Nick loose.”
It wasn’t as though Nick was a top-rated chef, for which they’d probably put up with a lot of bad behavior. Max still had the goal of getting one of those in, but for now, slinging burgers, fried fish and steaks was something even he could do. Though he sure wouldn’t want to be forced to attempt it. Mixing drinks at the bar was one thing, cooking quite another. He appreciated high-quality food but had little clue how to make it.
With that high quality in mind, later that day, Max arrived early for his dinner date.
“She’s already here,” the maître d’ said.
It was enough to have Max glance at this wristwatch, but no, still early. Something else they already had in common. He followed the server to the table he’d selected in the back. Max blinked becausethiscouldn’t be right. An elderly woman sat at the table. Knitting.
Max stopped. “Are you sure this is the right table?”
“Yes, sir. Party for two. Daphne Montgomery.”
There had to be some mistake. Unless he was about to encounter his first horror story. If this blue-haired granny believed she’d get away with this she had to be mentally unhinged. She was at least four decades past her stated age. The photo must have been of a professional cover model.
“Hello,” he said to the woman, who squinted over her bifocals when she looked up from her knitting. “I’m Max Del Toro.”
“You’re kidding.” She gaped.
He took a seat. “Not what you expected?”
“Not at all.” She dropped her knitting and held up her index finger. “But hang on. I’ll be right with you.”
She pulled out a phone from her huge tote bag, put it to her ear and waited, winking at Max. “Honey, this is Grandma. Pick up, please. Call me back, stat! You won’t believe what just happened.”
“What’s going on, Daphne?” he asked, with far more patience than he actually had left.
“I have a confession to make.”
“No kidding.”
“I’m not Daphne. That’s my granddaughter.” She went hand to heart. “I’m Betty. But everything I posted about my granddaughter is true. And that’s her picture! She claims she’s not interested in dating, so I volunteered to do all the sorting for her.”
“The sorting. How kind of you.”
“I thought so. But she’s not too thrilled with it. Actually, I haven’t been, either. So far, it’s been a lot of men showing up who are twenty years older than they claimed.”
How ironic.
