Piano in the Dark. Eric Pete

of a face matching the one on my phone. Women at a table outside were selling purses with two interested patrons asking the prices as I walked by. I paused to acknowledge them as they glanced my way. A professional-looking brother in a nice suit garnered attention from the fairer sex most days.

      Seated already.

      Ava replied with a text of her own.

      I eased past the line, receiving a scowl or two from hungry folk thinking I was cutting. Upon entering, I was overwhelmed by the sensory overload of spices and seasoning, instantly making my mouth water. I stepped aside, politely nodding at one of the passing staff as I looked for Ava. I found her seated alone, center table, with hair pulled back and Coach reading glasses to appear somewhat bookish. A singular point of calmness amid the commotion of people swirling all around her, plates of food being served about to the newly arrived as the recently satisfied left. When she recognized me, she waved. Far from vain, I felt self-conscious about the minute traces of my car wreck still etched in my face. Still, I waved back and came over.

      Before I had a chance to sit, she stood up and hugged me tight. I held my breath this time, fear of coconut seduction haunting my dreams once again. When she kissed my cheek, I exhaled, throwing my resolve out the window. Damn my weakness. Despite her casual appearance today, Ava cast a spell over me and there was no denying it.

      “Thank you for twisting my arm,” I said as I gestured for her to return to her seat. She wore a jeweled print tank and form-fitting dark denim jeans, which I appreciated.

      “Hope I didn’t get you in any trouble.”

      “No. Just the normal tedious nature of things.”

      “Which you don’t like,” she added, more as a statement than an assumption. Ballsy.

      “I didn’t say that.”

      “You don’t have to. I know these things,” she said, tapping a single finger to her temple.

      “So arguing is pointless?”

      “Oui, monsieur. But I’ll stop. When people push too much, you resist,” she replied matter-of-factly as she put her cup of their signature Klub Karmel Machiatto to her lips. Made me think about Dawn’s countless admonishments concerning my career. “You’re healing up nicely,” Ava said as she reached out and gently touched my face. I felt the electricity arc off her fingertips. That familiar tingling like that night at the pub. I wondered if any of other the restaurant-goers could sense it too.

      “Yeah. Just a few scratches and bumps. I’m lucky,” I said, wondering if I was referring to surviving the accident or simply meeting her.

      “What did your wife say about my gift?”

      “The painting? Oh. She didn’t see it,” I said not-so-truthfully. Damn concussion again. “I…accidentally left it at the hospital. Sorry.”

      “It’s okay,” she replied, an odd smile drifting across her face. “That one was kind of hurried, anyway. My stuff’s usually less abstract.”

      I began to say something, but happened to look over her shoulder, noticing some of the artwork adorning the Breakfast Klub walls. They always exhibited local artists’ work for their customers’ appreciation as well as purchase. Several of the current pieces resembled the tiny memento given me by Ava. One of them had a piano in it too—a pair of little hands resting on its keys beside an older pair.

      Interesting.

      Fascinating.

      Familiar. Yet I didn’t know why.

      “You were about to say something?”

      “Uh…yes. How’d you get my number? I know I was dazed, but I’m sure I didn’t give it to you. Didn’t get the chance.”

      “Wondered when you’d ask,” she said as she giggled. She positioned her order number on the table so it could be viewed easier by the waitstaff. “Chase, before I returned your phone to you at Memorial Hermann, I dialed my phone from yours. Just like you did when we first met. Some line about—”

      “Fear of rejection,” I answered for her.

      Stunned.

      Utterly stunned.

      “You remember!” Ava gushed, color flooding her face and fire dancing in her eyes.

      “Yeah,” I answered with a nervous grin. I remembered that particular encounter at college. Except it never occurred with Ava. It was something I’d said to my wife Dawn when we first met. How did she know this? Now my not remembering Ava had become troubling on so many levels.

      Before I could decide to address it, two plates of food were delivered to our table.

      “I know you don’t have much time, so I took the liberty of ordering for you. Hope you don’t mind.”

      She pointed for the wings and waffle order to be placed in front of her. The other plate, the one with a cheezy 3 omelet and two biscuits, was for me. My favorite. All that was missing was…

      “I already poured the hot syrup for your biscuits,” she said, sliding the small maple-filled plastic container my way.

      Too much. She had me spooked now. It was as if someone had given her a script. “Really. Who are you?” I asked, semi-serious.

      “Chase!” someone called out from behind me before Ava could respond. She motioned for me to acknowledge whoever it was. I looked over my shoulder to see Jacobi and our client Iris as they sought an open table. It would be a funny coincidence if I didn’t have to explain myself to my friend later. He grinned as he carried the number for his table’s order, his eyes travelling between me and the woman with whom I sat. From my previous description of Ava to him, he had to know this was her. My mystery woman.

      They stopped, leading me to think they were going to ask to sit with us. The look on my face begged him to spare me and not to ask. Nevertheless, I reached up to shake his hand.

      “Hey, man. Early lunch too, huh?” I asked calmly as if my skating out on them back at the office were no big deal.

      “Mrs—Iris here,” Jacobi said, correcting himself at her insistence, “wanted some fresh air, so I suggested we grab a bite to eat. I see great minds think alike.”

      “Yes,” I said, knowing the bite he wanted to eat was Iris. I was trying to avoid similar thoughts of my face stuffed between Ava’s legs at the moment, but wondered recklessly if she could deliver on the promises of my imagination.

      “Hello. Jacobi Stewart,” he said, shaking Ava’s hand before I had a chance to willingly introduce them.

      “I know you!” Iris blurted out from around Jacobi as she leaned in to get a better view of Ava. At least somebody remembered her. “It’s been a couple of years, hasn’t it?”

      “Yes. You’re right,” Ava answered nervously, something unspoken between the two of them. “How’ve you been, Iris?”

      “I’m doing good these days. Real good,” Iris replied. “These fine young men are helping me with my case.”

      “Yes, so if you ever need a good law firm, call us. Or just call Chase here,” Jacobi said to Ava as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “I still didn’t get your name, miss.”

      “Charla Nuttier,” Iris answered for her enthusiastically. “You’ve never heard of her? I have several of her paintings. Incredible artist,” she said to Jacobi.

      “Thank you. You’re too kind,” the woman who told me her name was Ava replied. “Actually, some of my other works are on the wall here,” she said to both of them, confirming my earlier suspicions. I looked at the paintings again. She was an impressive artist and even more an enigma than before.

      “I’ll have to check them out, ma’am,” Jacobi stated. “It was nice meeting you.”

      As Jacobi and Iris darted for a freshly open table, I stared