Chapter 8

“This is business casual, so you won’t have to contend with a formal meal, but it’s not going to be a burger and fries, either. Try to pretend you eat at fine restaurants all the time. And for God’s sake, be neat. I do not want a cleaning bill for that suit yet.”

His eyes widened once more, but he nodded and climbed into the back seat of the cab. We climbed out at Circa 1886 on Wentworth Street, and the kid’s eyes looked like saucers. He stuck so close to my side that I had to fend him off with my elbow as we maneuvered through the front door. Once we were seated, he opened the menu, swallowed hard, and leaned toward me.

“I don’t even know what half this stuff is,” he whispered. “How do I know what I want to eat?”

I smiled. “Simple. You’re going to want whatever the chef prepares. We’re having the special tasting menu.”

He found that on the page, and sucked in a breath. “I’d have to work half the night to make that much.”