She laughed. “A girl’s got to stay on her toes around you.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the guys you date.”
“Actually, I’m out of practice,” she said. “I haven’t dated much since my divorce.”
Miles lowered his drink. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“A girl like you? I’m sure you’ve been asked out a lot.”
“That doesn’t mean I say yes.”
“Playing hard to get?” Miles teased.
“No,” she said. “I just didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“So you’re a heartbreaker, huh?”
She didn’t answer right away, her eyes staring down at the table.
“No, not a heartbreaker,” she said quietly. “Brokenhearted.”
Her words surprised him. Miles searched for a lighthearted response, but after seeing her expression, he decided to say nothing at all. For a few moments, Sarah seemed to be lost in a world all her own. Finally she turned toward Miles with an almost embarrassed smile.
“Sorry about that. Kind of ruined the mood, huh?”
“Not at all,” Miles answered quickly. He reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Besides, you should realize that my moods don’t get ruined all that easily,” he continued. “Now, if you’d thrown your drink in my face and called me a scoundrel...”
Despite her obvious tension, Sarah laughed.
“You’d have a problem with that?” she asked, feeling herself relax.
“Probably,” he said with a wink. “But even then—considering it’s a first date and all—I might let that pass, too.”
It was half-past ten when they finished dinner, and as they stepped outside, Sarah was certain that she didn’t want the date to end just yet. Dinner had been wonderful, their conversation liberally greased by a bottle of excellent red wine. She wanted to spend more time with Miles, but she wasn’t quite ready to invite him up to her apartment. Behind them, just a few feet away, a car engine was clicking as it cooled, the sounds muffled and sporadic.
“Would you like to head over to the Tavern?” Miles suggested. “It’s not that far.”
Sarah agreed with a nod, pulling her jacket tighter as they started down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, walking close together. The sidewalks were deserted, and as they passed art galleries and antique stores, a realty office, a pastry shop, a bookstore, nothing appeared to be open at all.
“Just where is this place, exactly?”
“This way,” he said, motioning with his arm. “It’s just up and around the corner.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “This is a local hangout, and the owner’s attitude is that if you don’t know about the place, then you probably don’t belong there anyway.”
“So how do they stay in business?”
“They manage,” he said cryptically.
A minute later, they rounded the corner. Though a number of cars were parked along the street, there were no signs of life. It was almost eerie. Halfway down the block, Miles stopped at the mouth of a small alley carved between two buildings, one of which looked all but abandoned. Toward the rear, about forty feet back, a single light bulb dangled crookedly.
“This is it,” he said. Sarah hesitated and Miles took her hand, leading her down the alley, finally stopping under the light. Above the buckled doorway, the name of the establishment was written in Magic Marker. She could hear music coming from within.
“Impressive,” she said.
“Nothing but the best for you.”
“Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”
Miles laughed as he pushed open the door, leading Sarah inside.
Built into what appeared to have been the abandoned building, the Tavern was dingy and faintly redolent of mildewed wood, but surprisingly large. Four pool tables stood in the rear beneath glowing lamps that advertised different beers; a long bar ran along the far wall. An old-fashioned jukebox flanked the door-way, and a dozen tables were spread haphazardly throughout. The floor was concrete and the wooden chairs were mismatched, but that didn’t seem to matter.
It was packed.
People thronged the bar and tables; crowds formed and dispersed around the pool tables. Two women, wearing a little too much makeup, leaned against the jukebox, their tightly clad bodies swaying in rhythm as they read through the titles, figuring out what they wanted to play next.
Miles looked at her, amused. “Surprising, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it. It’s so crowded.”
“It is every weekend.” He scanned the room quickly, looking for someplace to sit.
“There’re some seats in the back...,” she offered.
“Those are for the people who’re playing pool.”
“Well, do you want to play a game?”
“Pool?”
“Why not? There’s a table open. Besides, it’s probably not as loud back there.”