With a jolt, I realized he was observing me steadily.
I raised a questioning eyebrow. Let him think I found his regard presumptuous.
He got up and approached my table. "I believe I saw you last night at Le Petit Homme," he said in French.
"Sorry. I don't understand."
He repeated his words in English.
"Are you sure?" I asked coolly.
"Mais oui."
"I told you I don't understand French."
"Forgive me. I am certain you were there."
I shrugged. "Perhaps."
"My name is Louis." And of course he gave it the French pronunciation, so that it sounded like Louie. "May I join you?"
"Sure." I extended my hand, and he took it. His hand was warm and callused, a working man's hand, and I liked the way it felt. I nodded toward the chair opposite me, folded the Trib and set it aside, and leaned back in my own chair. "I'm Rick." I bit back a grin. "Can I order you a coffee?"
"Not necessary, thanks." He held up the bowl he'd brought with him and settled into the chair.