Chapter 72

“To Colin,” Joaquin proposed.

“Without whose craziness none of this would have been possible,” I said.

“I’ll drink to that.”

Whereupon we did.

“Speaking of whom,” I said, “where is our deranged director? Wasn’t there supposed to be an audience for this?”

“We’ll take lots of pictures.”

“It’s not like there’s a whole lot of suspense,” I supposed. “This is pretty much the best date ever.”

Joaquin raised an eyebrow. “Not yet it’s not.” He slid out of his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. “But that’s the plan.”

Blas set a hand gently on my elbow and guided me to the table, where he’d pulled out a chair. Joaquin waited for me to sit, then did the same. The first course was a ceviche, tart and zingy, bursting with mango and cucumber.

“You know,” I told Joaquin. “Before this trip, if anyone would have asked me if I liked ceviche, I would have said ‘no.’ In fact, I might have said ew gross, no. But this stuff is insane.”