While hauling Jane up the stairs of the Blue Bird Inn, he makes what looks like a time out sign with his hands to the woman at the desk.
All becomes clear as I struggle with the key, my duffle and the hundred and sixty pound vestigial appendage draped over my shoulders.
A waiter carrying a tea tray passes us in the hall and opens the door.
Now I understand the time out sign to the desk lady. Jane ordered tea on his way in.
The waiter helps me deposit him on the bed.
Though Jane seems barely conscious, he has a twenty at the ready for the guy. He's the James Bond of tips is Patrick Jane. Smooth.
I survey the tray. Appears Jane not only gave the woman the tea sign but also the coffee and scrambled eggs and bacon sign. Plus, the international hand signals for corn muffins, miniature bear claws and fresh pineapple. My favorites.
How the hell? Did he pre-plan this breakfast?
Like before he left for the airport?
Jane snakes his arm around my waist pulling me to sit next to him on the bed.
With the other hand, he picks up the house phone.
"Hi, I made a booking for two. Could you put us out on the terrace? It's more romantic. Patrick. Lovely. See you then."
Can a mouth be ajar?
"Don't worry," he says. "I wouldn't seduce you over a meal. That would be very sophomoric."
I stand and stare at him with my fists clenched.
"Bite me," I say.
He smiles.
He folds something carefully and places it on the nightstand.
My bra.