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I had lunch at the Back Street Café. As usual, the crab cake and eggs with citrus beurre blanc was wonderful. The café was bustling with people, loud with the shouts of cooks in the kitchen and the clatter of plates. I found my thoughts wandering, thinking of the lady in blue. Eating here with her - sipping wine - laughing together. I shook my head. That was way premature. I didn't even know her name. I finished lunch and in an hour later, I was back on the road home.The afternoon passed in a blur of people and tasks. There is always more to do at the vineyard than there are hands. Somehow, I still managed to find myself thinking about her. I was reviewing an analysis on the latest batch of fermentation when Stan tapped me on the shoulder, startling me so that I jumped in my seat."You need to go get showered and dressed. It's almost five and we want to get to the club by seven."I glanced at the clock on the wall and was astonished to see that the day was gone. The moment of truth was. I’m not like a stalker or anything. Mika knows me.’ ‘Uh huh.’ She wasn’t convinced. Terry dug through his jacket pockets and found a piece of paper – the receipt from the art store the other day. He scrawled his phone number on it and the word ‘Teriyaki’. ‘Can you give her this when she comes in? Say, uh, I want to speak to her.’ ‘Sure,’ the receptionist said, her voice affectless. Terry sighed and walked out of the agency. He wondered if his number would ever make it to Mika. — Natsumi didn’t know who was hosting the party, but whoever it was was loaded (or, more accurately, their parents were loaded.) The house was spacious, nestled into one of the rich areas, with old sliding doors and wooden floors. Itsmajesty was diminished by the couple dozen teenagers dancing and chatting under the influence of various intoxicants while American punk music played over the stereo system. Natsumi and Hayato hung on the edges of the crowd, taking the occasional sips of beer and trying to hear.
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