“Tomorrow’s great,” I say.
“Good,” says Gary. “I live right near Roddy, on—”
He breaks off as Samuel returns with our drinks and sets them down in front of each of us. A steaming cup of coffee for Mr. Night, a tall Bloody Mary with an entire celery stalk sticking out of it for Gary, and two identical martinis with olives for me and Logan.
“What can I get you all for lunch?” asks Samuel.
Mr. Night orders a steak and Gary copies him. I ask for a club sandwich, then Logan says, “I’ll have the same.” I catch his eye and see that look again, the unspoken flirtation.
“Cheers,” says Mr. Night, raising his cup of coffee.
The four of us clink drinks, and I take a sip of the famous Musso’s martini. Having a history of choosing vodka cranberries at every bar I ever go to, my palate isn’t sophis
