Hunter checked his pockets again, but there was no miraculous appearance of his wallet. He stared at the pretty woman behind the counter with a funny hat designed to look like a slice of pizza balancing on a plate at a ninety-degree angle. She gave him a patient smile, the kind reserved for a customer when you thought they were about to make your job harder. He didn’t like it.
Mind spinning, Hunter told her to hold his order and rushed back to his truck. Five minutes later, Hunter knew he hadn’t somehow left his wallet in the truck. He tried to remember when he’d last touched his wallet.
The restaurant, he recalled, when he’d paid for the date that never happened and left. The furrow between his brows deepened. Hunter couldn’t see how he could have left his wallet at the restaurant. Su
