Free If Wishes Were Horses by Robert Barclay Page B

Wyatt’s Jaguar through downtown Boca. When Wyatt stopped before the parking valet at MiznerPark, Gabby pulled in behind him. She felt decidedly out of place as she parked her dented Honda in the valet line among the many glittering luxury cars, but being Wyatt’s guest gave her a welcome sense of belonging.
    The three of them walked across the central plaza and toward Chez Paul, where a long line of people wound through the foyer and spilled outside onto the stone patio. The wait to get inside looked like it would take forever.
    â€œAll the snowbirds are still here,” Gabby said. “Maybe we should try another place.”
    For the first time, Gabby saw Wyatt genuinely smile. The real thing was rather conspiratorial looking, and she liked it.
    â€œThat’s okay,” he said. “Leave everything to me. Like I said, it’s my Sunday tradition.”
    With Trevor and Gabby in tow, Wyatt wended his way into the restaurant. When Wyatt approached the hostess, she eagerly kissed him on one cheek. She had an exotic look about her and, as Gabby was about to discover, she and Wyatt knew each other well.
    â€œDaahling!” she shouted above the din. Her accent was decidedly French, and Gabby found it attractive.
    â€œI was starting to wonder whether you were coming!” the hostess said. “I nearly gave your table away!”
    â€œBetter late than never, Claudette,” Wyatt said. “We’re three today.”
    Claudette gave Gabby and Trevor a rather surprised look that quickly became one of genuine friendliness. “So I see,” she answered. “You can go straight in, handsome. Your usual table is waiting. I’ll send Jean-Claude right over.”
    â€œThanks,” Wyatt said.
    Wyatt led Gabby and Trevor through the crowded dining room. Every table was full, save for theirs. It seemed a welcome oasis in a sea of flashing tableware, well-to-do people, and tinkling glass, because Gabby could almost feel the nasty looks coming from those patrons still waiting to be seated.
    Their table was one of the best in the place, and it was set with sparkling silverware, leaded crystal, and a perfect white tablecloth. A little chrome stand in the table’s center held an engraved card bearing the single word: Reserved. After the three of them sat down, Wyatt discreetly scooped up the card and placed it facedown on the table.
    Gabby gave Wyatt a curious look. “How’d you mange this?” she asked. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you! I’ve never eaten here, but I know for a fact that this place doesn’t take reservations.”
    â€œI know the owner,” Wyatt answered as he placed his napkin on his lap. “Blaine and Blaine did some legal work for him last year. I got the idea of getting a table in here anytime I wanted in return for a break on our fee. The owner was only too glad to agree. Claudette is his wife.”
    Gabby smiled. “And just how many more such ‘arrangements’ in Boca does Blaine and Blaine enjoy?”
    Wyatt’s infectious smile surfaced again. “A few.”
    Their waiter arrived, and he greeted Wyatt warmly. Wyatt introduced Gabby and Trevor then ordered three brunches from the buffet. After asking Gabby about her drink preference, Wyatt ordered two Bloody Marys plus two coffees, and a diet soda for Trevor. Trevor was so hungry that his stomach growled noticeably. Gabby blushed; Wyatt smiled. Gabby turned to look at the buffet line and saw that it had grown long.
    â€œGo ahead,” Gabby said to her son. No one needed to tell Trevor twice. He hurried over to the buffet and got in line.
    Soon the drinks came, and Gabby and Wyatt sipped their Bloody Marys for a time in silence. After glancing back at Trevor, Wyatt put down his cocktail then gave Gabby a knowing look.
    â€œLet me guess,” he said. “James Dean, right? Red Windbreaker and all.”
    Gabby nodded. “Straight out of Rebel