“No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.” Layla gave him a withering look. “I can’t imagine a woman who would stick around after you took her for a nice dinner and then said, Hey babe, let’s go launch the meat missile, or my personal favorite, release the kraken.”

“I didn’t say I used them.” Sam loosened his collar. Why was the restaurant so damn hot?

“You know them. That’s bad enough.”

Dilip tipped his head to the side. “What’s a kraken?”

“That’s what I’m going to do to Sam’s head in about three seconds,” Layla said.

Sam smirked. “A kraken is an enormous mythical sea monster.”

“Are we in middle school?” Layla looked around the bare room in mock confusion. “Because I could swear you were just talking about the size of your—”

“How about sports?” Sam asked Dilip. Time to get things back on track before Layla made good on her threat. From the angry looks she was throwing his way, Sam didn’t doubt she was fully capable of cracking his head. “I think everyone in this room has the same question. Where is the nearest cave, and can we have a demonstration?”

“Ignore him,” Layla said. “He’s just jealous because he doesn’t do anything exciting. But my family is into sports. My mom and I love baseball. We’re huge Giants fans. We never miss a home game.”

“The San Francisco Giants?” Sam snorted a laugh. “They aren’t a real team. That rich-kid pipeline has been running dry for years.”

Layla dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Don’t tell me you support the poor A’s from the wrong side of the tracks with the stadium that smells of sewage.”

“It’s about the game, sweetheart. It’s about skill. We don’t need a fancy ballpark on the cove to kick the Giants’ collective ass. We’ve won sixty-three games in the Bay Bridge Series to your pitiful fifty-seven.”

“Who cares about Bay Bridge?” she retorted. “The Giants won the World Series in 2010 against the Texas Rangers, 2012 against the Detroit Tigers, and 2014 against the Kansas City Royals. If you count their wins when they started out in New York, they have a total of eight World Series titles.”

Impressive. She really knew her team. Clearly, this wasn’t a fly-by-night fandom.

“Two thousand fourteen?” Sam scratched his head, unable to resist teasing her. “Was that their last big win? I know they lost ninety-eight games one season. I think that’s some kind of record.”

Layla growled so softly he wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been sitting on the bench beside her.

So cute. Too bad her team was trash.

“It was a bad year.” She sat up and glared at him. “I’m not about to abandon my team for one bad year after decades of success. Everyone deserves a chance, whether it’s finding a job or playing ball.”

“You seem to have a soft spot for underdogs.” He glanced over at Dilip “king of the underdogs” Sandhu, who was quizzing one of the waiters about dessert.

“And you lack faith in people.” Layla unbuttoned the top button on her blouse and fanned her shirt as if she’d just participated in an activity that made her hot. Sam looked at Dilip to make sure there was no inappropriate staring, but the dude was fully engaged in his conversation.

“I’m realistic,” Sam continued. “Appearances can be deceiving. Behind a mild-mannered man, there may lay a dark villain. I’ve made it my mission to root those people out of every company I visit so the businesses can thrive.”

Layla’s lips quivered at the corners. “Or so stockholders can get more money at the expense of average working people who are doing the best they can. No one is perfect, Sam. I’ve taken paper clips from my office and added a few extra minutes to my lunch break. Am I a bad person? If you came to my business, would you have fired me?”

Yes. But he had the good sense not to share his vision of the world that had lost its color and was now black and white.

“What are your ambitions in life, Dilip?” Sam asked after the waiter had taken Dilip’s order.

“I want to become world manager of weights and measures.” Dilip spoke carefully as if he’d rehearsed his words. “It will require a lot of travel, but with the wife at home looking after my parents and our kids, I think I have a good chance.”

Silence.

Well, except for the sound of hope fizzling and dying.

“That’s very . . . admirable,” Sam said, scrambling for a way to save the interview. “He wants to rule the world. How much more ambitious can you get?”

Layla held out her hand. “Thank you for coming, Dilip. It was lovely to meet you, but I don’t think it will work out.”

“But I can dance.” Dilip jumped up before Sam could stop him. “I’ve been learning ‘Khaike Paan Banaraswala.’” He flailed in the empty space beside them, attempting to reprise Shah Rukh Khan’s dance from the Bollywood movie Don with its famous spit-on-the-floor finish.

“Hugs, dude.” The barefoot, bearded waiter in his grain sack uniform placed a blueberry on the table before wrapping his arms around the profusely sweating Dilip.

“He must think you were having an episode of some sort,” Sam said when Dilip looked to him in confusion. “Just go with it. He probably doesn’t get much love in the sack.”

Layla kicked him again. Same place as last time. Still worth it.

After Dilip had finished his dessert—deconstructed artisanal blueberry pie with a dioxygen crust—and Sam had lost a fight with Layla over the astronomical bill, they bid Dilip a fond farewell and headed back to the office along the busy sidewalk.

“Take this.” Sam handed Layla the paper bag from the café. “You must be hungry after our feast.”

She reached for the bag. Hesitated. “Is it poisoned?”

“No.”

“Squished?”

“No.”

“Did you put a spider in the bag? If so, I’ll have to burn it to the ground.”

“No insects of any kind.”

“Shards of glass? Hot chilies?”

“You don’t get the full twenty questions, either.” Sam led her to a bench in the shade. “I am giving it to you in good faith. Now eat it before you waste away.”

“Thank you.” Layla sat beside him and pulled out the Reuben. “Would you like some gummy bears?” She offered her handbag.

“I’d rather eat massaged bison balls with fermented kraut surprise.”