With Lorne's sage-green shirt covering my hair from its collar downward, and the peach-coloured hijab concealing the rest of it, I turned in front of the mirror, curling my upper lip. "Looks too much like a tent – a poorly designed and crudely pitched one."

Lorne looked up from his computer. "Everything I've found about their modest dress says you must conceal your shape with loose clothing."

"Yeah, but this loose? See what it says about cinching the waist a bit."

He shook his head. "The Google Images search shows nothing form-fitting. Besides, with the tiny size of yours, it would be seen as an enticement."

I examined my reflection again. "What about a loose tie around my hips and the shirt bloused over it? Hide my waist while giving some shape to the tent."

"Yeah, with it nearly to your knees, there's plenty to spare. Maybe one side bloused more than the other to give some semblance of style."

Finally, with both of us pleased with the look of my disguise, we headed out. As we walked up Cambie toward Winners, I pointed to SaveOn and led him toward the entrance. "I need to buy two months of Alysena."

"Hunh? What's that?"

"My pills. Need to start a new pack." When I saw his quizzical expression, I added, "Contraception – the prescription's in my phone."

"Oh! And I should get condoms, shouldn't I? You missed some." He shrugged and blushed. "I researched it while you brushed your hair."

"No need. I missed only a placebo, so you can continue au naturel. My next active one is due with dinner tonight."

"Hmmm, my research didn't get that far."

I chuckled. "They come in packs of twenty-eight, the first twenty-one active and the last seven placebos."

"Why placebos?"

"To maintain the routine – I take a pill every evening with dinner. Two days after the last active one, my flow begins, and the placebos allow me to keep count until the start of the next pack."

"Complex being a woman."

"At least we don't have to hide surprise pop-ups." I smiled as I watched him rearrange his trousers.

"True. And this one can properly be called a distraction, can't it?"

"Let's call it a show of interest. Positive, rather than negative."

<><><>

Shortly before noon, Lorne and I returned to the loft, laden with bags. After setting them down, I unwrapped my head and neck, undid the shirt and took it off, heaving a sigh of relief. "God, what horrid confinement. How on earth do they stand it?"

Lorne shrugged. "Cultural upbringing. Doing what is expected of them."

"Yeah, I suppose." I took the labels off one of my new tops, pulled it over my head and flipped my hair from beneath it. "Increasingly itchy with it under the shirt. Good idea to sandwich it."

"Thanks. You sure you want to come with me? You could stay here and write. Warm up some pôchouse for lunch – there are baguette chunks in the freezer, your choice of wine in the cellar."

"Tempting, but I think four eyes would be better than two to check out your snout-in-the-trough postulation."

"Yeah, okay. Which one first?"

"I think Nuance. I hadn't gone there with Nathan last Friday – only to its grand opening last month."

"Yeah, the last time I had seen you before Pearl's on Monday."

"Wait! What? You keep track of when we've met?"

He shrugged. "Ever since I bumped into you again. The CIVC junket."

"Oh, God! The Champagne tour – how long ago was that's that? Seven years?"

"Closer to six and a half."

"So, you've stalked me?"

"No, as a lawyer, I know the boundaries. I simply delighted in seeing you again, sharing time with you. Started accepting more wine and food invitations, hoping you'd be there."

"Hold me, Lorne. My legs have turned to rubber."

A while later, when our lips parted, I said, "Wish I had known about your ace back then. After no response to my flirting, I'd go home and diddle to my thoughts about you."

"But you were with Nathan."

"Still dating, but not yet intimate. Thoughts about possibilities with you always distracted." I blew a loud breath. "But this isn't helping us sort out the restaurant scam."

"True."

I put my arms in the sleeves and dropped the smock dress over my head, buttoned up the high neck and spun around. "A much better look than your shirt."

Lorne chuckled. "Except for the tags on the back."

After removing them, he picked up the scarf and folded it. "Let me see if I remember how to do this without looking at WikiHow."

With me disguised and the cards printed, we headed out, took the SkyTrain to Waterfront Station and walked along West Cordova and Water Street to Nuance. Then pausing at the entrance, Lorne pulled out his phone. "Twelve fifty-three, the rush should be over."

"Yeah, should be." I looked inside when the door opened as a large group left. "But there are still people waiting."

"Possibly some dallying from the first sitting. Whatever; it's busy."

After a couple of minutes in the line, Lorne presented his card to the receptionist. "I write a wine column and restaurant reviews. Would it be possible to get a table for two?"

I watched the woman raise her eyebrows and widen her eyes before she replied, "This is not a good time – the chef's not here." She pushed a button on the podium and pointed toward the holding bar. "I've called the manager, and he'll discuss a more suitable time for you. Please, have a seat; he should be here shortly. May we offer you complimentary drinks while you wait?"

"Thank you, we're fine."

We stood near the bar's entrance, watching the hustle and bustle for a minute or so before a man in a black pinstriped suit approached the receptionist. She handed him Lorne's card and nodded in our direction.

He turned and strode toward us, holding out his hand to shake. "Welcome to Nuance. I'm Michael Gambetta, the manager." He glanced at the card in his hand. "And you are?"

Lorne took the offered hand. "I prefer to remain anonymous to intrigue my readers."

"Yes, of course." Michael motioned toward an archway. "Please, let's discuss this in the privacy of my office."

He guided us along a corridor and into a large, sparsely-furnished office, and after indicating chairs, he said, "Pardon the barrenness; we've been too busy getting up and running to think of decorating."

As we settled into the deeply-cushioned leather chairs around a low, circular table, he said, "Dinner is a better time for you to experience the chef's creativity. Have you a free evening in the next few days?"

Lorne nodded. "Tonight and tomorrow, then next weekend."

"Excellent." He opened a small journal to a ribboned page and scanned. "Chef's away today, but he'll be here tomorrow evening. Would that work?"

Lorne glanced at me to catch my nod, then said, "Yes, that's fine."

"What time would you prefer?"

"Seven thirty or whatever you have after that."

"Excellent! Seven thirty it is. We look forward to seeing you then, Mr – umm – Mr K." He laughed. "We'll keep this under our hats."

As Lorne took my hand to assist me out of the chair, Michael asked, "May we offer you drinks?"

"Thank you, no. We'll wait until we've found a place for lunch."

"Until tomorrow, then."

After Michael had led us to the entrance, he said, "Thank you for choosing us."

"Difficult to keep up with all the changes." Lorne patted his belly and chuckled. "I'd be a blimp if I did."

As we walked back along West Cordova, I asked, "What has you so busy next week?"

"Hunh? I don't follow."

"Free tonight and tomorrow, then next weekend."

"Ah, I see. I wanted to get this done as soon as possible, so we know."

"But he could have suggested next weekend."

"He said the next few days – he's eager and doesn't want to miss the opportunity. And doing it tonight doesn't give them time to prepare for us."

"How so?"

"My dinner there two weeks ago was many notches below what we enjoyed at the grand opening. I doubt they want my review to be based on what they serve regular diners."

I nodded. "Yeah, your postulation. And they do this with all writers who announce themselves."

"Exactly! Shall we try another? Bistro du Midi is only a few blocks from here."