The Italian/continental restaurant was the perfect place for an intimate dinner. We sat close together at the back of a curved banquette while the che... performed his magic. It was the kind of unpretentious but fabulous restaurant where service was delivered perfectly and without fanfare. The meal, several courses of small plates, did all the talking for the chef. It was the kind of place where your water or wine glass was never empty, and seemed to refill through its own volition. Everything. “Oh, damn, another message from my mom.” “What did she say?” Carla closed her eyes, obviously upset. She sighed and pressed the button and played the message so I could hear. “I've called the police. I told them you were kidnapped. They know his license number and what he looks like. Call me and let me know you're alright and they'll stop looking for you. Please come home.” “That doesn't sound good. They think I'm a kidnapper.” I slumped back in my seat and stared straight ahead. “Maybe, I. More

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