The tender was approaching their stern when Lorne and Catherine stepped into the cockpit. After locking up, he led her down to the transom step as the tender came up to it. He handed her aboard to the crewman and followed her in, setting the alarms with his iPhone as they motored away.

"Good to see you again. I didn't get your names the other night."

Both Lorne and Catherine were surprised. They hadn't looked closely at the man who had helped them aboard, but they now recognised him as the restaurant manager.

"Kate and Lorne," he said. "She's the Kate part."

"Obviously. And a beautiful example of one. I'm George." He laughed. "Pity it was Chef's night off when you were here before. Two busloads ahead of you, late hour and a tired staff."

As George continued, Lorne smiled, nodded and thought. Smooth, quick-thinking, obvious marketing training. He refocused to hear the end of the spiel.

"... give you a better idea of what we offer here."

"We're looking forward to it," Catherine said.

They rode silently for several minutes, then Catherine asked, "Your bus tours? Do you also do lunch?"

"We've been doing two since we opened, but we're moving to three per day, both at lunch and at dinner, the beginning of July. We've prepared a package for you. All the information is in it. Contacts for the tour operators, special deals for the motor campers."

"Sounds like a big operation."

"Based back east... But enough about us. That's quite the boat. Yours or his?"

"Ours," Lorne said. "We love sailing and exploring."

"Never done any sailing. Too many other things." They continued a light conversation as the tender operator drove them into the harbour and up to the restaurant's courtesy float.

As they alit, George said, "We have free dinghy moorage while dining. We're now starting our promotion to the yacht clubs and marinas." He led the way up the ramp and along toward Molly's Beach. Molly's Reach was nearly abandoned as they passed.

Inside, he guided them through the waiting crowd and into the packed restaurant. "We seat two eighty down here in three rooms," he said as he led them through to a cordoned staircase which wound up in a corner of the second dining room. "Another seventy to eighty in four private dining rooms upstairs, all with harbour views. There's an access elevator over there."

"All the same size?" Catherine asked as they climbed the carved driftwood stairs.

"No, there's an eight, a sixteen and two twenty-fours. The two big ones can be combined to seat about sixty. We're licensed for four hundred seats, including the bar in the reception lounge." He quietly opened a door and allowed them a peek. "Dinner meeting in progress — for fifty." Lorne and Catherine acknowledged nods from several familiar tourist industry faces.

George led them along the hallway. "We'll put you in here; it's nearly full downstairs," he said as he opened the door.

There was one large four-top set diagonally at the glass wall, overlooking the marina. Two chairs were set across the table corner, facing the window. Lorne examined the setup and mused. Not only smooth. Observant also. How did they connect us?

George continued, "We can set up a long table for eight in here."

Catherine looked through the glass wall. "Great view."

"With a day's notice, we can move boats around down there, fit you in." George pointed to the marina. "Next time."

He motioned to the table and held the chair for Catherine, and after they had been seated, he said, "We'll start you with some Champagne. I'll send in the sommelier. Enjoy your evening."

After George had left, Lorne looked at Catherine, raised his eyebrows and asked, "How did they know?"

"Thinking the same thing myself." She took his offered hand and put it to her lips. "George is a gentle soul for such an intimidating appearance. The missing pinkies, the disc in his ear, the tattoos up his neck."

"He's certainly smoother than his appearance. Well, except for his shaved and polished head. I keep trying to place him. Trying to think of where I've seen him."

The sommelier came in with a bottle of Taittinger, opened it and poured a taste into Catherine's flute. She picked it up, examined the mousse, nosed the glass and took a sip, then nodded. "This is another of my favourites." 

A waitress came in with two plates and set them on the table in front of them. "Here's a sampling of Chef's amuse-bouches."

After the sommelier and waitress had left the room, Catherine lifted her glass in a toast. "Full marks so far for service and presentation. Here's to us."

Lorne looked into Catherine's eyes, then down at her belly. "To all three of us."

"Fuck! Oh, my God. You do that to me so often. Flip my whole insides. Fuck, I love you." 

He reached over and wiped one of the tears which had rolled onto her lip.

She raised her glass again. "All three." They touched glasses, locked eyes, touched lips, then sipped.

Catherine set her glass on the table and dabbed her eyes and cheeks with her napkin. "I'm so glad I don't wear makeup; I'd be a streaky mess."

"I've always wondered what that is all about — makeup."

"Money."

"Yes, but beyond that?"

"Marketing to women's emotions, fears, insecurities, dreams."

Lorne squeezed her hand. "You're absolutely gorgeous. I'm delighted you don't mess yourself up with that stuff."

"Dad's attitude. He would frequently remind me I'm far too pretty ever to spoil with makeup."

He squeezed her hand again and nodded at the plates in front of them. "Amuse-bouches. Won't be as exciting as my earlier one today, but —"

"Fuck! You've done it again. Jolt straight to the clit. Tongue at twenty lengths. Fuck."

Lorne pressed his hand on her thigh. "Want to keep you happy. I'm working on more than a decade and a half of fantasies, of theories, of study, of —"

"Oh, my fuck!" She shook her head. "I'm going to slide off this chair. I'm sure the back of my skirt has a big wet patch."

He picked up one of her amuse-bouches and moved it toward her mouth. "Choo-choo train coming, open up."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she opened her mouth. She savoured the morsel as she wiped her face again, then swallowed. "Dad used to do that."

"Mine too." Lorne sat staring blankly. Silent.

Catherine squeezed his hand, then took his head as he laid it on her shoulder. She gently stroked the back of it.

"We should eat," he said after a long silent spell.

"Yeah. Looks good."

Shortly after they had finished the last of their amuse-bouches, the busser came in to clear their plates, followed closely by the waitress. She handed them the menus and from notes, recited a litany of special entrées and main courses Chef would love to prepare: Dungeness crab ravioli with truffle beurre blanc, seared Texada scallops with lemongrass, torchon of Lasquiti foie gras with Sechelt huckleberry purée, line-caught Howe Sound red snapper, grilled Pemberton free-range venison chop... These were the ones that stuck in Lorne's mind.

She finished her recitation and said, "I'll give you a few minutes," then turned to leave, stopping at the door to look back. "Can I send the sommelier in with more Champagne?"

"Thank you, no. We need to go lightly," Lorne said. "We're pregnant."

Catherine put her napkin to her mouth and froze while the waitress left. "We are?" She turned to look at him as she wiped her eyes. "Are we?"

He stood, she followed, and they merged in a deep kiss and an enveloping hug. As they unlocked the kiss, she asked, "You think so?"

"Too many feelings not to be. Both you and me."

"Yeah."

"I've never before had feelings like these. Maybe it's only the love. But I've loved you forever, Catherine. This is... I don't know..." He laughed. "I've never been pregnant before."