From her window seat in the pavilion’s restaurant, Marguerite studied the sailboats, large and small, dotting the lake, all training for the upcoming regatta. The Endeavor wasn’t among them, so she prayed that meant Trip was already on his way to the restaurant to meet her. She tapped her fingers on the table and eyed the door for any sign of the tardy sailing instructor. Where was he? What if he didn’t show? This could be his way of getting back at her. Maybe he thought he’d give her a taste of her own medicine. Tell the fibber you’ll meet her for breakfast and let her feel what it’s like to be lied to. “Miss, are you sure you don’t want to place an order?” the waiter asked, his white jacket buttoned smartly up to the collar. “Thank you, but I’ll give him a few more minutes.” “Yes, miss.” He nodded, filling her coffee cup. “I’ll be back when he arrives.” After pouring a generous amount of cream and adding two sugars, Marguerite took a sip of the brew and glanced out over the water.
