The True Story of Canadian Human Trafficking. Paul H Boge

were nervous! How about me? I had a hard time breathing.”

      “I’m glad you and I can be here together.”

      “Me too, Jake.”

      “No trouble getting away. You see, you got guts.”

      “It wasn’t hard. Gave my mom a story about hanging out with friends.”

      Jake paused a moment.

      “Your dad?”

      Oh, great, had to bring him into this.

      “He wouldn’t care. Neither of them would, really.”

      “Your parents holding you back?”

      “They’re okay, I guess.”

      Jake ordered appetizers. When the four Montreal smoked meat mini sandwiches arrived, Abby had a hard time resisting taking more than her half. Jake laughed and offered one of his, which she accepted. They talked about what to do after dinner. Catch a movie? Jake hinted at heading back to the hotel for some more fun. Maybe they would take a tour of the city tomorrow and do more shopping. Sunday would take care of itself.

      The meal arrived. Lobster for her. Chicken for him. And a red Quebec wine to accompany both. The waiter placed the bottle on the table.

      When they had eaten and were into their second glass, Jake paused and looked at her. “It would be great to build a life together with you, Abby.”

      “I would love that,” she said.

      “What kind of life would you like?” he asked.

      She leaned her head back. Imagining. “A house, cars, kids.”

      “What kind of car?”

      “Red Mustang.”

      They laughed. “I think we already have that.”

      We. She loved the sound of that.

      They took a drink of their wine. “We could have it, Abby. We could have it all.”

      “You think so?”

      “I know it.”

      She retreated to the comfort of her wine glass. Having a guy pay this much attention to her made her feel shy. But it was something she was looking forward to getting used to.

      “You’re sure?”

      “Abby, we can have everything.” He poured the rest of the bottle into her glass. If the waiter cared about her age, he did nothing to interfere. “But it’s going to cost us a lot of money, Abby. Having a nice house and cars and things. We can do it. We can live anywhere we want. We just need money.”

      “Okay,” she said.

      “I bring in some money. But if we really want to have a good life, we need to bring in a lot more. We have to figure out a way to make a lot of money. Then we can have it all. You and me, Abby.”

      She nodded. “Whatever it takes, Jake.”

      He paid the bill in cash, and they walked outside. She took in a deep breath, as if doing so could somehow help her absorb the incredible character of the city. Ah, Montreal. Or, rather, Moe-ray-ahl. It sounded so much better with a French accent. The unique ambience of Montreal made it feel like a whole new world for Abby.

      They grabbed dessert at a street-side café, then headed back to the hotel. He ordered up wine. They got drunk and put on a movie but didn’t get very far.