CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Liam
I stood at my station, humming along to The Foo Fighters under my breath as I trimmed the steaks for the evening’s service.
“I guess things went better last night,” Toni said.
“I’m guessing you’re right,” Tasha agreed.
As usual, Statler and Waldorf were off in the corner discussing me as if I weren’t there. I ignored them and kept working. The best part of the song was coming up anyway.
“Did you just do-do-do a guitar solo?” Adam asked incredulously as he walked into the kitchen.
“Screw off, Grohl himself does it in the acoustic version,” I said, not even looking up.
He laughed and kept going, eager to join the group in the corner.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
I dropped my knife, wiped my hands, and turned around.
“Okay. I’ve had enough. You want details? Fine. Last night was great. I told her how I felt, she agreed to give me a shot, and now I’m just trying to enjoy the fucking day before the fact that I can’t pull this off hits me.”
Bree walked over and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, give yourself some credit. Not a lot of men would’ve been able to take that first step. Did you, uh, you know?”
“Fuck her? No. And she offered.”
Adam started.
“Seriously, man? I’m impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I do. We shared a bed and I was a perfect fucking gentleman. You were right. I have to do this the right way.” I turned back to my steaks and picked up my knife. “Now someone kindly tell me what the right way is.”
*
The next few days flew by. The constant stream of customers coming through the restaurant kept us all busy. Unlike Christmas, when we only opened for dinner, during the summer we served three meals a day. Cottagers were big on brunch, and we knew how to deliver. The addition of summer staff ensured I never had to be in before eleven, so it was a perfect scenario for all involved.
Almost a week after her parents left, I called Maggie and asked her out on a date. I got Sunday night off because I knew neither of us worked on Mondays and I figured if things went well, there’d be no rush for her to get home. If things didn’t go well, I was pretty confident she’d have no qualms about letting me know.
“Where are you going to take her?” Bree asked.
“Elena’s,” I said.
Both Toni and Bree turned to me simultaneously.
“You can’t be serious,” Toni said.
“Dead serious. She’ll see right through me if I try to take her anywhere nice. I can’t overdo it with her. She’s not starting from scratch. I have to be true to me, but show her that can be a good thing.”
“Learn that from one of your novels?” Bree asked, laughing.
“You mean one of Toni’s novels?” I corrected.
She just rolled her eyes. I turned back to my work.
*
On Sunday night, I drove over to Maggie’s to pick her up. I brought her a bunch of wildflowers, which she took graciously and put in a vase.
“Do you want a drink or something?” she asked.
Tempted as I was, I resisted.
“We should probably get to the restaurant. We can do our drinking there.”
“Where we going?” she asked.
“Elena’s okay?”
She smiled.
“Perfect.”
Five points for me.
We left her place and drove out to Highway 4. We talked a bit about work and her folks, but I kept it light. I really wanted to know if she’d heard back from any publishers, but she hadn’t offered up the info and I didn’t want to cast a dark mood over the evening if the book had been rejected.
She looked gorgeous. She was wearing a green short sundress with a loose skirt and spaghetti straps. Her freckles were outrageous, and I loved every single one of them. I kept glancing over at her as I drove, unable to keep my eyes off her. Shit, I was in trouble.
She was wearing these strappy shoes that went up her ankle. Not a heel really, but a kind of wedge-thing. They made her legs look fantastic and I had made sure to follow her down the stairs when we left her place. It was going to be a chore keeping my hands off her, but I was determined.
I had gone equally casual, wearing a black T-shirt with a pair of jeans. Yet it somehow took me an hour to figure it out. There was a pile of clean clothes on the bedroom floor I wasn’t looking forward to folding later.
When we got to the restaurant, I raced around to open her door, but she was already out of the car. I smiled sheepishly.
“Don’t try so hard,” she said softly.
It was the kindest thing she could’ve said under the circumstances, and I took it to heart. I still wasn’t sure what I was doing there with her. She was so different from anyone I’d ever been with. But I’d never felt this way about any of those women, so maybe that said a lot about my past choices.
We walked into the restaurant and Elena came right over, giving me a hug and offering Maggie a kind smile. I introduced them, and as Elena showed us to our table, I leaned over to whisper in Maggie’s ear.
“That intro will guarantee you a free margarita on every visit.”
She smiled wickedly. Ten more points for me. We sat down and Elena handed over the menus.
“Do you think we should do a pitcher?” Maggie asked.
“If you like. I’m good for two, I’m driving,” I reminded her. “Depends on how drunk you want to get.”
She turned to Elena.
“Pitcher, please.”
I laughed.
“Really? Does it take copious amounts of alcohol to enjoy my company?” I asked, only half-joking.
“No. I’m just a little freaked out that I’m even here. I gotta tell you, in a million years I never envisioned this scenario.” She leaned across the table and looked at me earnestly. “You could be with any other woman in this room. You know that that. And you’d get laid.”
I leaned forward and met her halfway.
“But they’re not you.”
She blinked.
“You’re serious about this. You like me.”
“Yes.”
She laughed softly and shook her head.
“Part of me only came tonight because I couldn’t believe it. I thought I must have misunderstood something last time. You swear you’re not playing me?”
I took her hand.
“Maggie, I swear I am not playing you.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay then. I’ll have the chorizo tacos.”
I laughed. She knew how to break the tension. She also knew how to eat, something I greatly appreciated. I found myself daydreaming about teaching her shit in her kitchen, the two of us prepping meals together on weekend mornings. It might not have been her idea of a good time, but I was already ten steps ahead, picturing what I could do to her in that kitchen.
“You still with me?” she asked as our food was set down before us.
Without hesitation, she reached in and picked up her first taco, devouring it in three bites. Most of the women I’d dated would either pick at a salad or insist on a liquid meal. This was fucking refreshing. I dug into my food and we ate in silence punctuated only by the occasional sound of our margarita glasses hitting the table.
The place was busy, but not packed. There was a steady stream of 90s hits coming through the jukebox, and some counselors from a local summer camp on their night off were dancing on the makeshift dance floor.
“I love this place,” Maggie said.
“Me, too. The food is A1, and the atmosphere is off the charts. She’s really built something here,” I agreed.
“You know, I order something different every time I come. I never do that. I’m the kind of person who picks a favourite for each restaurant and sticks to it.”
I smiled.
“That explains why you’ve ordered the mushroom risotto each time you’ve been to my place.”
“Exactly. I mean, I’m sure everything is delicious, but once I’ve found something I like, why not go with a sure thing?”
“Jesus, Maggie. Because there’s so much more out there to try. Maybe you’ll like something else equally as much. Or even better. That’s it. You never get to order in my restaurant again. Chef’s choice. I’m telling Toni.”
She laughed, delighted, and I took another swig of my drink. The evening was going well. If only I could keep my eyes off her mouth.